... be moving much faster than your small mouth
moving slick over dirty words
flying
off the handle of how we need always
to hold the dagger
of being right
and how I find it hard to be gentle
when I am aching
God of small things
grant me grace
and compassion
to dance
in justice and beauty
I want to be so beautiful my lips ache
iron
with the taste of what I should have done
and what I should have never
allowed you to touch me
bleeding
I have loved so many times
learned
so many times cried so many times
and now the eyes are more cruel
than kind
and I see things I am afraid to own
a body can only hold
so many bullets
before it breaks into tears
and soon I am alone in my sadness
the fissure of how you made me less than gentle
and I never want to be
that way
inhuman
and righteous
again
I want to stand inside of myself
and feel the light
of all I have done well
I work hard to break shards of prisms
make many colors of this glass illusion
I wanted to be frail and mortal
I want rainbows
and truth
more supple skin to stretch the more elastic sides of me
how I yearn to bend
and not mind the slow slant
of matter reaching to be more than the intent of spirit
I desire the soft yolk of honesty
resting comfortable
on my breast
if you touch me
can I tell
if you hit me
would you rather I swallow your fist and declare myself
full
I rested in the arms of Stockholm
and caught myself basking in the sweet intention of women
with little to offer but hesitation
I thought twice
about what I mean when I say I am not American
or free
laughter is the second best thing
to coming all over myself
every throat has to giggle itself towards freedom
at least once in a lifetime
somebody has to find the will
to wretch
tongue stuck out for leverage
we must speak
of self
and other
and the invisible chorus will bathe the shadows with the glow of voices
thank you Ola
and Dell
and Alix and Pamela
and a girl named Sam
and Stigna
and Monica
and Tatiana- little girl with a basket
and flowers
and movies siphoned from the net
catch me something innocent
and I will begin this journey again
Ms. Madison D.
thank you for letting me see Chicago
and for smiling at my orchids
lest they miss me in full bloom
and my body is exhausted from these borders
and these clashes
my arm misses yours
warm
like summer in the instant before we become aware of fall
I love my breath
singular
in these episodes of falling
in love
and off wooden chairs
remember
we spilled champagne
and giggled
and kissed
and ate bread pudding in a place called Buttercup
in Brooklyn
and I love being alive
even if it hurts
more than I dream of death
even with fall coming again
I am not so afraid
my wide open grin will grind itself into the grimace of bearing it
but there are always these poems
and these pages upon which to write them
moments
how I endeavour to stand firm in them
grant me Grace
God of small things
hold me sacred
absolved
for I am certain my flesh
will sin again
forgive the inconstant flurry of bone over muscle
moments
in which the grandeur of effort
of self actualization
remains beautifully flawed
I leave you
gushing in the vein of the confessional,
Staceyann