every time someone asks me,
who is your hero?
i remember my grandmother’s hands
and how she used to drag me out of bed
"girl, all you have is studying"
she spoke to me in a language my heart understood
my teenage self was too proud to acknowledge.
every time someone waits for my answer,
who is your hero?
i remember my grandmother’s face
and i die inside, slowly every day
i’m beginning to forget her voice
i’m beginning to replace her
with memories unworthy of her rightful place.
every time i have a reply,
who is my hero?
i say the one who birthed me.
that’s nice, girl, how so
oh you know, the one who’d
silence her daughter for the sake of
this is where they shift their feet
they don’t want to hear this either.
it’s lonely in this space,
of always having to defend
being a ‘woman’
the kind i want my self to be.
who is your hero, girl?
there are no words. you type you write but nothing you put down seems to make sense.
for a minute, the possibility of the notion f a t h e r ceasing to exist?
my heart, thoughts, limbs and prayers are with all on MH370. for a minute, i felt an iota of the anguish, the distress and the uncertainty of what the families and loved ones are currently going through.
there are no words.
|Period:||Your stomach hurts.|
|Period:||No it doesn't, eat everything.|
|Period:||Why did you eat all the things, your stomach hurts!|
|Period:||No it doesn't, there's a plate of brownies. Eat them.|
|Period:||Your uterus is pulsing. Change position twenty times to see if that helps.|
|Period:||You want to fuck him.|
|Period:||No you don't, kill him.|
|Period:||You're bored. Let's literally cry about that, shall we?|
|Period:||Never mind, just find people and kill them.|
doing this for the money not for material things doing this because the itch never fades never calmed never just stops or learns to itch itself away this itch isn’t apologetic at all this itch to go go go go pack up and go doing this for the money smell the world taste something just a little outside of this cocoon this plushy prison even though it’s probably not worth my sanity and my aching back sitting on this cold plastic doing this for the money doing this as i pretend I’m bathed in lushness doing this doing this to get away maybe just maybe doing all of this even though i don’t want to doing this to get away maybe just maybe to get away from me.