snaggle

a database of emotional responses

to every day moments, imagined and real,

result in a snaggle of words

trapped in a cotton-mouthed -

a brain bogged down with words

from rap songs and sci-fi novels

that don't sound like her own voice.

they sound like the voices in her head -

older, angrier, wiser, worried.

deep

i can't  be deep all the time.
sometimes thoughts
are more like
a non committal cuddle.

sometimes poets think
about how no one looks good
with a sweaty forehead.

and sometimes that's what
poets feel compelled
to write about.

boat

he said "a boat load of trash"
and when he said it
he meant it.
a boat full, a boat load.
he works on the water,
you see.

quality

standard, stranded
in an old book
you trust too much in

even though
you've never read it
you bleed it

take the oath
rolled out over others
as long as it suits you

and your adaptable
standards of quality
designed to protect

a dying breed

lettuce

channel your feminine side
and listen

even if you don't actually care
about my favorite type of lettuce

just hear me. parse what's important
to me

and stop thinking about yourself
for a single minute

so i can talk openly about the value
of a small, tasty, crunchy green leaf

grief

there is a waterfall,
a specific one,
that i visit again and again

where i learned
my own version of losing faith
of realizing my own truth

and where i let myself
be sad. where it's okay for all of us
to be sad and fat and dissatisfied

her

does she comb her hair
with the needles
of the cactus you gave her
sharp enough to draw blood
or swallow the stones
you fed her, heavy and round
enough to sink her
to the bottom