summers.

the dirt feels soft
as i reach into the body of
the earth, pulling out the
stems and roots of things,
things like tumors,
growing rapidly without cause
and strangling everything around it.

in its place, i plant crisp peppers
and yellow-red tomatoes, growing like
vines up the red, red fence.
my hands are dark and dingy,
caked with dirt underneath my
fingernails and in the creases my palm.

and when the rain opens up the skies
i sit on the ground, surrounded by the
smell of sweet peppers in the air
and the light lingering scent of mint.
i sit still as a flower, rooted into the earth
Let hot-cold waves of summer rain
wash over me as if i were a
league of thirsty men in a desert,
i let the rain soak into my skin,
wishing i could, like a straggling plant, absorb it
into my very being.

i sit as the water continues to pour,
and the plants drown in the relentless torrent
puddles forming in the dirt like
lakes that have been left untended
dirty and without beauty.
i clench my fists in the ground,
feel the tangles of roots and rocks,
and the cling of the dirt on my skin
and think
i have never felt more beautiful.

on others' angry words.

I read these poems, words by others
Loud and proud about their anger
their frustration, and all their bothers
Decorating the page with red gems
that flare and spark and rage.

And I think, they are in pain
and need to beat against the drum
of the world, making noise like a storm
and letting their lips twist with anger, plump
with emotions too loud to be held
in their tiny little chest.

but for me, i write about anger softly,
like a wave lapping at the shore.
pain as a dull ache, oscitant and yawning.
stretching out, probing, creating small scars
growing on my skin like a sun dawning.
for me, I let it grow through me
like a disease languidly making its way
from my mouth down to my tiny little heart.

apologies.

i will sit here and wait
watch the sun fade in and out
in the silence, i will
drink my tea with the softness
of a lover singing
with their soft eyes
mellow and meaningful goodbyes.
wait until the tea cools,
pools in my cup, stains delicate porcelain
with a deepened ring, like the ring
constricting my chest.

the breath of a sigh leaves my lips
frosting in the air like
dew drops on icicle leaves.
but i will be here, as my
eyes get hazy, clouds crowding
on the edges of vision,
and i think, maybe the clouds
in my eyes are raining,
thundering and pouring like a summer storm
for my eyes seem damp
with bitter raindrops.
and still, i will be here
and i will sit here and wait.

bleeding hearts.

when the sky cries, it lends its tears,
sown already in the ground
and the roots of hearts, growing like
unwanted weeds in between sidewalk cracks
on hot summer days,
dig deep, searching for its lament
and oh how they grow, these unwanted pests

from the penumbra of aching limbs,
and the light wispy tongues of thirsty shrubs
ah, how they falter and wait a moment, these

bleeding hearts, like jewels ,

fragile, hanging by a small stem encased in air

i only know them for the lush lush

red dripping down, i reach out and squeeze

feel its heated soul, burning like a coin in my palm

water clings to its wrinkled surface:

tears, already sown in the ground

growing more bleeding hearts