InkedWords

What ails you,
Woman etched in stone?
Name the chisel which has
Marred your granite home.
What belittlement meant of you
Would dare slip from mountain top?
Who dares not drink in
The wisdom you give crop?
What ails you,
Matron of the earth?
May your palms create;
Rekindle dying hearth.
Why must these oceans weep for you?
Why must these rainclouds do you wrong?
How pompous must these teardrops be,
Not to quench your righteous song?

The sky is everywhere,
Dripping between pearly teeth and rosy cheeks,
It fills flowers with dew 
And whistles stories through your hair.
Velvet sunsets complemented your eyes,
And atmospheres settled on your skin.
You’d sing songs of starry nights with the words of ancient astronomers. 
You wanted vermillion like sun-kissed noses,
Petunia like home cooked meals,
Periwinkle like catching reflections,
And ochre like shadows of sunlight.
You’d paint the world as sky
And the sky as world
But you never knew that you were only making self portraits.

She hated shoes the way a child hates broccoli.
Barefoot walks through moonlit alleyways made me hate them too.
But I’d wear them anyway,
Because I didn’t live in her world
Made of nothing and everything.
I lived somewhere beyond fences and cages and barbed wire.
Somewhere that labeled her as a distraction.
I have always been astonished that they could confine my infinity
Into one, mangled word
When she had expanded across oceans and continents and galaxies.
All they had done
Was make sure I’d never speak without being spoken to.

From a generation of girls who clawed at their skin; From a generation of girls who were ashamed of their smiles; From a generation of girls who were proud that they could see their ribcage if they stood up tall enough, Comes a wave of women who know what it means to fight back. They never expected much from us. An army of loose-fitting skin Hanging awkwardly around pinched up faces. They never admitted that we had a chance To use the spears we have been crafting since we learned how to speak. They never wanted us to wage war. No action, only words. No change, only empty promises that echo between debate halls. No gunfire, only the resonatin

Have you ever held a child in your arms, Just hoping they wouldn't grow up living your life? They say depression is hard to live with, But I would think it's pretty easy to die for. SOS signals run through my veins, But there is a 'No Entry' sign stapled to my forehead. I'm not quite sure whether it is better to suffer in silence, Or to be told how you must be exaggerating. My life conforms to the standards of my family And the world I have to sludge through every day. When will we scrape the grime off of the roads? When will schools make their teachers understand what an anxiety attack is? When will I be able to express my feelings Without m

They say you just want attention, But they have never heard whispers come from Empty rooms. They say you just need to grow up, But they have never been afraid to step outside of Closed walls. They say you don't have to be such a downer, But they don't know how you look at the world And how all you see is what would be better Without you. People won't believe a word you say, When the door moves when no one pushes it; When faces twist in the wallpaper; When voices tell you to jump. They have always been in control. They have always stayed calm and steady. They have always had faith in themselves. They have never been trapped By their own mind

Raindrops trickle down gutter pipes, Falling onto the lily pads of man-made ponds. I am recycled rainwater And you are the spring sunshine that dries me up. How yellow and bright do you have to glitter To become gold? King Midas' touch fell on puffy eyes, And windspun hair, An enchanting smile, And innocence that was lost too soon. Just how gray and broken do you have to be To realize that you are silver? You are rosewater lemon drops And cucumber-melon body spray. You are the smells, And tastes, And wide eyes That make up memories. Twisted fairytales attempt To shove themselves off of library shelves, But you are summer novels Made of saltwa

It is from locked doors And soundproof walls I awake, Cocooned in stained glass And  'new book smell'. Papercuts are adorned like Battle scars where I come from. Every page is a war to be waged; To be won. Every page is a fight to be fought; A wish to be fulfilled. I come forth victoriously From the lion den. I toss back my cape of fire, Flaunting my bruises and bullet holes. I will conquer this realm, For I am queen. I am the ruler of tortured souls. I am the advocate of voiceless fairytales. From somewhere inside the girl Who is afraid to breathe loudly In the company of strangers, A warrior emerges. Quiver at the omnipotence Of my words, F

Eraser shavings like snowflakes, Flittering down on eager tongues; On anxious fingertips. Eraser shavings like shadows, Following the daylight of my pencil. Eraser shavings like swords, Parrying the attack of commas and apostrophes. Eraser shavings like eyelashes, Nictitating at bright lights and Watering at smoke. Eraser shavings like flower petals; Eraser shavings like hummingbirds; Eraser shavings like bullets. No one knows where mosquitoes come from, They tend to just show up. I am afraid to draw my lines out too long, So when they break off they can have something to land on. Eraser shavings like shields; Eraser shavings like walls; Eras

Coffee-stained sweaters and Parrots with clipped wings All fall into the same nothingness. We never find the metaphor That fits perfectly Or makes us seem the most profound, But I found you and I found the Violets growing in the shade Of your eyelashes. I found you and I found the Pink sand beaches in your hair. I found you and I found the Life I want to lead. I sought solace in your arms And laughter in your toes. I found my everything Behind your ivory tusks; My everything in your serenade Falling on panicked ears. Panic: That is a word I never say But often feel. Comfort: That is a word I love the sound of But seldom experience. You are m