Snap

Snap

Her family doesn’t like

Her boyfriend

What he talks about

How he calls her “Girl”

The way he treats her

They heard them arguing

Snapping

Growling

Screaming

 

They think that he hits her

So her brother hit him back

You could hear his nose snap

 

Her family tries

To tell her to let him go

To say no to him

To split them apart

 

She says that

They don’t know his heart

They don’t understand her

They don’t see them

For what they have

So until they do

She won’t see them

She’s had enough

They’ve pushed her so far

That she’s finally snapped

 

The apartment used to be clean

Because of her

The conversation had continued

Because of her

The meaning in their time together

Was all because of her

 

Now as the silence grows

As the dishes pile up

As time together matters less

Like the mess on the floor

She’s learned to not care

Just like him sitting on that couch

Eating his pile of snacks

Snapping up the silence

Advertisements

Dear So & So

Dear So & So,

It’s been 5 years— I wonder if you’d recognize me; this face, this countenance, the expressions I make.

Would I recognize you? If I did, it wouldn’t surprise me. To remember your smirk, your reserved mannerisms earnestly reaching towards me, the way that your eyes would crinkle upwards as you gave a genuine laugh— would I?

Are you still the same? Cause what I don’t remember is the sound of my name on your lips, articulated by your tongue and echoed through your diaphragm. I don’t remember the sound of your laugh whether it was light and happy or if it was given nervously, timidly as if you were scared that someone would take it and force it back into your mouth and swallow down the reason why you ever dared to open up.

I also don’t remember the look that your eyes had. What I like to think is that they looked lost.I believe that they did— no. I know that they did. That the way your eyes looked out into the world was as if they desired, longed, wished, wanted, lusted— that all their owner ever wanted, needed was someone to ease their loneliness. I think, I think that they looked at me that way. They told me that it was me. I thought that it was me.

Yet, 5 years have told me otherwise. The way that my phone doesn’t ring, the way that a message with your face doesn’t appear, the way that my email inbox doesn’t have your name attached to it: they all tell me it wasn’t me. Right now, I finally realize, I finally know that it wasn’t me.

So if I saw you at a glance, would I recognize you? Yes, I would, but I’ll pretend that I didn’t.

Wishing you the best, even though I do not know what that means anymore.

Sincerely,

Saying that I don’t care

Compensation

Every time the door goes

Swinging,

Flying,

Bursting,

Flinging,

Open,

I imagine that I hear your footsteps

Either slowly or quickly

Closing the distance

To where I sit

Destitute and forlorn.

 

My heart quickens-

It must be you!

The voice that speaks-

It sounds like yours!

My mood begins to elevate-

 

Then it stops.

 

It’s not you.

You would have come to me by now.

The voice no longer sounds like yours.

The footsteps,

Foreign and strange.

 

So I content myself with a compensatory thought.

You’ll be back soon.

I know it.

I’ll just patiently wait a little longer.

A little longer.

A little longer.

Longer.

It Waits

It comes back no matter what room I’m in.

No matter how many times,

It comes back twice as tall.

It waits,

Waiting for me to go through it.

I’m dreading that it will remind me

That every

Single,

Lonely

Person

That comes into contact with it,

That it exists,

That they

Couldn’t

Care

Less

About me.

A Cry to the Nation

What I see when I look out on these streets is

Swarming moving masses like the hardworking ant or the busy bee

Ambitious, striving to a certain goal

Uncaring, compassionless lacking in soul

They pass by the begging mother, the destitute brother

With a singular focus that never diverts to another

“Other;” that’s who you are, who we are

“An”other of those who aren’t active in furthering their lives

They treat us like trash and then ask why on welfare we reside

It’s an endless cycle that we can’t escape from

But they act like they’ve given us the tools when they’ve given us none

They act like they’ve been helping, but they’ve only been disrespecting

They have plenty of resources to spare, but nobody is sharing

It’s a constant struggle to survive

When we could get farther by repairing

And understanding

And coming to a place of open-mindedness

But ain’t nobody getting there

Until we open our hearts and share a little kindness

Instead, we just keep dissin’ and excuse my French, bitchin’

Everyone want their voices to be heard, but no one ready to listen.

Why does everyone act like issues are black or white,

When in reality they are so many shades of gray.

Is this what happened to the respect that we supposedly founded our nation?

What happened to using words with the right connotation?

Why can’t we look at one another and agree

That we are all sisters and brethren,

Is it too hard to have that expectation?

And what happened to all those who call themselves Christians?

The ones claim that they are at the cripple’s bedside with Him?

The ones that say that they ate and cried with Him?

The ones who supposedly bled and died with Him?

Are they just content to see as did the Pharisee

And Roman spectator another man be

Picked up and slaughtered for just saying what he believed?

If we are a people called apart from all the nations

Then we need to be the first to take a stand

And show them all that the love of God

Still lives in beating hearts in this land.

Is God on my side?

I don’t know.

Is God on their side?

I don’t think so.

But I think that my God doesn’t want

Either side shooting more people.

 

The Willow of Richmond Street

In the spreading willow branches

I find myself swinging into the clouds,

Grabbing onto it’s long, tendrils and spiraling myself

                   Down,

                                                                    Down,

          Down,

                                         Down.

Leaving those budding branches of life

Reaching into open air and crashing onto the ground

Sending uprooted dirt into the air

Like a less flashy Fourth of July

Splintering, pushing and breaking all the objects

That came in between the reestablished relationship

That I and the earth had rekindled.

Such was the death of the 43 year old Willow tree

That my father planted upon attaining this house.