Little Miss Black Hole
She hid all these years
aloof, afraid of the camera
knowing it would add ten pounds
to an already unmeasurable amount of mass
No wonder she kept hidden
in support groups with
bigfoot and the lochness
lamenting the exoticization of their image
the fascination with their existence
preferring to linger in stories
and theories
afraid she wouldn’t live up to the awe
of how she took up space
to the wonder of how she did the
opposite of light up a room
and the beauty in that ability
and she was right
they said it was no big deal
they said it wasn’t that beautiful
but I, say it was stunning
she was stunning
and so were the women behind the camera
the women behind the math behind the camera
I mean look at how far we’ve come
to see new parts of the universe and dare
to call them unmoving
as if beauty is in appearance and not
discovery itself
Girls
we are 9 years old
and we don’t wear a bra because we need it
we wear it because Ashley, the coolest girl in 4th grade
made fun of us for our undershirt last week in gym class
since then, our body has never felt like something we owned
instead always under the watchful eye of
the 7th grade history teacher
the boy in the high school cafeteria
the businessman on the subway
no matter how old, he never learned how to make eye contact
with the right parts of our body
always forgot where our eyes were
how easy it is to ignore a voice when you don’t see someone’s mouth
we are 15 years old
silly and stubborn and insecure
shopping for clothes and seeking attention
but never getting it from the right people
instead we’re followed by the old men who look at us like objects
don’t trust anything we say yet believe that they can interpret the language of our body
believe we are always using it to speak to them
ignore our presence until its appearance can do nothing but tempt
how easy it is to devalue a human when you’ve never noticed her for what she is
or what she was
we are 21 years old adult and alone
coming home and we can feel our limbs being dissected in the mind of a man standing
beside us
just waiting for the train
just trying to stay out of his way
maybe then we can stay out of his mind
we never gave our consent to be trapped in there
and yet there we were
how empty you can feel when you know part of you is lifeless in someone’s head
I am two blocks away from my apartment
a man is yelling at me in the street
I’m wearing my keys between my knuckles
holding my breath between each street light
One wrong look and I could’ve died
Sometimes I forget that it’s a miracle
each night I make it home alone & alive
Why Are All the Poets Sad?
because the poets have old souls
we’ve seen too much and remember it all
or at least, feel it all
the weight of history is heavy
because the poets are weighed down by the notebooks on the nightstand
the similes written on the napkins in our pockets
the pens in our purses
the scribbles on our sandwich receipts
because the poets are poor
our art doesn’t pay the bills
last week we spent our last $5 on a beer
and now we’re broke and sober
because the poets are lonely
after our lovers leave, upset with us
when we interrupt sex to write down the color of the ceiling tile
that we’ll compare it to later
because the poets no longer get presents from their parents
mom and dad don’t understand our artistic lifestyle
don’t support the drugs that give us our dreams
since day one we’ve always been the black sheep
because the poets are lost,
forever searching for that perfect line
that perfect rhyme that we thought of before bed
and didn’t write down
thinking we would remember it
why are all the poets sad?
because the poets have old souls
we’ve seen too much and remember it all
or at least, feel it all
the weight of history is heavy