Sunlight Sedation

It is the way
you kissed my palms
like they had been holding
all of your oxygen
for the last two months;
pulling up the hem of my T-shirt
and reminding my stomach
with your mouth
how worthy it is
of worship,
of mercy.

You will never be
a new religion to me:
but rather a louder way to love.
You will be my reminder
of daily grace.

Because as your lips met my skin,
my eyes were wrinkling themselves
into two old maids
laughing in rockers
on the front porch of
their country house in the summer.
Two windows
squinted like they were staring
at the sun.,
not caring if they were blinded
in happiness.

Like love never left;
like the splinters of hurt and
regret remained in my heart
only so
when the time was right,
I could re-make them into a door jam.

It’s like saying your name,
missing how much
my lips
pursed at the “shh”,
and now, not wanting
to be quiet
about this.

Bless this Reptilian Skin

“In seven years,
 you will not exist on my body.
Bless this reptilian skin.
Bless each ash stuck
to the feathers of this woman.

I will not slander your name,
but in seven years time
someone will shake me
 out
of the phrases 
you caged me in.
In seven years time,
I will have said my own name
so many times,
that I won’t remember the way
your mouth formed around it.

In seven years time,
I will forgive my nakedness.
In seven years time,
the only thing worthy
of being near my lips
will be Chapstick.

In seven years time,
you will no longer
linger 
on this skin.
In seven years time,
through God’s grace,
I will be my own
linchpin.”

I’m Not a Duck

It’s been a few days but
can you let me rest a bit?
I’ve been trying to be a well of joy,
but the rest aren’t diving into it.

I’m trying not be bitter,
trying to make the days shorter,
trying to understand
why I’m here amidst the thick
of these people
who haven’t got their lives
figured out yet—

and yes,
maybe I took a rain-check.
Maybe I let God be the ringmaster
so I wouldn’t have to take credit
for going nowhere.
For being stuck a week
before my 22nd and
knowing no one but
my family will help me celebrate
it.

And that’s really what it comes down to,
isn’t it?
That you’re trying to be friendly,
and end up being called
“fake”.
You’re trying to fill in your free time
with a plans that no one wants to make.
You have some kid
who tells you
you need to get guys
but yet he says
you can’t get guys
because, he says,
you’re not flirty
and you want to laugh,
but wait—
the smile covers up the pain.
You hide you’re face,
dig back into your job and
ask

can I rest now,
for just a little bit?
Can I take a break?