Poetry Rehabilitation: Week 9
The Land will be Better, Thats What They Said When the water hit me, My flaky skin grew into scales, My gils reopened, and I could breathe. But what can a mermaid do, but be mistaken as Sirens for the...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 10
I expect to make a better version of this in the future. Until inspiration strikes me, I will stick with this draft. Very cliché, you know what they say about cliché. Its cliché for a reason. Open...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 11
Kiss me like America Grasp me tight, I’m not going anywhere. The land of the free, or freeloaders. Let the fireworks spark, Red like blood, gushing to my cheeks. Blue like berries, That stain your...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 12
Once Once a she wrote about a boy who could jump off the swings And burp the alphabet backwards. She would sit in her desk and watch him While fidgeting with her skirt, Which made wrinkles all the...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 13
Reluctant Maturity The creak on the chalkboard creeps up, up the spiral stairs, up the arm, a trail of horripilation. The long legs of the spider creeps up, up the sleeves of mothers dress, up the...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 14
The Right Time I look at her vulnerable skin get out of the tub, Towel around waist, faced with the mirror. She isn’t what she used to be, Wrinkles hanging from her face. She has a history, a family,...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 15
This poem isn’t finished yet, there is something missing in the epiphany point at the end, but I will figure it out with time. I use to volunteer for soup kitchen and the people there would take as...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 16
The Duty of a Woman Momma told her that she must be clean, because she is girl, she has secrets to keep. So, she washed her hands twice, with soap. She took a shower everyday, so that people would see...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 17
The Naked Woman in the Magazine The first time I saw a naked body was in a magazine on the floor of a tree house which I climbed with my sister. I was curious and looked at the women, poised, with open...
View ArticlePoetry Rehabilitation: Week 18
Sweat And we sat, in the room with a shy light peaking at our bodies. Beads of salt water trickling from your back. It use to be matte. Bits of muscle stick on to your spine, but I can still place my...
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