"for every politician who ever confused a human being with a political opportunity", write about now poetry slam @ avantgarden social patio, bar, and lounge.

Desiree Hooper - For Every Politician @WANPoetry

(Source: youtube.com)

I’ve got an olive branch caught in my throat
from all of the peace
I’ve been meaning to speak with you lately

the truth is—
the truth.
It’s a hard thing to swallow

All of my apologies have been flying around
for a while now
looking for a safe place to land

They’re stranded in the middle of your eyes
like oceans

give my heavy heart a rest
From rowing its life raft
just for a second to recognize

I didn’t go down with the ship

Yeah, I sank like a stone when you skipped me
Yeah my heart felt more like a dial tone
that morning you didn’t call

And I’d be a kid with my fingers crossed
behind my back
if I didn’t mean it when I said
I was fucking angry

but you know

people only hold onto grudges
when they don’t want to let go
of the person
on the other end

I know there are roses blossoming
in the darkest parts
of me

they’ve been climbing my ribs like a trellis

stretching their petals and opening up

as if to say

"I’m Sorry"

I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.

And then there were the ways You watched me
moving back into my cave where the wheels turn,
same wheels that drove You off.

I should have told You
before talking in terms of Forever
that any given day wears me out and works me sour,
that there are nights when the sky is so clear
I stand obnoxious underneath it
begging for the stars to shoot at me
just so I can feel at Home.

What’s left of You now is a shrine
built from the pieces I kept of Your presence,
Your incredible stretch of presence.
It sits in Our room like a sandpiper
cross-legged and crying,
remembering the night we met
and the day You left, and the Light
shifting in between.

You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened… or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.
Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.

artchipel:

Augusto Esquivel - Cube & Balloons. Sewing Buttons and Monofilament

Men judge us
by our broad
hips and forget
their birthplace.

After your grandmother’s
wedding ring
slides off your finger
and down the kitchen drain.

After your sister finally
unlocks her mouth. Tells you
what happened the night
you didn’t pick up the phone.

After that party
your freshman year of college
when you drank all the vodka
and then threw yourself at that boy
who was so not into you.

After the picture frames,
the wine glass,
and your vows
lay broken on the floor.

After you drop out of college.

After your mother tells you
not to come home anymore.

After you accept that your father
and the man you love
have the same brown sugar eyes.

After it has been two years,
and you’re still not sure
you love him.

After it has been four years,
and you’re still not sure
you love him.

After you pull your under wear
from the dark curves
of a stranger’s sheets
and leave
without saying good-bye.

After you, sobbing,
confess what you have done
and he does not forgive you.

There is shame.
There is fear.
And there is this dizzying
freedom.

poetsandwriters:

Robert D. Richardson on Ralph Waldo Emerson, from First We Read, Then We Write: Emerson on the Creative Process.

poetsandwriters:

Robert D. Richardson on Ralph Waldo Emerson, from First We Read, Then We Write: Emerson on the Creative Process.