All my grandparents have left,
Yet none of them are gone.
They left behind disease,
They left behind old age,
They left behind suff’ring.
Now it all starts anew,
Every spirit’s next step.
Continue reading “Souls Don’t Die | A Poem for my Grandparents”
I know no existence without her,
She knows no other younger sister.
I was always right behind,
Endeavoring to match stride.
Continue reading “Into the Unknown with the Known”
Ve saw me wading through oblivion,
Ve dragged me away from the edge,
How could someone of intrinsic value,
Be found using online classified ads?
Continue reading “I Met my Best Friend on Craigslist”
Whenever August 1st comes around,
“It’s the beginning of Birthday Month!”
I’d play along to a certain extent,
More times than not I’d also tease,
“People only get one birthday,
No one gets an entire month!”
Continue reading “In Defense of “Birthday Month””
A mother and her youngest child:
All of my firsts were all of her lasts.
I was the final offspring she nourished,
Both inside and outside of the womb.
I was the final bird to fly the nest,
Did she notice my broken wings?
Continue reading “My Mother, My Angel”
“True & Constant”
I fully believed those words,
One main reason I chose Nu.
I will always believe in the “4 Ls,”
I believed in them long before Nu,
With an intensity I didn’t often see.
But you always did.
And I always noticed.
I will be honest:
I did not want a Big.
Continue reading “True & Constant | Big & Little”
My friendships made me feel love,
When I didn’t allow romance.
My friendships kept me warm,
When all I could feel was cold.
Without real friendship,
Without platonic love,
I wouldn’t be alive.
Continue reading “Power of Friendship Poem | Farewell Oregon”
To be honest,
You scared me.
You were the perfect Mormon example.
You were everything I wanted to be,
Everything I — needed to be.
So I chose to walk behind you,
Hoping you’d show me the way.
Show me how to be a good Mormon,
How to be a good heterosexual girl.
How to be good at all. . .
Continue reading “Dear Perfect Mormon | Internalized-Homophobia Poetry Therapy”
Spanish word meaning: “twin sister”
I love you.
You are like a sister to me.
Not “like” a sister,
I could write a million stanzas,
And still not convey what I mean.
“If you want to know me,
Read my poetry.”
Is that it? Is that all?
Do you know me now?
Perhaps you know me as much as you can,
From a one-sided conversation.
What’s the point of it, then?
Of poetry, or the written word at all?
When it’s one person speaking,
And another one listening along?
Is that a human connection?
One person listens to another.
Is that the reason we write?
Or is it just the start?