Daily Expression

Daily Expression

My appreciation for the expression of others
comes directly from the need to express myself.

I want to get piercings
and mark up my body
and make it my own.
Not because it’s pretty,
but because it’s uniquely me.

I want to drive at night
with the windows rolled down
blasting Bon Iver or Kendrick Lamar.
It’s a distinctive sensation
to feel the breezy wind
rattling the hair on my shoulders.

I want to wait
until I find a guy
who genuinely likes me
instead of settling for somebody
who doesn’t truly care about me.
I refuse to give into society
and their notion that love isn’t out there.

I want to travel
as often as I am able to
and experience cultures
that are drastically different from each other.
The world is full
of unique cultures and lives,
and I hope to experience as many as possible.

I want to express myself
and appreciate the expression of others.
Without truly listening
and truly understanding,
society is reduced
to a bunch of people wallowing about
alongside each other.

And what good is that?

I want to start putting in the effort
to look people in the eye
when they are talking.
So that I know
what makes them feel
happy, unique, and loved.

Taste Your Words

Taste Your Words

Things are getting bad again

Words start to feel like stones

And hugs like suffocation

While hazy moments of laughter

Cover the emptiness of my chest.

You’re not full, argues my stomach

You’re broken, says my heart

Every line that has been spoken to me

Telling me how to define myself

Comes back into my mind

Like a fog that deepens in the night.

Just keep your opinions to yourself sometimes

You’re actually smart?

No boy will want to listen to all that.

Crazy feminist bitch.

If you just worked on your stomach a little…

Try being less sensitive.

Get over yourself, it’s not all about you

Calm down, you’re being wild

You’ve been dating for 8 months, don’t you think you owe it to him?

 

I don’t like the way your words affect me

But I wish you tasted them too

Society Against Feline Abuse

Society Against Feline Abuse

Safa means ‘safe’ in Farsi

She explained as

We made the trek down

From the ranch house to the barn.

By the time we reached the bottom of the hill

The paint cans in our hands were boulders

And we set to work with rollers,

Covering the old wood the color of the open sky

And changing the decrepit and forgotten place

Into a home.

Four beaming eyes with pupils the size of saucers

Still slink away from me.

I know they’ve been hurting

And I know that they’re scared

But I don’t pretend to know what it feels like

To have your life in someone else’s hands.

But that’s why we’re here.

To open our arms

To make a home

To open some souls up to life.

The Movement of the Moment

The Movement of the Moment

Only a few lights are on as I start
The music is overpowering my thoughts
I let myself move comfortably
Doing whatever feels natural

I gradually disregard all the technique I’ve been taught
As I try to understand the lyrics
Using myself as a medium
My emotions are set free

Now I can see clearly
My thoughts trail on for miles
I do not choose a single path
I go wherever the movement takes me

e I’m heading towards the fantasies in my mind
They said I can stay for however long I like
If it’s all in my mind
I guess I’ll stay for awhile

run-on thought in the rain

run-on thought in the rain

while I look into the rain
something captures my attention

I get my glasses
to gaze harder

except
it isn’t a something
but conversely a someone

he has luring brown hair
strewn crazily around

maybe he is charming
or adventurously brave

will he be a lover
or a friend
or somewhere in between

I grasp my brain
before it can dream too far

simply another illusion
of the precarious could be

The Aftermath of a Smile

The Aftermath of a Smile

cameras snap
an attempt to preserve happy memories
smiles are given
their authenticity tossed aside

A girl, around the young age of 11, cries a few hours later and wonders why she wasn’t allowed to keep those memories stored in a happy place. Winning awards in this weekend’s dance competition was supposed to make her happy. Her mom informs her that this, that, and the other thing too are not good enough. This is not defined as motherly love, guidance, or advice- but as something bitter and frigid. As the sweet girl’s rosy face drains to her typical pale tone, she worries that she will never be somebody her mom adores.