a night without armor

I love poems. I love knowing the deepest part of a person that is exposed through their poetry. I do not discriminate. I like all poets. Famous or not. You will laugh when you hear who one of my favorite poets is. Think of a pretty blond with crooked teeth. No, not the vampire from True Blood. I’m not into unrealistic fiction. It’s Jewel.

And here is why I love her:

I look at Young Girls Now

I look at young girls now
in their tight crushed velour
skin tight sky blue
hip huggers with the baby doll
tank tops
and I think
I’ve been there.
God, have I been there.

Sixteen years old and
wrestling with an overwhelming
newfound sexuality.
Parading it in all its
raw and awkward charm.

I had a pair of vintage
burgundy velvet short-
shorts that laced up
the sides
from the 1920s
and I wore them
with a tight leotard
and a plastic faux pearl

showing off all my lanky
leggy blossoming
youth on the verge
of womanhood for all the
free world to see
with no idea how to keep
a secret, especially my own.


Dionne & I

We looked in the fridge only to see moldy Kraft singles
and some eye cream. That eye cream was our pride and
joy, so extravagant and luxurious, it made us feel rich.
the cracked walls of the bathroom fading away into the
small lights of her tiny vanity mirror.

We may have had no food, but we knew the eye cream was
all we needed–we were both young, with pretty faces and a
lot of faith in the system.
Some men would take us out.



I am perhaps
to those who
are outside my
own flesh.

I can not help
it, I am an
each pretty
face should
come with a straw
so that I may
slurp up the perfect moments
without them getting
stuck between my teeth.

And finally:

I Don’t Suppose Raindrops

I don’t suppose raindrops
will ever replace
the sound of small feet

nor sunflowers
their tiny crowns

all the dust has gathered itself
and settled on
your heart
and there is no correct combination

no key

no question

that will deliver them
once more
to your side

for she has already decided:
no answers will
be given

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