me

how come all of my poetry is about you,
when almost none of yours
even mentions
me?

at my feet

my mother’s hair
like raindrops
falls in pieces
to her feet.

my sister’s tears
like cursive ps
fall, dripping,
down her cheeks.

my father’s dreams
like pitbull’s teeth
fall, loathed,
down to the street.

drums

Isn't it funny how lyrics can take on a tune in your head, even when you've never before heard them performed as a song?
Isn't it funny how a poem can become a melody, repeating over and over through classes, to a beat all your own?

hate (an awful lot)

I hated my sister so much this morning
that I brushed my teeth for seven minutes straight
just to wash her taste out of my mouth.

I hated my mother so much right after that
that I left and caught a different bus to school
just to annoy her.

I hated Becky so much before school
that I had to walk in the cold rain
just to dry the tears off my cheeks.

I hated Olivia so much along with Becky
that I turned my iPod up as loud as it could go
just to block out my thoughts of her.

I hated the idea of a group of three so much
that I stomped in the puddles I passed
just to give me something else to be annoyed about.

I hated my maths teacher so much first thing
that I didn’t speak all period
just to hear her ask ‘are you okay?’ at the end.

It seems like I have an awful lot of hate in me today.

blame

I want to know
what gives her the right
to pass judgment on everyone else
to wish ill on everyone else
after complaining
when they did the same
to her.

I want to know
what gives her the right
to start caring about everyone else
only after they
have stopped caring about her.

and then to blame them
for that?
she doesn’t deserve
them.

power red

Right now my hair has this gorgeous, thick, earthy smell, which somehow doesn’t go away when I wash it, but instead intensifies. I suppose I have the henna to thank for it- although I don’t know whether it’s the henna or what is added to it. I think the best thing about it, though, is the fact that it’s a little reminder of the red every time I breathe in.
It’s a reminder that I did it, that I went through with it, and that my hair is now a bold, couldn’t-care-less red with a capital R. It’s as though my personality, normally hidden in a little corner of me has come exploding out of my head. I mean, I was always red before, but this is a different kind of red. Instead of being my old, natural, almost-brown red, this is power red. This is red I can draw on, red I can cry on, red I can depend on. This is red I can smell.

exit sign

I hate to say it,
but now-
right now-
I think if you
showed me
a door
marked
exit

i’d take it.