Poetry & Prose

7 deadly sins


I lay on the ground, my hands
under my chin. the blades of
grass sway as the breeze
tussles them.
(from my subconscious)
a lightbulb; a sigh of relief.


I held their face with my hands, touching their dimples. My fingers trace their chin and move down to their neck like a paintbrush. They close their eyes. I trace their stomach, starting on the outside; I observe them like a landscape, following their breaths. I continue down.
The lights turn off, we face each other
“you can’t see me, but I’m smiling.” I believe them.


I felt God. not The One I grew up accustomed to—our Father which art in heaven. no man was in my presence: this god did not make me say a prayer—Lord forgive me for I have sinned—for the dreams I awoke from.
she’s the one who lets me breathe and cry when I read something beautiful.


it hits me in transitions from point a to b, a lurch in my stomach. I stare at the ice cream section in the grocery store. I read each flavor slowly in my head.

“Wrong time,” they said
Wrong person, I could’ve sworn they whispered


hands clutch the hot, black steering wheel
the shrillness of my voice reverberates.
fears materialize into our realities.


they dart their eyes away from me as I stroke their head,
the twin bed keeping our bodies close together.


[I learn best when im trying to heal]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *