A Poem

From a girl that doesn't write poems.

The idea of writing poems has always scared me so I decided at some point that I shouldn’t write them. But for some reason this one spilled out of me back in October and every so often I come back to it (maybe whenever there’s a full moon). Sharing it as a way to break my own routines and rules. Sharing it today, before the temporary moons appear on my back again—erasing pain, leaving a mark.

May we point out what we see and feel, and know that one can exist without the other.

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phases

i know this language is limited
we rearrange the same magnets 
on the fridge, 
learning to spell
casting a spell


and yet, someone wraps my feet
while whispering a joke
about dressing up as charlie chaplin
on halloween
echoing a voice across the divide


and a song waits for the full moon,
standing in the backyard
only after i catch a glimpse
of someone turning
to find it glowing behind them


and a suction cup leaves 
all the phases on my back
big and bright
pulsing, beating
right over my shoulder


where do i land
when something lands on me?
there is only feeling, 
trusting it’s there
behind bramble 
and letters scrambled