dancing with myself

i used to be a ballerina. a long time ago.

i quit because i was too thick for tutus.

but i signed up for dance class when

i was a junior in high school. i was

from out of town

and out of place

and out of shape. i figured that intermediate dance would be

an easy A.

the first day of class

i couldn't help but look at you and laugh

you wore spandex shorts that were tight in all the wrong places

hairy legs coupled with hairy arms and hairy eyebrows

your height made your stature bend like a broken sunflower stem

your mounds of dark curls with your thick indian accent

made you the laughing stock of the class

so of course, you would be assigned to be my dance partner.

naturally.

we were a disaster at disco,

there was nothing sexy about our salsa

and your cha cha slide was cha cha sad.

by the time we started the ballet unit, i had given up

but out of nowhere, God blessed you with the gift of grace

your petite jete` was better than mine

you twirled me out of my fouette and i fell back into your arms

we spun around the gym like two brown and black tops

scuffed slippers leaving our marks behind

you graduated that year.

you went to school and we kept in touch. jokes on facebook

about the time you dropped me on my face and we tried

to tell our teacher it was part of our routine. it never got old.

after a few months, the messages decreased.

one day i clicked on your page

and your friend said you were in the hospital

diagnosed with brain cancer.

my roommate picked me up off the floor after i passed out.

i signed up to take a dance class a few weeks later. i walked in the

door.

everyone was properly dressed.

they all looked limber and relaxed and trained.

no eyebrows that needed to be plucked.

no inappropriate jokes. no one broke out into a pseudo split.

no one was like you. so i left.

i sent you messages.

when you felt well enough to read them, you responded.

you said you were losing alot of your hair due to the chemo.

and that when we danced again, your forcefield of fur

wouldn't get in the way. only you could make chemo funny.

i laughed. for you.

last summer, you went into remission. i couldn't have been happier.

this summer, the cancer spread to your lungs. i couldn't believe it.

this tuesday morning, you died. i can't comprehend still.

you danced on to a different dimension

a place that your partner can't find you.

where your crooked smile and spandex shorts

don't matter.

i prayed you'd save the last dance for me

but you've gone backstage, around the corner

and on to the final show

performing for an audience that will applaud for an eternity

after i heard the news that you passed

i went downstairs to a mirrored room with bars.

i danced.

moves i hadn't done in years i performed fluidly

i spun like a top, fouette after fouette

dancing with myself

only one half of our pair

leaving marks on the linoleum floor

like we had done 5 years before

your swan song was beautiful

but i have to, i need to see more

and i'm begging for an encore

i'm begging for an encore

the triumvirate.

the triumvirate

three years ago a balmy night in august

the three of us were cooped up in a tent

we hadn't taken a chemistry test to fail yet

and we didn't know what slow grinds were

but i remember laying next to angelica

and falling asleep on michael thinking

what the hell had i gotten myself into

and three years later we have been through

every argument imaginable

and every possible incident known to man

but at the end of the day

or at the middle of the night, rather,

we're willing to pitch a tent and do it all over again

falling asleep soundly to the slumber of the other two

there were days that i thought we'd never

speak again let alone sleep again

in the space vicinity but our friendship

the triumvirate is battle tested

when we fall out we never fall apart

we become some sort of impenetrable force

i've learned not to question God's plan and

why he led me to these two and why

we've stuck through it all the way we do but

i'm me. i'm ashley. for having known the two of you

michael snores but he'd never admit it

and angie tosses more than she tends to believe

but these odds and ends of three years of

chaos

and bliss

are nothing but familiar lullabies

that sooth my soul

when days like today wear me out

i'm blanketed in a quilt of friendship

spread over the three of us

God's got it under control

13 / 20 : say say say.

back from dc. crazy weekend. poet trees time.

say say say

i don't know where to begin

i don't know what to say

say

say

to you except that you

make

everything seem so simple

and easy

even a woman as incomprehensible

as me

and i don't know what to say

when it comes to my exboyfriends

and i don't know what to say

when it comes to my family's lifestyle

and i don't know what to say

when it comes to my love for arena rock

but i feel like

whenever i do figure out what to say

say

say

you'll listen with open ears

open heart

and you'll invite me in

12 / 30 : i dreamed a dream.

dc today.

i dreamed a dream

i dreamed a dream of a life worth living

and to see it go up in smoke

puff puff pass

with just one

wrong move

tears my soul in two

is there any way i can

text l. hughes and ask him

what happens to a dream

deferred

11 / 30 : ice cream paint job.

at work. i got the heat on because it makes me feel like i have a blanket on. and the residents seem to enjoy it when they walk in soooooo. that's good.

ice cream paint job

i'm sitting at work only sort of paying attention

to what i'm being paid to do because

i have the heat on 80 degrees to cover me

like a blanket

i look outside the window to see the sky

arched with orange and pinks

speckles of purple and blue graffiti blasted on

this canvas above my head God must

be feeling extremely creative and as

the minutes roll by the background changes

the colors blend in to each other as He mixes

and blends and rolls his paint above my head the

colors are so dense i feel that drop of rich red will

fall on my head like rain

i must look like a complete idiot

with my mouth hanging open staring at the sky

but i think it's even crazier

that they aren't even looking up

at all

10 / 30 : you don't know my name.

4 papers due today. i'm a beast. i'm a dog. i'm sleepy.

you don't know my name

it's funny how you could know me almost

biblically

from the hairs that stand up on my head

alpha

to the the curvature in my heels

omega

but

it's funny that when our paths finally cross

you just shoot

me a wink and

you just shoot

a half hearted smile

so i'm

i'm laying on the ground with a chest pelted with

wayward bullets

you're killing me

and all the same you don't even

know my name

9 / 30 : beautiful.

i'm squatting here waiting for a vandy van. just finished a paper in the commons since i cant write in my room and i was helping jess unbraid her hair/provide comic relief. anyway, yeah.

beautiful

every time you see me you tell me i look

beautiful

and i can't help but blush and say

thank you

i'm usually quick with a witty retort

or i have

some smart ass comment to dispel but

you look at me like

you really believe that i looked

beautiful

last night

i've been given many compliments in my life

from many men at

various occasions but

the sincerity in your smile and

the way your eyes met mine

it was thirty four degrees outside

and it's been 20 degrees inside my heart

for awhile now but you've come along like

an early spring

thawing me out and bringing color to my days

making everything

and me

seem

beautiful

again

8 / 30 : houstatlantavegas.

thursdays are my tv days.

houstatlantavegas

the way he looks at me

when i bend over in high heels

in order to appease him and make

both of his heads spin

can only be described as

ecstasy

7 / 30 : the love of my life.

i proclaimed today to be a good day and ALAS. it was. the funk is officially over. let homecoming week begin. even though i think it started already? irrelevant.

the love of my life

as a young girl i sat and wondered

as i drew sketches of satin wedding dresses

when i would find the man i would marry

sometimes i think that we've met

maybe he was my 4th grade penpal

that i used to talk about michael jackson songs with

licking envelopes and spraying them with perfume

i cried when he wrote one day he'd be moving away

or maybe he was my boyfriend freshman year in high school

he was a senior so my father didn't approve

and he saw beyond the short skirt pon poms and fat ass

held my hand underneath the bus seat

and read me poetry he wrote in third period

he could be my first love

the only man who i've ever bared my soul

and everything else

for

his touch took me to ecstasy and he pleasured me

just by simply watching gossip girl and pretending

to be interested

perhaps i see him everyday

maybe he's the nigga in line for tortellini

who sits behind me in my tuesday/thursday class

maybe he picked up the plate i dropped in rand

or i've danced with him at a party

or maybe he's been by my side

this whole time

6 / 30 : weekend [outer space flow].

i hate papers. i hate papers. oh, goodness. but whateva.

weekend [outer space flow].

monday through thursday you are

off-limits, outer limits

and monday through thursday i often

pass right by you like a shooting star

out of grasp, out of space

your eyes are wide as a full moon as

you watch my hips roll by like a tide

lapping up against the shore

but on the weekend something

shifts

maybe the planets align or

some stars are doing some weird shit

but we are always orbiting around each other

waiting expectantly for our paths to

collide

create a beautiful disaster

an explosion in between my knees

that we'll have to clean up monday morning

before the others wake with the sun to find

the crater that our anxious chemistry

created

5 / 30 : other side of the game.

normalcy, whatever it means at the moment, is good.

other side of the game

my girls told me that

no one had ever looked so good in blue

from head to toe

just needed accessories to match

a week before we slept in a massive suite

living a life of decadence

a week later three of us on one couch

cramped and uncomfortable

when the cards were re-dealt

turning from luxury to lamentations

they were still there with me

even on the other side of the game

bless them

4 / 30 : seasons [run this town].

oh boy.....

seasons

daddy

im sure the creole slipped off of your tongue

as you peered from your rooftop in roselawn

to see the scoreboard at riverbend stadium

you heard the crowd go wild and you yelled

geaux bengals

and hooted loudly until

your mother told you it was time for dinner

you dreamed of being bigger than big

you wanted to call the plays on the turf

you needed to run this town

that had birthed you as your haitian heritage

got lost in between one of cincinnati's seven hills

and you dreamed a dream as american as skyline chili

thirty years later

many seasons have gone by and you have coached

in every major arena under the sun but you always

wanted to go back to the five one three

and be the hometown hero you never

wanted to forget that you were spoon fed stoop dreams

remembered legendary passes from your rooftop

its october and seasons change as they always do

the fall always makes me think of you

as you suit up in whatever color is appropriate

for the city we are living in for the year

for the month

for the moment

but i knew as soon as you put on a cap

colored orange and black you felt like

you had come full circle

at home games when i'm in town when our team touches down

you'll look up at the stands and point at me

always

and when you're away in seattle

atlanta

new york

chicago

and we make a big play i know you're doing the same

i called you today after we won and you were

crying

we hadn't been number 1 since 1988 before

i could walk and before michael was born

a different season in your life when you could only dream

that you'd be on the team

roster

daddy

i'll never understand the man

behind smile and the ray bans but

as the seasons change

as they always do

i'll be in the stands

every chance i can

cheering for you

3 / 30 : the space between.

i slept a lot today until the mentor/mentee dinner. i love my kids and all my fellow mentors. yayayayayayay. now i have the itis.

the space between

my leg is nervously pumping under the table

and an uneasy shy smile spreads like butter

across my cocoa colored face

he speaks like philly while

he speaks of physics and philippians

he's here to get his phD in a field that is literally

out of this world but right now

he's studying my words and my smile

i can't help but to enjoy the moment

despite the fact that i'm in the middle of

a crowded restaurant near campus

and there is 2 feet of table between us 2

the space between has never seemed

so inconsequential

2 / 30 : big.

this weekend is about to be real boring. meh. poem time.

big

after i spoke to you today and you left out the door

you put the proverbial nail in the coffin

of this terrible week

may it rest in peace

while i pick up the pieces

in the commons i'm trying desperately

to appear presidential

immaculately dressed with a poker face

voice quivering out of a frozen smile

i walk off stage and take a picture

standing noble like barack with his nobel

pieces of me dance across the lens

i stand tall but i can't help but feel

so small

in the bathroom i'm washing pools of mascara

from my face

charcoal and koal dripping into the bowl

a little girl comes in with blonde hair and a bowl cut

standing on her tip toes

to wash her hands clean from paint

after she scrubbed her innocence off

she turned to me

still washing my sorrow down the drain

and said

i saw you on stage with the microphone

looked so tall

your voice is so cool

and big

i smiled and said thank you

held the door for her as she excited

and ran off to get some apple cider

i couldn't help but find it funny

that a little six year old girl helped me

grow so quick

from small to back to big

1 / 30 : i'll wait and pray, part 2

so i decided to start a 30/30 again. i need to be fresh. and the pressure of day to day living has gotten me down. time to get back to what i know. and i know how to write. i don't know if i write well, but it keeps me honest and. that's all i can ask for.

i'll wait and pray, part 2

it is autumn now

the days are getting shorter

by 7 pm i am enveloped in a void darkness

the october chill is so cold it would stop my heart

if i had one to speak of

i don't keep you around to keep me warm

i have men beating down my door to heat my sheets

but you seem to warm my heart

in a way that none of them can hold a candle to

without a match or kerosene your very essence

can keep me snug and secure for hours

we don't even hug seriously

it would make a mockery of

our emotional intensity

i don't find myself longing to be in your arms

or to fall asleep in your embrace

a digital stroke from your keyboard

down the spine of my computer screen

messaging me

'good morning' is more than enough for me

but now those days

have seemed to been swept away

with the fading remnants of an indian summer

that i had stolen but you gave back

i'm sure that you'll return soon

on a gust of october wind on the coattails of

the cascading leaves dancing across my window

there's nothing left for me to do

so

i'll wait and pray

pills.

pills

susie wakes up every morning shaking

spiral curls from in front of her eyelashes

stretches and slides out of her sheets ready

to take a shower to start her day but she

can't go anywhere until she lysols each linoleum tile

in the bathroom stall she spends hours slumped over with scrubbing bubbles

sixty times in a slow clockwise motion to ensure

its is safe to soak in

30 times counterclockwise to get rid of the grime

invisible enemies of disease that she cannot see

she wakes up at 9 and doesn't shower until 11:30

she hides her disorder in the stall where no one can see

susie is suffering from OCD

they told her she is a hazard to herself and she's crazy

she is an unproductive nonfunctioning member of society

without her

pills

chris can't shake the countless thoughts in his cerebral

he walks down the street to the beats of several drummers

the beat is so rapid the tempo melts into fluidity

it takes him hours to plan what he will eat for dinner when

one voice is screaming sushi and the other moans for mexican

he doesn't have any friends but he is never lonely in bed

he shares his twin mattress with the 30 voices in his head

its a party every evening and he's a great host

he can't go to sleep until everyone shuts up and leaves

so he spends most of his nights talking back to himself

yelling at himself laughing with himself laughing at himself

gossiping about himself plotting with himself

in a room where he is the only resounding voice

in a world that calls him crazy

schizophrenia has torn his world into two and threes

its 11:30 PM and chris leans over his bed grabs a bottle of water

and pops his

pills

matthew is mad as a motherfucker and

sobbing solemnly at the same time

his mother doesn't get why he's so sad and his

stepfather sits sullenly at the dinner table

as matt pushes the food around his plate

not hungry enough to let it reach his palate his mother

brings up a bad grade in biology and he snaps

he throws his plate against the wall it shatters and splints

like the synapses and neurons in his skull

his serotonin is slowin to a complete halt

he runs to his room with pieces of plates

and slowly slits his wrists until the sight of his pain

dripping on to his bedspread makes him feel alive again

he's a walking corpse at 11:30 PM

his mother is downstairs rifling through her purse

desperate to fill an emergency prescription for his

pills

ashley awakens every morning with anxiety on her breath

she brushes her teeth clean every morning but cant shake the taste

scrubs her tongue in hopes that a fresh palate will make her mind placid

she doesn't know what it feels like to really relax

she spends her summers locked in her room submitting to bad habits

anything to keep herself busy and her mind off her mind

if she sneezes she thinks she has swine flu

if she coughs she's overly concerned about a cold

if she feels nauseous she knows she has pneumonia

her thoughts get carried away like a hot air balloon and take off

like a jet engine she believe it she spazzes she can't breathe

she falls to her knees and her vision tunnels she swears she cant see

her confidence is comatose at 11:30

she shutters and shakes and her mother's heart breaks

as her daughter cries out for help hundreds of miles away

she picks her defeated body off her dorm room floor

prays to God for inner peace before she takes her

pills

they used to lock and throw away the key

for crazy ass women like me who they say lost

a grip on our sanity

but instead they inject and sedate us

write a prescription and medicate us

pluck us like rogue weeds and eradicate us

dissect then re-conjugate us

strip us of our essence to desecrate us

but if i was to shout from the highest mount ain

that i am no different than you now, i wasn't then i'm just

hiding behind a wall of insecurity because of

this label you've placed on them on me

schizophrenic

depressed

OCD

anxiety

but i've been here this whole time and i'll

be here long after you're gone

and while you're still finding your niche

i'll sit here bloom blossom and become a BOSS bitch

you'd pick me up

place me down and say

this woman is obviously mentally ill

someone strap her down

dope her up

and give this crazy bitch her

pills

30 / 30 : ecclesiastes 9:11.

last poem of the month.

it's been crazy, crazy crazy.

thank you for reading. ive enjoyed the criticism and encouragement.

start your own. keep writing. and reading.

everyone's a poet.

ecclesiastes 9:11

i woke up this morning 

for the first time in four months

without my mother down the hall

to the sound of an incoming message

to my phone

i lazily rolled over 

in my freshly washed linen

in my freshly cleaned room

to a text from her that

declared

the race goes not to the swift

nor the strong

but he who endureth 

in the end

ecclesiastes 9:11

right now i'm in the race for my life

to make sure my future fits 

securely in my palm and snug

in my pocket 

pressed and panicked

each stroke of the clock would set me

off 

but reading that

from the wisest woman that i know

made me smile and i slowly

relaxed

fell back asleep

29 / 30 : being back.

laying in bed next to angie [no homo] on the bsa retreat. back to vandyland. welcome to senior year.

being back

rolling up to towers two

i walked in the front door like

i had hundreds of times before

and it didn't even feel like 

i hadn't been back in four months

in fact it felt like i never left

and as many times as i 

prayed desperately to leave

now i'm holding on to these days

with the jaws of life

28 / 30 : it's the end of the world as we know it [and i feel fine]

all packed. will be back for the last time in t-minus 12 hours.

this is exciting and terrifying, all at the same time.

it's the end of the world as we know it [and i feel fine]

three years ago i begged my mother

for an rainbow colored bedspread 

that was over her budget

as most things are

i promised that i would take care of it

and do my laundry every week

she said as long as i didn't have sex 

on that 100 dollar bed set

she'll buy it because it'll last

four years

tonight i lugged my bedspread

out of the mildewy mess of our basement

i couldn't help but stick my nose in the fabric

and inhale

it smelled like the first day of school

when i lived in lupton house

i had lain my outfit on my bed

with deliberate care my boyfriend and i

had bought it for that very occasion

he said i looked beautiful in it

and he kissed me on the cheek

i'll never forget the night i left him 

for a new life back down south and how

i cradled his 6'2 frame in my arms as he

sobbed secrets in my shoulders telling me

how he loved me so much 

and he'd catch the first bus down 

when he could scrounge up the change

but by the time he showed up 

baggage in hand and a smile on his face

i had changed

it sort of smells like sophomore year tears

a salty and relentless odor of unrequited love

and girlish gossip that sent me

over the edge one day that

cold winter

i sobbed in my bedspread, bare feet on the floor

my heart wanted to be at ohio state

i didn't want to cry anymore because tears

were not enough to keep me

enclosed in the halls of gillette house

i wanted out but angie and michael

wiped away my watery woes and gave me

the good sense to see beyond that day

that week that month

and gave me clarity the three of us

the triumvirate 

were tighter than thieves and if

i didn't have them then 

i'd be bleeding scarlet and grey

along with half of the high school  

i tried so hard to leave behind

i closed my eyes and i could smell the

scent of sexuality from junior year

so strong that bleach couldn't wash it out

i needed a calendar to keep up with

the dudes i was talking to and i was forgetting

the names of the guys who stopped through

they would always make themselves at home

on my bed spread, expecting me to strip 

tease them 

ease them out of their clothes but 

my chastity wouldn't let me

but i can still remember being wrapped together

like poetry and prose

under my covers 

with him and the gust of wind 

he blew in on

as we struggled to find a label

that fit

for what we were 

and weren't

and i can't forget the one who

would drive miles to get underneath my sheets

sneaking him upstairs 

and how he gave me chills he was

ice cold but he promised to warm me up

and he did

he wanted to turn the heat up full blast

but i had to cut him off and he began to 

melt

but the one who held me tight every night

who could very well say my bed was his

and i couldn't get enough of the way he

touched me

saved me 

the best way he knew how

from the coldest winter ever 

by just being there

and shielding me

from my nightmares

and as i folded up the bedspread

tightly

a testament of the dreams and schemes

of the past three years

each one different in every way possible

than the year before it 

i slam the car door shut

with my whole life peeking at me

out of the back window

heading down I 71 for the last time

and it's the beginning

of the end of the world as i know it

but

i feel fine

27 / 30 : hatehatehate.

ahhhhhhh whatttt. SCHOOOOOL!

hatehatehate

i like doing 

the exact opposite

of what i'm not supposed to do

but you hate it

because you'll never be me

but if you were you'd do it too

so get your stencil out

trace me

make some patterns

get the fabric

snip and sew it up

and try me on for size

because that's as close

as you'll ever get

haters.

26 / 30 : mother goose.

went shopping for school stuff today. next year i will be at ikea apartment shopping and shit. CRAZYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

mother goose

i think i should be in the Guinness book

21 year old student from Cincinnati, Ohio

is a mother of 81 children 

i think that is something noteworthy.

and i don't remember the day that

they turned into smedium strangers

into my kids that i would go hard for

but it happened right under my nose

it's so standard now to 

get 8 am texts that scare the shit out of me

thinking its some sort of serious matter

and it's just one of the kids saying

good morning

and if i go more than a week

without playing a trashtalking session

of uno with them something is seriously

out of wack

and i've given advice on everything from

where to go to church to where to drink

what to wear and what is the least amount

to get away with without being called a skank

on books on boys on professors on pearls

on style on sexuality on school books on slow grinds

nothing really surprises me

anymore

and every once in awhile i'll talk to

one of my kids and they'll feel uninhibited

and express whatever is plaguing them and

i listen and it feels as if we have know each other

for far longer than two months

and every once in awhile i'll share

part of myself with them it is 

impossible to keep it all strictly business

we have made friendship bonds that i hope

are tight like glue

and even when i feel like all 81 of them

are asking me 81 different questions

all at the same time and i'm overwhelmed

i wouldn't change it 

for the world

25 / 30 : preseason.

good luck to the cincinnati bengals. ugh. pray hard, yall.

preseason

at bengals training camp 

deep in the bluegrass of kentucky

my dad

is the first person up every morning

he rubs the sleep out of his eyes

places his accent back under his tongue

like chewing tobacco snuff

shakes the limp residue of a losing season

out of his ball cap

orange and black

walks outside

waits until 5:45

holds the air horn up and 

blows

80 miles away

his daughter swears she can hear him

she is still awake at 5:45 

her eyes droop down as the sun comes up

shakes the law school worries out of her hair

places her mac down

which is perpetually on

falls asleep to 

the melody of rush hour traffic on the street

until she's startled by a car horn that bellows and

blows

there's no such thing as a preseason

there's no such thing as a summer

every moment is of the essence

every second has to count

daddy and i will not stop

until the last whistle

blows

24 / 30 : stress.

stress

i don't think of it

as being stressed out

or being too busy

i'd like to think that i'm

just really, really

overwhelmed 

by my blessings

23 / 30 : erotica.

allergiesssssssssssssssssssss DAMN!!!!! get me to school.

erotica 

if i made love to a poet

would the sight of my silhouette

a shadow slithering out of an ensemble

like a snake shedding its skin

get his 

creative

juices flowing

would he stroke me with his left hand

and jot down notes with his right

too busy trying to figure out

an elusive metaphor for my brown skin

while i wait for him to finish

in heightened anticipation

would he hold me tightly and kiss me

would thoughts of turning this moment

into intricate iambic pentameter

make his manhood rise like the eastern sun

and when he melted into the mold of me and i

moaned a melody of ecstasy

would he stop to make a mental note

of how to turn my bellows into a ballad

and when our bodies were depleted

and i put my head on his chest 

would he hold me close to his heart

until i fell asleep to his irregular rhythm

or would he push me aside

to open his mac

and attack the keyboard 

before my naked, natural scent

leaves his sweaty skin 

and he loses his train of thought

he'd be damned

a perfectly good poem evaporating

and out of reach

would he make me climax

because he loves the sound i make

or would he make love to me 

for art's sake?

22 / 30 : 21 to 12 and back.

allergies are bad today. im tired.

21 to 12 and back

in the card aisle at walmart

trying to find the perfect card for tasha

nate's sweet little sister who is turning 12

on friday

when i came to visit in chicago

and we shared a room and shared stories

i forgot for those hours that i was

applying to law school and would be

looking for an apartment in a year's time

the possibility of a high school musical 4

and how to open a locker combination

seemed much more pressing

and perusing through the card aisle today

trying to think of 

what would have made me feel like a 

princess on my big day

was no small feat surrounded by

cards screaming ROCKSTAR and

SPECTACULAR in electric colors and

photoshopped smiles being 12 years old

means figuring out how to ditch and dodge

what the media tries to jam down your throat

but i remember back in the day when

anything spice girls sent me into orbit

that part of growing up is fitting in 

then figuring out a way to stand out

so i found the pinkest purplest

happiest card that they had

skipped down the aisle like i was 12

swiped my debit card like i was 21

walked back to my car and drove off

towards my twenty-something existence 

21 / 30 : rainbows.

after a talk with my friend last week,

about the struggles he deals with being gay 

in america i felt for him and cried over the keyboard

this is for you

rainbows

i can envision you in my head

as a little boy growing up strong

in a city that could do nothing but

encircle you with endless love

and a mother who would give the world

for you 

who couldn't wait to see her son 

graduate high school, college,

marry a beautiful woman,

bring some grand babies to her front porch

to be nestled and nuzzled

with her wisdom and love

but you knew for as long as you could remember

that you were born to live out a different

existence, a destiny you couldn't fight

it was innate and 

it was internal you knew 

it would break her heart if you ever told her

after a storm and a rainbow appeared

would you peep your head outside

and look up

were you jealous of its unabashed exhibition

a million fragments of flamboyant color

arched across a conservative sky 

did you wish you could run out

of the closet

to dance in the rain puddles

spread your arms like the angel

you are

and proclaim your existence

you've been here this whole time

a victim of the system of

double-consciousness 

midwestern values strung you up

from the highest skyscraper and 

lynched your pride 

did you

hate lying to your mother 

across the breakfast table about who 

you were with last night and what

you did last night and who

you were last night because it never

seemed like the right time 

to make her cry and as the years

passed by you couldn't find the time in your blackberry

to schedule that talk with her 

you simply didn't want to 

and did she tear away at your humanity

when you finally came out of your cocoon

emerged into a butterfly before her eyes

and she rejected the man she had raised

did you want to run back to the closet

lock the door

turn off the light and

fade to black 

but there was no turning back

did you lay in your bed at night

unable to slumber peacefully 

a product of the city that never sleeps

and did you reach deep inside yourself

and prayed for God to make it all well again

whatever that meant

whatever that may be

as tears as thick as skittles

cascaded down your cheeks 

evaporated in the air and painted

the rainbows in the sky 

that you were too afraid to do yourself

i can't imagine the places 

and predicaments that simply being

who you are has put you through

it rained in cincinnati today

and even though you're hundreds

of miles away 

a rainbow 

peeked through

the clouds of my midwestern sky

and i couldn't help but think

of you

20 / 30 : a prayer for the class of 2010.

my class is the best. enough said.

a prayer for the class of 2010.


The number ten [x] is the start of a whole new order of numbers and the culmination of the numbers that come before it. Thus wherever ten is found this completeness of order is also seen. Ten implies completeness of order, nothing lacking and nothing over. It signifies that the cycle is complete and that everything is in its proper order. Thus ten represents the perfection of divine order.


dear Lord,

please watch over my class
my family
as we make our way towards the beginning
of an end of a remarkable journey 

You ordained every step of our lives to make
sure that we arrived at the gates of black and
gold in august of 2006. each of us thought long
and hard and prayed that vanderbilt would be
a humbling home, an encouraging atmosphere
the night before i left i cried because i wasn't sure
if these people who were my classmates
would understand me and love me

they love me and i love them. our class
is unparalleled and unprecedented. 
from the
beginning, we fell into a massive freshman frenzy
of love for each other, stepping out to parties
in clothes freshly purchased to impress upperclassmen
and took pictures that deemed facebook friendly
and took some more that would never see the light of day
we rolled deep 
arms linked because we were all
that we had and that was 
more than enough 
we knew we were 
the flyest freshman class to do it 
we threw up the X and bowed our heads
the symbol of our beautiful struggle
nothing else to be said but 
some people
were quite vocal 
about feeling otherwise

but when times got hard we turned to each other
i visited my "uncles" on dyer 3 when i had boy drama and
kicked it with posse 17 when i wanted to get away and
ate pub fries with the girls writing on the bricks and
hit the frogback with mikey at SLC parties and
played freeze tag on the lawn until we died laughing and
rushed the barracades when ludacris came out and
baked cookies with megan for boys we were smitten with
dropped 60 on cabrides to the mall to get a party dress and
lived with the vandy/barnard girls half of the year and
sat up watching videos with zach in vaughn house and 
cried to angelica after coolio publicly molested me and
it was a crazy year

by sophomore year we had split
to different sides of the vanderuniverse
half of us in a social experiment called the commons
the other half on main campus and it wasn't
so easy to see the people we loved the most
and the workload got heavier as the days
turned into sleepless nights as we crammed and
we cliqued up and were turned off by some of the people
we had fallen in love with the fall before and before
we knew it rumors fell like snow by the time
second semester hit and unnecessary untruths 
that had been building up found their way on to
a website that had us eating and breathing gossip
had us typing furiously behind anonymity
had us sobbing. brokenhearted. ready to leave.
i was ready to leave.
but my class 
my family wouldn't let me give up and fall victim
to rumors and lies its funny 
God
how the most
unfortunate situations can bring people
back together
i wouldn't let anyone play my classmates
i gave and received calls of encouragement
we were determined not to let anyone fall apart
the struggle continued

junior year broke a lot of our hearts
and scared us to death we were that
much closer to the world outside and we
had to get realistic about who we were
and what we wanted from this experience
we turned 21 with grace
sort of
and we didn't club nearly as much
as we did when "it's goin down" premiered
freshman year but anytime someone turned up
yo gotti's that's whats up
we would throw our books aside and my class
would get it in like we did when chancellor gee
popped into the lambda house and helped himself
to a drink we buckled down and got serious
about our futures but were never too busy
to show each other love 
or to take another class x photo
for old times' sake

what i'm really trying to say Lord is please
watch over my family this year
may
14
2010
is etched into our hearts and we want it so bad
that we are spending summer nights
locked away in our rooms pouring 
over mcat gre lsat books 
falling asleep in between the pages
we're picking up these applications
hoping that a beautiful personal statement
will just come to us in a dream we are
leaders on campus who will be damned
if we don't leave a legacy for those after us and
we're excited
and a sort of sad
about moving in for the last time we have tried
our best the past three years we aren't perfect
and You know that but
together
we are a complete set nothing lacking
we are a culmination of dreams fulfilled
we are a divine perfection 
we are the class of twenty 
ten 
anything before was lacking
anything after is superfluous
all our paths were elegantly planned by you
to cross and become a family
together
we are eXcellent
in the most phenomenal way
never in my wildest dreams that summer
three years ago could i have imagined
that i would be part of the most
eXtraordinary family that vanderbilt
has ever seen
we've been through hell and back but nothing
has ripped us from our seams and i
am blessed and i 
am better because of every one of them
i pray that this year
be the best one yet but 
i'm not worried
because You have blessed me with
a family
that has always
taken care of me

in Your name,
Amen

19 / 30 : spill.

spill

i used to be a glass half full

but my contents are running over

the sides and flowing down

the counter and flowing down

the sides of my face i can

only hold as much

as i was designed to so when

you pour all this shit 

into my frame 

i

can't

hold

it

any

longer

it won't take long

for me to spill

all over the place

18 / 30 : blood work.

today was a remarkably average day. i just just fill out "Today" on that mylifeisaverage.com site.

whatever. poem.

blood work

the human body is crazy

its weird  that you can stick me

with a little needle and come back

with a vial full of crimson blood

and that's all you need

to tell a fairly comprehensive story

of what's going on with my body.

fairly.

because if my blood work was really 

really accurate, it could not only

tell me that my kidneys are functioning

at a normal level, but that i am having trouble

deciding what pair of skinny jeans to buy

and i would be reassured that not only 

my T cells are of an acceptable count, 

but that my crippling fears over the 

LSAT are in vain and if 

it was beyond thorough

i would know not only that my heart's

beat is regular except

when i'm around him and his smile 

which causes me to get off sync

but we don't want to know the cold

honest truth 

about blood work or boyfriends

in a cold white room from

an old white man carrying a clipboard

and while its not healthier

its much easier to keep pushing these

thoughts away we'll reschedule that

missed appointment sooner or

later

17 / 30 : class

lsat prep is so wack. 

real housewives of atlanta / poetry break.

class

some women wear their class

like an expensive prada dress

show stopping. ostentatious.

but at the first notice of a

proposition

they slip it seductively

off their shoulders

and let it slide on to the floor 

surrendering to a man's

standing salute of virility

you can't hide behind class

with an exposed bare ass

and humility simply isn't chic

behind closed doors

you can pay for school

       but you can't buy class

you can pay for school

                                              but you can't buy class

16 / 30 : to be loved.

terrible shit happens in the world every day. but this

http://www.cnn.com/2009/CRIME/08/05/pennsylvania.gym.shooting/index.html

story upset me and broke my heart from all sides.

and everyone gets mad at the shooter. which makes sense. its fucked up. and unnecessary.

but there is a story behind every tragedy. 

to be loved

dear george,

i know those nights killed you

when you stayed at home eating

stale popcorn watching cinemax

movies on demand your ears ringing

from the sounds of lustful love stories

that you could never really identify with

were you that guy in the locker room

when all the other boys traded

stories about their manhood around like

baseball cards that just nodded

smiled and threw in a 

'me too' every once in awhile

you wanted to have what they did

you wanted to bleach your shirts clean

from lipstick prints around the collar and take

her on a cruise of the allegheny navigating

her curves as the boat swayed back and forth

back and forth

but for whatever reason, you weren't

that guy

an invisible man with a somber spirit

and you spent your days masturbating

to your digital desires

ejaculating dreams of what you'd never be

all over your computer screen

that was the only way they'd ever manifest

into something tangible but they too

you wiped clean and threw away

and i wonder when you blogged about 

your existence

in morbid details about 

your depression

and your plans to detonate danger 

into the core of my birthplace 

did anybody hear you

is the blogosphere so vast that your screams 

were met by mere echoes and echoes 

did someone stumble upon it one night

dismiss it as a ranting of another 

lonely tortured soul

and kept browsing 

i wonder if when you 

walked into the gym last night

you felt like a convoluted Cupid 

inserting angered arrows 

and broken hearted bullets

into unassuming women who

would never love you 

did you peak in ecstasy when 

every woman in the room

had their eyes on you

for the first 

and last time in your life

did you feel like a bachelor

did you feel like a player

did you feel like a Romeo when

they were sprawled in odd angles

like fallen angels

before your feet did you think that

blowing her chest cavity away

would be the only way a woman

would bare her heart to you

and when you put the final bullet

into your head did you find solace

that three women 

with loves of their own

waiting at home

succumbed to your piercings

of unrequited love 

and died for you

was it worth it, george,

to rip a city into pieces

your family up in arms

their families in rapture

for you to finally taste

what it might be like

to be loved

15 / 30 : slang.

half way home. hope yall have enjoyed the pieces thus far.

i'm in a weird mood. for the umpteenth time in my life, some goon today laughed at my 'accent' [that i don't have, im quite sure] and asked me where i was from? let's clear this up.

slang

i'm always strapped

when i open my mouth to speak

i'm slangin exotic verbs that yall

have never heard and the adjectives

i expel ricochet and ring in 

one ear and get stuck in the grey matter

verbal assassin to the masses

my vernacular is unexpected it's

hella one minute and righteous next second

i'm tweakin, i'm illin, i'm flipped, i'm bugged

and while they try to playback what i just said

i'm on to the next yall niggas are lead

i'm dead 

ass 

suicide bomber of your regional dialect

i pick choose peruse and attack the next

memphis twang stirred with a jersey jolt

new york expletives and south carolina niceties

i need a muzzle on this mouth i'm disturbing the 

peace

but at least they hear me when i'm comin

my dialect is dizzying homeboys askin homegirls

who this bitch be

nigga i'm wangin i'm wheezin i'm wilin i'm wicked

i'm bout it i'm bitchin i'm boosted i'm bitten

i'm sick i'm salty i'm stupid i'm siddity

i'm dope i'm digital i'm dumbed i'm dippin

they cover their eyes and run and hide

while i run a drive by on their dialect

decimating preconceived notions and 

and the silly questions full of disrespect

i'm not a pawn of any region's jargon

i switch it up 7 days a week

step out the box you were placed in

and fuck your linguistic limitations

when i open my mouth to speak

14 / 30 : the LSAT.

the LSAT

i just want to be successful

above all else

and i just want a good score

so i can move on 

september 26th

will alter the course of my life

and i wish i was being

overly dramatic

i am tired of sitting at a desk

poring over logical reasoning when

my friends and family

are treating me in the most illogical ways

bullshit doesn't come with a scantron

it doesn't add up and it doesn't

make sense so how the fuck

am i supposed to concentrate

on an analysis of suzie's paper

on seal clubs from the artic circle

3 hours and 35 minutes

that can change the fate of me

the very thought

the very prospect of

doing poorly has me 

sobbing in my bedroom

is seven weeks

enough time

to save and salvage

my life's dream

before it's deferred

and i'm deferred

from law school

13 / 30 : impossible: to the class of 2013.

poem 13.

couldn't think of a more fitting time to write something

to/for my babies.

impossible: to the class of 2013.

to my children. all 83 of yall.

as much as nate and i have done our best

to shower you with knowledge and wisdom

of our collective experience at vanderbilt

there are some things that 

unless you've been here before

are impossible to understand.

there's something about college,

my college,

his college,

your college, especially,

that challenges your definition of

impossible

right now it might seem impossible 

to write two 20 page papers in an 18 hour span

no napping, surviving solely on naked juice,

muffins, and caramel macchiatos

turn them in, turn around

put the freakem dress on and party with the crew

like its 1999

even though you haven't slept in two days

and it might seem impossible 

to get to a poppin party in antioch

on a dry saturday night

when you have no car, no friends with a car,

and no cabfare

but with a will, a way,

some sketchy dudes with a van traveling down I-40

and a few quick prayers

you'll be eating at the waffle house reminiscing in

no time

nothing is impossible because

vandy kids

don't 

quit. 

we are creative.

even if you can't swipe into a towers 2 suite,

there are literally 200 other illegal ways to get up.

and when you inevitably oversleep a test

you studied all night for, a little

bargaining and begging will get you

a second chance.

and when you are trying your damnedest 

to get to the dorm but the vandy van driver

insists on taking the long route

faking drunken insanity will get you

dropped off at your doorstep

you are running headfirst into 

the gateway of 'the best years of your life'

its lame and cliche but so sincere

there will be nights you'll swear you need

a camera crew to follow you

and there will be nights you won't remember

unless a camera crew was following you

there will be those study sessions with that

cute dude or chick in your econ class

that'll make you never late for econ again

and there will be those study sessions with classmates

when you don't even crack a page of the text

but you learned more than those pages could offer

and yet

there will also be those days that you wish

you could rewind time back to high school 

when shit was simple and placid 

and there will be those test grades that will

absolutely break your heart and you'll find

the life you planned out for yourself might

have to submit to an unexpected plot twist

and there will be those nights that the person

you were peepin at the party is cuddled up

with a muchhh wacker version of you and you're hurt

and there will even be those days

that nothing seems to add up anymore

you'll cry home to your parents

ready to pack your bags and start again

somewhere new

but you probably won't. because

vandy kids are tough. 

despite the drama and the bullshit

i have endured the past three years

despite the tears ive shed and dreams deferred

i'm tougher because of it and

i've grown like a rogue weed. its

crazy. the friends i came in with are

my family. i'm convinced we have the same genes

in our systems and you'll feel the same way

about your crew too. at your first game you'll be

convinced you do indeed bleed black and gold

and you will start talking shit to anyone

wearing that obnoxious UT orange.

you'll start living off of chilis and tgifridays

no need for a menu, its memorized,

and you'll go to cafe coco when you want to

decompress and philosophize. you'll learn

when is the perfect time to make a grand entrance

at a party and you'll figure out the quickest

route possible to get from commons to buttrick

when you wake up late [8 minutes, if u slightly jog]

you'll do all these things and much much more.

and eventually you won't need to text

nate and i for questions about housing

you'll be hitting us up letting us know

where the party is at for the night

[thanks for lookin out, in advance]

and eventually, you'll be sophomores

and juniors

and seniors

like me. and you'll be blessed and honored to mentor

"lil mothafuckas"

like you.

who'll look up to you and 

for wisdom and guidance

and ask you

questions that can only be answered

with a semi embarrassing anecdote

a dissertation of an explanation

or sometimes, can't be answered at all.

some phenomena are simply 

impossible to explain

and some phenomena you won't

believe it until you see it

and you won't see it until you breathe it

and like my co-chair so eloquently put

"i don’t believe
in letting kids open
Christmas gifts
before the 

25th"

i don't either.

i can't wait to sit back and watch

with a content smile that an exhausted parent dons on

christmas morning

as you all unravel and unwrap the impossible

for yourselves

when you finally 

arrive

12 / 30 : training camp.

my bad, the poems are on a backslide due to a suped up weekend. but i got yall.

training camp

usually in the summer months,

parents kiss their kids goodbye

as they venture off to camp 

they'll have to do away with

some of the amenities of home,

endure the heat, and make new friends.

it's an american tradition.

with NFL families, we reverse that shit

i packed my daddy's lunch for his first day

at training camp 

he whined about not having an apple

in his bag, his favorite treat

my mom helped him pack his clothes

and we drove him to kentucky

where all the other 'boys' were

kissed him goodbye and watched him 

wave, listlessly like we were orphaning him

in the back window of the benz

daddy called probably 30 minutes after

as most kids do at camp once they realized

that they are really stuck at this place

he said he wanted to come home

and that his roommates, some of the other coaches,

brought refrigerators  and he was jealous.

my mom told him to ask the other coaches

other middle aged upper class men

if he could share with them until he got his own.

he got all huffy and hung up the phone.

a day later daddy calls my mom

mad because the other coaches played a trick on him

he hates clowns and they woke him up

with red noses on their faces

and the other coaches and players teased him

on the field all day

my mother told him that they were just

being silly, to not be sad, and get them back

by making the players run extra 40s.

this made daddy happy.

a week later, daddy shows up back home

unexpectedly, saying he missed us a lot

and he missed his HBO even more 

there is none at camp and he is going crazy

listening to chad johnson's foolishness

so my mom fixes him his favorite dish

and he watches some chris rock until

the sun sets and he has to go back to came

begrudgingly, like a seven year old going back

to time out

this year, camp is being filmed by HBO

so everyone is trying to be on their best

or worst

behavior, depending on what will get them

more camera time

my dad called asking for his lucky tie

because he had to do an interview and 

he would feel nervous without it

we fedex him the the tie 

along with a jar of swedish fish

and he feels much better

daddy can't wait until we can come and visit

and he can show us around, with bravado,

his new stomping grounds

its hilarious that we are appeasing my 48 year old

father like he is a pre-pubescent boy at summer camp

but after witnessing a water balloon fight last year

with 50 year old coaches and their 30 year old players

you realize that although times change

boys become men and these men take pride

in their profession

when you throw the first water balloon,

the playbooks go out the window and 

the men become boys again

11 / 30 : biffers.

im a couple of hours late but, give me a break.

its jazz festival weekend and my BESTIE is visiting.

im running on no sleep. i need to go to bed. 

this poem is openly shitty but ALAS

biffers

angie,

its crazy how you and i 

distanced by mileage and by time

can fall right back into the 

exact

same

thought

pro

cess

within 5 minutes of being reunited.

its crazy how we've know each other

9 years now

seen ups and downs

and still are together

tight like thieves

better than ever before

my best friend is

my best half and

makes me whole 

this is the gayest poem i have ever wrote.

its 4 am so i don't give a shit.

and i don't feel the need to

no homo anything i said

i would be absolutely 

sick without you in my life

and you mean

the world to me

this was a very fourth grade way

of saying angie,

this year is going to be tough

but we have gotten through

every

single

obstacle in our path

slain the dragons

the demons

and the nonbelievers

with power and prayer and

perseverance

i'm quite sure

that the LSAT

will be no different

love always,

ash

10 / 30 : she got a donk.

i didnt even plan on writing this poem today but hell.

BLACK MENNNNNNNNNNNNN. ugh!

she got a donk

july.30.2009.

textmessagefrom an oldflame:

11:05PM EST -

"ey, you should get yo titties done. 

then yo chest will be caught up with yo ass. 

just a thought"

when i was ten years old i was

a stick figure with a

donk

'a little package

hanging off my backside'

as my nana used to say

and by the time i was 12

i had to stop wearing leggings to school

the boys would run into their open lockers

peeking around the corner

late to class trying to scope out

my adolescent ass 

it got so bad that my gym coach 

had to pull me aside and suggest

i try some less form fitting fabric

but when i became a cheerleader

hell broke loose at summit parkway middle

none of the boys were watching the game

when i bent over to drink from my water bottle

i was thirsty as hell

and so were they

parched ass little tweens and teens

trying to get a bite of my backside

one day my dad and  i went to the store

i wore a skort, innocent enough

age 13, couldn't even fill an A-cup 

the bag boy dropped the peaches

on the floor because he was too busy

trying to bag me

my dad shook the shit out of him

and on the ride home he told me 

that i will be wearing potato sacks

for the rest of his life

or he will castrate every nigga in a 10 mile radius

he came pretty damn close

by the time i moved to memphis

home of the infamous drive by,

roll down the window, and holla

i was stopping traffic on s. perkins and poplar

rims kept spinnin but cars full of niggas

stopped in midday traffic

asking me whats up with that 'gusha'

a phrase i was not at all familiar with

and i still don't respond to 

the hoes that hated me were jealous

making rumors that i poked it out intentionally

mad at the fact that their shit was sagging

front back side to side

high school was treacherous because

my ass made me a walking advertisement

for a free fuck apparently niggas came at me

at my locker all kind of ways, speaking reckless

sometimes not even talking at all

just pinching my ass when i wasn't looking

running off and slapping their niggas high five

oddly enough my friends were jealous

being objectified was what was good in midtown memphis

and everybody wanted a piece of this ass

literally. sort of.

but i would come home and cry 

stand in the mirror concaving my spine

looking like a chocolate crescent moon

to make my ass less noticeable

that's not the attention that the new girl in town

wanted

and by the time i was 16, 17, 18

it didn't even phase me when i would walk by

and a nigga would drop his girlfriend's hand

trying to check up on it 

and when they called me, they never called to

ask about me

they wanted to speak to my ass

which, unfortunately, can't speak for itself

i'm old enough now to finally

appreciate my backside

when she got a donk comes on in the club

im the first girl on the floor gettin it poppin

and yes, i do it the best

i take this being thick shit seriously

no nigga is going to objectify me without my consent

so i take the texts and the catcalls in stride

these lames have been trying to get a good grip

of my hips

for years

but they always come up

empty handed 

9 / 30 : letter from a doctor.

this is another part of me that i don't really discuss even with my closest friends.

i really don't give a fuck if it's the shittiest poem i have ever written in my entire life. 

and i've been sweating bullets and putting off writing even a semblance of what has been some of my most trying times for years so. this first step hopefully, will be the first of many.

letter from a doctor

dear ashley,

i'll never forget the first time we met.

you came into my office

with a cheerleading bag and pon poms shrugged

over your shoulder. mascara cast shadows

down your face. you looked around my room

carefully before you sat down. you said

with the confidence each seventeen-year-old

is assured that they have:

"there better not be any damn cameras in here"

as you crossed your legs and twitched

your face in disgust.

i assured you there were not.

"good. because i'm not fucking crazy. 

let's get this over with"

you snapped.

you dictated the our first session.

asked me more questions about the validity

of my degrees than my professors ever did.

but

anytime i mentioned the word

anxiety 

you would pull back from me like i had

slapped you across the mouth

wounded and vulnerable

embarrassed

"i don't have anxiety" you 

snapped. "i just happened to be

stressed out. i have an AP english test tomorrow

and unless you know shit about hemingway

i've go to go"

and you left. i hoped that you were one of those

who really meant what they said

that you didn't need the help

a stranger like me to talk to

and would never have to return but

the next day

your mother called and told me that 

you drove to the school parking lot 

like im sure you did any other day but you

were shrieking

immobilized 

swearing to God that you

were losing your mind that you

were about to die 

and if she didn't kill you

you would pull the trigger yourself

you passed out from exhaustion 

on your steering wheel and i 

steered your mother away from her own

personal breaking point 

"what had happened

to my perfect daughter" she asked as she

gasped for air. "when and why

did she become so scared 

to breathe"

i couldn't answer her. i held the phone like 

a lifeline.

it took you months of sessions

to finally lay back in my chair you were

too scared to relax 

but when you finally did that day in 

january you started to sob

it was the first time you had lain anywhere

in three months 

you told me you'd been sleeping in a fetal position

in your bed against the wall 

you'd wake up stiff and broken like

your spirit

you had a billion concerns

wrapped up in your small frame

"i'm going to have to go to community college"

you declared. "there is no way i will make it

alone. i'll be here forever and be a drain to my 

parents and i'll die a complete loser"

i told you to think rationally.

you told me you were.

after we had finally started making progress

your mother called and told me that 

your friend had passed away, unexpectedly 

i told her to keep a close eye on you

and to be there if you wanted to talk

but instead you tried to follow the leader

dance in her footsteps that lead straight

to heaven 

i never make house calls but your mother pleaded

it was 1 am on a monday night

i drove the 15 minutes between point a and b like 

a bat out of hell

you were hanging like a broken ornament

on the overpass to I 75 

with your family huddled by the forest

heralding me with songs of horror and grief

too scared to get close to your nearly lifeless body

too scared to leave you to plunge into oblivion

they teach you in textbooks

how to host an intervention

it usually involves a well lit room,

tea, 

comfy couches,

and caring individuals in on the secret.

they don't prepare you for 

coaxing an upper middle class black girl

with so much promise

with everything in the world 

in her grasp 

down from the ledge

i couldn't let you be a hood ornament

for an unsuspecting driver

i couldn't let your mother and father down 

who put 18 years of their heart and soul

into to their "perfect little girl"

who simply could not take the pressure

of being perfect anymore

i couldn't let you leave that way

body flung downward

soul flying upwards

they didn't teach me in my doctorate

but i'm sure you don't

get to heaven that way

i don't remember how we got you

back on solid ground. and i don't

remember what i said. and i don't

think any of my formal training was

put to use that night. i just remember

the next day you and your mother

sat in my office 

both wearing pearls and polos and pencil skirts

as if the night before hadn't happened

but i couldn't pretend

i told you that maybe you need to go somewhere

and get the help i couldn't offer

you looked to your mother who sat stoic

silent tears swam onto her blouse

you looked back at me and asked

with the most desolate face

i had ever seen

"will God forgive me because

I thought 

He was letting me 

drown"

for the rest of my life, ashley,

i will never forget that moment

when i set my profession

my degrees

and my title aside

the three of us sat and cried

grabbed hands and

prayed

-----------------------------------------

A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But He was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke Him up and said to Him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

Mark 4:37-40

8 / 30 : sail on.

this is an awkward poem to write.

but i have a 4.0 in awkward so...

AND I BARELY MADE THE 12 MIDNIGHT DEADLINE

so it is as loose as superhead's walls. cut me some slack.

but not too much. ha.

sail on

i'm convinced that the sins you

commit at 3 am on a saturday night

in a city you can't claim as your own

are washed clean by the sun's rays

8 am on the day the Lord made

sort of.

but i can't shake the scent of you

stroking me under 

psychedelic strobe lights  and

i can't get the taste of your toxic

tendencies from off of my tongue 

and 

i can't fold away in a keepsakes box

the way i felt when you 

furiously unwrapped me like

it was christmas day 

even if i wanted to

and i don't really want to 

so many moments in my life

merely float out to the sea of 

lost memories 

when i woke up the next day

i thought i wrapped up that night

tight with a scarlet ribbon and 

sent it into the current 

never to be heard from again but 

the memories of that night 

just 

won't

quit they are anchored

to the dock of my mind 

and it doesn't help

when you call me up crooning

hello sweetheart

with

sexuality and sensibility

waxing and waning in your 

accented undertones i

find it impossible to hang up

the phone

i find it impossible to remember

my name

we remember to forget

and we are failing and flailing

drowning in a sea of sensuality

it can't happen again

but i can't escape your scent

your taste the way you 

felt pressed flat

against me these

memories i set out to sea

seem to wind up on the shores

of my mind because when

you hit me up i can't help

but submit 

and it's saturday day night

all over again 

one more time

sail on

honey

good times never

felt so good

7 / 30 : atlas.

i went to bed mad late.

i woke up mad late.

this poem is probably going to be off as hell.

but i have...23 other poems to make up for it.

atlas

in greek mythology, Atlas was a 

Titan 

who's name translates roughly

into hard, enduring, 

who at the end

of a great war was condemned

as a most pressing punishment

to carry the weight of the world

on his shoulders

for all of eternity 

on bended knee

and stoic stance.

terra nova rests in his hands

someone needs to update

these mythological stories

add a footnote at the bottom

or something

letting interested parties know that

a little chocolate girl from cincinnati

took over for Atlas while he went

on his lunch break 

she has the 

weight of the world in her little hands

he hasn't come back

and no one wants to step in

while she is sobbing salty tears

flowing from

the seven seas 

i have not winced or cried aloud

the only one who put this weight

on my shoulders 

was me 

why did i 

punish myself to be confined

frozen 

on bended knee for all time

when will i ever be

sitting on top of the world

instead of my struggling

shoulders aching and shaking

underneath just trying

to keep it it balance

for everybody else

my head is blooded, but unbowed

but i can't 

trust anyone else

to handle this responsibility

the earth would shake and

the quakes would reverberate

shaking me to my core

the punishment does not

fit the crime

my sins just don't add up

no matter how many times

i recount them

i'll wait and pray.

jazz always gets me thinking and feeling.

listening to: john coltrane - i'll wait and pray

i'll wait and pray

i'm afraid one day my heart

will swell up in my 

constricted and conflicted chest

like a hot air balloon and 

explode

my soul will float up up

and away to heaven

caring so deeply about 

so many people

especially you

can't be healthy.

every night i say a prayer

to keep me strong from one

day to the next but i always

make time before the alter of

God to pray for you 

like

i pray for myself because 

i 

don't

know

who will if i won't.

so i'll sit and i'll wait 

and pray

6 / 30 : honesty box.

it's sunday. sundays are chill at my house.

the days have been so pretty. it doesn't feel like july.

i'm sure nashville has something in store for me.

i've been enjoying way too much pleasant weather. 

anyway---

honesty box

no idea why, but my honesty box

must have a digital, neon

"please talk shit here" sign 

because i have been getting

worked over

all summer long.

which sucks.

but today, i opened my box up

with the usual dread

brows knotted, eyes squinted,

my standard brace-for-impact face

to find a lone message 

blue background

from a boy

saying:

you are so sweet.

why do you pretend

to be so tough?

i just sort of sat there

sight blurred and unfocused

as fat tears hit my keyboard

how did someone so 

assumingly anonymous 

see what's behind the mask

i really didn't have any 

elaborate explanation as to why

i don the crown of an ice queen

when i'm feeling vulnerable

there was nothing poetic to 

say so

i typed back a most deliberate

response:

i don't know.

he still hasn't responded,

hours later.

i guess my answer 

sufficed