The tree of hollow
Grew from the flowers and rain
To see dawn again
Have to wither to anew
To be full of life again
Beyond trees and mountains
The mountains in the distance from the stream
Stars in its sky overhead
Trees tall and small from all around
In a simple harmony to get away from them
There them the humans
For others flowers of peace
Petals of Virtue
For others thorns of a war
For in the dark there is light
Just like the stars bright
Above all the darkness shine
I only can be
Hands intertwined, looking at the flowers.
Others flock around us, and together we exist,
Like birds of a feather.
Right here in the moment, existing.
Contrary to what history and the pastor says about us.
The birds have been here, the orchids have been here, and so too have we.
Tell them we don’t exist, I dare you.
Tell it to the thousand year old roots and vines,
That flower and twist and thrive, connecting us all together.
But when we step outside of the orchid room, the world isn't as kind.
We glide by each other on the sidewalks, like distant ships.
Always wondering,
Are you the same as me?
Do you share my flowers?
My madness?
I want to be there, I want it to happen.
The pain outside won't last forever.
I know that they are waiting for me in there.
Watching from the orchid room, and holding up the walls.
Did you think he would love you?
Did you think he would be your knight in shining armor?
Did you think he would be Prince Charming with the slipper?
Did you think he was your happily ever after?
Did you think this would last?
He would sweep you off your feet
He would make you smile every morning
He was your true love
Until he would watch your every move
When he would follow you home
When he wouldn’t leave you alone
You tried to warn others as much as you can
About his true identity and his intentions
But when they didn't believe you
They disappeared when he tried to “protect” you
At that time, you were too late
You were cinderella as he was the evil stepsister
You were the hero and he was the villian
You were the happiness as he was the darkness
When the clock strikes midnight you lose
As he stays the winner with the upperhand
You wanted him to be there for you no matter what
But how could be so stupid not seeing this before
You knew you couldn't trust him
You knew he was obsessed with you
You knew you couldn’t love both of him
And yet, you wanted this
You wanted this
You wanted this
You wanted this
As the night falls and you are stuck in his cage
Just remember these words when he won’t let go
-Arsema Mulushewa
Fresh rolled blunt pinched between long lacquered nails
the smoke curls from lung to lung
as mouths are pressed together
Cheeto dust in the corners
You got her addicted,
to your weed
and to you.
I’m not sober either anymore, getting a contact high just from looking your way,
and white girl drunk off your cologne.
You waltz around like you own the world,
and everything on it,
You make me want to own it with you.
At times I catch you staring,
grappling hook gaze reeling me in,
a tame manipulation.
That’s just the way you observe the world,
like you deserve it, like you need it,
like you already have it.
A thief's eyes.
That's the way I observe you in turn,
like I already have you.
Whiskey in a red solo cup,
just like in the movies.
A dream, clouded by the poison of realism.
The press of sweaty teenage bodies,
the brush of a hand on my thigh,
the feeling of breath on my neck.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,
not even here.
I never wanted to be here,
blinded by roses than never came.
Greed shortening foresight
making me forget that no matter how much you look like a prince this is no barbie movie,
and I am no barbie.
Today, mirror,
there is no frizz in your hair, no sleep in your eyes.
There is no fat rolling over the waist of your jeans.
Your lips are not chapped, your shoulders are not sore.
You wear a different shirt then you did yesterday.
You stand straight, tall, proud,
not me.
Today, mirror,
there is no snooze on your alarm, no red pen on your homework.
There is no searching in your bag for an assignment you didn’t do.
Your Powerschool is silent, your afternoons are easy.
The bell is muffled by the classroom door when it rings.
You stand calm, confident, proud,
not me.
Today, mirror,
there is no rattling in your keys, no frog in your throat.
There is no awkward shift in the measure you tried to practice.
Your hands are warm, your changes are clean.
The audience is stunned into silence by the time you bow.
You stand fulfilled, thankful, proud,
not me.
Today, mirror,
There is no white-out in your brain, no mental revision.
No pinky on the backspace key as you highlight the whole text in blue.
Your designs come to life, your lines win awards.
The scroll bar gets smaller by the minute.
You stand encouraged, creative, proud,
not me.
Today, mirror,
there is frizz in my hair and sleep in my eyes.
There is fat rolling over the waist of my jeans.
My lips are chapped and my shoulders are sore.
There is a snooze on my alarm and red pen on my homework.
I search my bag for the math I know I didn’t do.
My Powerschool lights up my phone.
Today, mirror,
there is rattling in my keys and a frog in my throat.
There is an awkward shift in the measure I didn’t practice.
My hands are cold and my changes bleed over.
There is white-out spilling in my brain.
Today, mirror, you are not me.
You are everybody I see during the day.
You are who I want to be, but that won’t happen
today, mirror, because we both know
that neither of us either have ever changed,
and it seems like hope should not change either,
at least not for today, mirror,
but I am different and that means
while I am not perfect like you are today, mirror,
it means that I can still change,
and who I am today, mirror,
does not have to be me.
Maybe tomorrow, mirror,
there will not be frizz in my hair or sleep in my eyes.
There will not be fat rolling over the waist of my jeans.
There will not be red pen on my homework.
I’ll hand him the assignment as he walks by.
Maybe tomorrow, mirror,
There will be no frog in my throat or rattling in my keys.
There will not be whiteout in my mind.
There will not be an awkward shift where I didn’t practice.
My audience will be silenced with my power.
Maybe tomorrow, mirror,
I will stand straight, calm, fulfilled, creative,
and I will stand proud.
Maybe tomorrow, mirror,
You will be me.
Zombie
My vision is darkened by a black veil
My husband’s brute death has
severed our ties
With shaky hands holding a jar,
I pour Haitian Zombie Powder over his grave
to invite him back
The festivals of Mardi Gras
dance on the street
But I stay in
with the candles lit
I rest the gem
made from his absent organs
Above my own
beating heart
I visit his headstone
to bring an offering
A small doll
made of string and straw
-----------------------------------
The cushioned casket
is not the same
As the cradle
from my wife’s tepid arms
My bones grow restless
and my skin rots
I yearn for warm blood
and the scent of cinnamon
A trail of tears
left by my weeping widow
Soak into the dirt
and lead a path
to her somber walk
I break through mahogany,
dig through dirt,
heave a breath once again,
and crawl back to her