poetry

weekend

today is saturday,

another in a chain

of saturdays stretching on,

linked, pulling, fragile–

today is saturday,

but I am tired of it.

each second passes,

each minute, each

hour changes me

and I am afraid of the

thousands

of saturdays

I have yet to live.

who will I be when I wake up

tomorrow?

my saturdays are finite

but yours are limited

and we’ve never really

been able to breathe

together.

poetry

#45

he says

“your body is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I’ll miss it

and stay silent.

he says

“your mind is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I won’t understand

and be quiet.

he says

“your life is not your own”

though in different words

so maybe I won’t stand up

and fight.

he says that I am

broken, that I am

useless, that I am

nothing, that I am

unworthy, that I am

insignificant, that I am

stupid, that I am

annoying, that I am

nothing at all

to him.

he smothers my words

with small, sweaty hands

and spews nonsense

in its place.

he will not listen

as our world falls apart.

he will not listen

as I am denied love.

he will not listen

as children are shamed.

he will not listen

as lives are smothered.

he will not listen

to the words we scream

in the gaps between his

hatred,

and I am terrified

that so many

just

can’t

hear.

poetry

enough

I have been lucky enough

to walk the woods.

once, twice, three times, again.

never once the same

as the time before;

a world that so many

will never see.

I have been lucky enough

to walk the mountains.

once, twice, three times, again.

every time the same

as the time before;

a world that will fall

as oceans rise.

I have been lucky enough

to walk the shores.

once, twice, three times, again,

every minute changing,

shifting under my feet;

a world that will vanish

with every fall of rain.

I have been lucky enough

to live, to breathe, to drink.

I have been lucky enough

to eat, to walk, to watch.

But I am not lucky enough

to escape melting permafrost

and the methane beneath.

I am not lucky enough

to escape 1.6 million cans

for every five minutes.

I am not lucky enough

to get by with just recycling

and turning off the lights.

It is not enough

to sit by and hope that

something will change.

I am the change.

I have to be.

Because otherwise,

nobody else will be lucky enough

to see the world

as it was.