writer of poetry, novels, short stories, and children's books.
it’s dark in my room but my face is written in braille.
i read myself; my lips curve downward like the subtle
shape of the horizon and when i open my mouth to gasp
i spit up saltwater. once i was in a car accident
and the steering wheel wrapped around me like a hug.
now i feel so confused every time i try to drive.
i still get the urge to take my hands from the wheel,
to close my eyes tightly and wait for a collision.
if a blind girl swims out to sea, will she come back?
i’m so close to an answer and so far from sleep.
i relive things late at night and always end up
writing poetry instead of dreaming. this is a poem
where i drive my car into the water. this is me
alone in bed with an unnameable feeling trickling
into my lungs, heavy, heavy. hold me to your ear
in the darkness and you’ll hear the ocean screaming.
Me: There is a rainbow outside! Come kiss me under it.
Him: Is it raining?
Him: Well, what if we kissed right here, right inside where it's dry, and just THOUGHT about rainbows?