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This week's collection was discovered through the "Undiscoverd" option for browsing the DA Gallery. It has become my favorite choice for finding great art!

The Female SuicideTwenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
calculating beast.
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
own hospitality.
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.

Mature Content

We Live Into Each Otheri clutch this truth to my heart
to the dark and light
in my chest, your soul
has a nest here, a soft refuge, that
must have been collecting, unnoticed
for the entire before, of the us we are now
before death's pressure-quiet depths,
our airy-high joys and the breathlessness
pinned pulsating onto each
i'd been saving it all, both
for you and the me you hauled up
from the numb of an oh-so-low below
when i say my best friend is Love
it's more about everything in the poetry
that we live into each other
the lives we've lost and gained
as well as the way itself, its footfalls
step to the gentle ghost rhythm of our song
my best friend is us, the breath we share
the slip of time through linked fingers
its energy dreams our lives together
in moments, horizons, old and new
it will whisper our journey to the children
but, tonight, this earth and ocean whisper is ours
Pause (burden of silence)The sky is a dull ache
this morning,
a quiet
vast and unbearable.
I take a breath, hear
your voice
in my mind
between 
thunder and lightning.
My own desire 
gives shape
to a memory,
even more beautiful, even
more sad
because unreal.
Before I can tell
tears from rain,
a gray prelude 
fills the room,
under my fingertips
temporary solace.
One day
I will stop running,
searching,
one day
I will find the strength 
to listen,
reach the pause,
the silence
no longer heavy
on my soul.
One day
I will wake up
to the sound of my heart
beating. Half Made WholeLong years I wrote, to try to fill the hollow — 
That perfect understanding death denied me;
Where acceptance promised, I would follow… 
Bitterness and longing walked beside me.
Arising from the nadir of my choice,
I lifted up my jaded eyes to find
My heart and hopes were echoed in your voice;
My thoughts and visions mirrored in your mind.
Your stars and mine are synchronized, it seems — 
The other half, for which I’d always pray:
You say the things I've only ever heard in dreams
I tell you what I've only ever hoped to say.
why mailmen + mathematicians make shitty gardeners√blossom my body withyou
(where + when + for) x (ever)
distributive pronoun property
each either neither (alas
you are not my property
but letmebeyours: cargo
delivered to your heart's address–
stamped with a swollen lip imprint)
weedmystYOURSTemEMweed
twinevines at birth//separ ation
by rototiller killer
don’t punctuate my funeral
send my so;ul in semicolon
care packages (every day is Sun
day according to the postal code
of my chlorophyll addict abacus)
chalkboard sketches/
biological equations:
                    xy < x2
                    ½♥ ≠ ❀
                    |you to me|> me to you
my theorem proves i am nothing
{u/0 = undefined ∴ i shall never be under you}
           cancel the factorials in my algebraic nursery. seal hydrangeas
  love is not for fishmoonlit, cricket ears,
and a silence that’s not
really quiet but a crescendo
of heartbeats as the wind folds
them into stars, or maybe dust.
my spine was always made of dust–
crumpled sand and beached gills
no longer able to breathe the clouds;
I was more of an oil-breather, anyway. Wallflower DreamsThere is
another set of I-don't-knows, another intersection
fifty-one miles on an old country road
where the process of becoming a wallflower
is found
at last, trampled and buried.
From where I sit,
Rorschach stars--so colorful--
winter me gently,
just a girl
with bottled dreams
and stories to tell.
gnashing.keep me on this ground;
ground me gently,
ground me harshly,
dearest.
i am a flier.
no, i know,
i was built to sink,
but i am a damn
flier.
no, i know,
no i am not.
but i will be
a damn flier.
i will be.
--
touch down
on the ground
for just a moment,
dear, just a (moment,)
dear.
they shatter.
earth shatters.
i shatter.
but you are steel and
if i am paper,
you must certainly
be steel.
because i
am a flier.
i was built to tear,
but i will be
a damn flier.
--
open your arms,
ready, steady
for landing.
crash head first.
(we're gonna fucking
die.)
we weren't meant
to be okay.
dive into your arms,
choke, choke.
don't let me go.
don't let me go.
don't let me go.
oh god, please,
don't hurt me.
because i am a flier.
i was built to scar,
but i will be
a damn flier.
--
i will be.
--
i will be.
--
i will be not.
--
keep me on this ground;
ground me gently,
ground me harshly,
dearest.
dearest,
you.
:thumb484112570: Long Ago (for AWL)1
Each individual life must end
in unavoidable organic defeat;
death is that daunting moment when
a single cycle is complete.
2
Our lives, yours and mine,
(though you are long departed,
in my mind that moment
of departure remains, its eerie
vividness undulled)
intertwined, as those of
every rising and failing generation must be.
Your daughter, my mother,
had much she could not forgive you for,
yet in my life you had been my only beacon
on storm-tossed seas.
I can say that I remember you, remember
how I watched your death; heard
at last the unanswerable silence
that left your carcass
an enigmatic presence
in the room where you had slept
through all the nights of my brief life.
Your last breath closed the era
of childhood for me. I was
left alone with the tangles of your
love and disapproval. Those
last hours were mute.
No final word disturbed
the room's breathless air.
annotationwhat you love
has been loved before.
I have dog-eared the dog-ear
on my stolen library book;
I have pulled this reed
from the earth
and played. Inhuman   We hadn't been humans since they took us from our homes, dragging us across a bullet soaked main street to the sound of government issued combat boots and savage cries.
   For three weeks we were held in a glorified basement, fed sunlight through a small window high upon the filthy wall. Women wept over hollow children bathed in flickering electric lights and fat, buzzing flies.
   But then the Doctor came and people started draining off the cracks on the floor. Suddenly, we were only ten and began developing a pavlovian response to the click of the door latch. I was the last to be taken, my stomach sewn onto my back and my stench crusted over layers of dead skin and miscellaneous fluids, M14s hurrying my shaky steps.
   I was finally delivered into a dark room and strapped onto a padded chair. The harsh lights were turned on when he arrived, forcing wonky shapes to writhe beneath my eyelids. My eyes swam in boiling tides a
droplets to dropI think I imagined my life.
One prayer spent, an angel held my mind and supported its weight... offered to steal me away in the 8th grade despite the fact I'd let him down in ridicule and silence. In that moment, I believed in God.
but God existed in everything and nothing, and it became hard deciphering the holy from the chosen. So I dined with sin one night when her lips were too sweet and I was too caged; she'd put her nails inside my poet lines, with a sadness too familiar I could only choke on disappointment.
A white-out later--lips left only a little less swollen than the eyes--I was hoping I was simply malnourished in weak-spirit... but you showed me it was a plague in man, a Passover of none, and the scream I let go strangled the last of hope in me.

Mature Content

hate crimes and other ways to give backthis is it,
pretending to be grown up
when you're only held up by summer breezes
and i'm in the other court, cold as stone
and there's definite morale here, but the
postman just isn't delivering more
than strangers with manes, strangers who
must fit tightly against someone else, like a human puzzle
only more disastrous and twice as much grace.
--
these subtle little hatreds we cover our skin with,
they're not weapons, only defense mechanisms
for thinking out loud, for drunken slurs and
last words in separate spaces, because honey,
let's be straight here,
i can't get close when you're wrapped in barbwire,
and you can't get farther when you're tied to another.
it's all about blame now, and neither of us can share
so pour another cup of sweet wine and we'll start
this dance again, oh darling, we both know that's
how this is going to go down.
(take my teenage bag of tricks and
give me wings, honey, everything deserves a chance
to be something more than a dying wish.)

Journal skin by TwiggyTeeluck
Image by pincel3d