Poetic Personal Catalog
She is a rescue but as many have said before, she has rescued me as much as I have her. She welcomed me in Louisiana. She scouted my land in Alabama. She teaches me steady boundaries, relentless self-care, and how to follow the rhythm of the day, not the
Poetic Personal Catalog
I looked to the floor, to the door where you stood no more. Bright then, in the den, you asked why it was I couldn’t do this before. I said, I am not sure I must have needed more to pull forth this softening and pour in once more.
Poetic Collective Catalog
Emaciated dreams Immeasurable extremes Promised days tied to deranged ways. Versatile markets that can’t clear empty dockets. Sanctimonious Sectional BS on stolen sacred land Unrelenting torment to keep up with their demand doomed to be lost without a stance doomed to be sick without a stance doomed to cease
Poetic Collective Catalog
They said it themselves; he was a martyr. You know what they say about martyrs, or rather making yourself a martyr: Don’t be one, don’t speak on behalf of, or it will cost you. They will follow until they turn. They will follow until you burn. But they
Poetic Personal Catalog
I exist in the liminal space, the spots the clock sought to erase. Nothing here has the same taste. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this pace. I stare into the sky, questioning is there even outer space?
Poetic Personal Catalog
I called her Ling Ling; it was an inside joke with the root long forgotten, and we just accepted its cultural appropriation and leaned into it, as most offensive New Englanders do. I was sitting at work, the same desk I occupied from 2009–2014. The year was 2012 when
Poetic Personal Catalog
I stood looking out at the pool, my mind loud with accusation and judgment. You didn’t even use it. Wasted season. Wasted experience. Wasted life. But why? Why was I supposed to use it? Because the seasons said so? Because the calendar dictated it so? Then came the feeling
Poetic Personal Catalog
I watched my mother paint, Concealing covertly, but painting. To cover hate, From a plate of which she never ate. I watched her cover over blue and purple With beige and cream. I watched a woman too afraid to dream. I watched her fake a life She failed to create.
Poetic Collective Catalog
I watched the aftermath of Katrina like everyone else in this country in awe, ignorance, and from afar. Maybe not. Maybe I saw slightly more, because I saw a population defined by much more than the color of their skin that sent the troubled waters to swallow their doors. But