I’m starting to enjoy sharing poetry in bulk with you, dear reader. It really speaks to my lazy/I’m old and forgetful and wait, I have a blog?/I have a 1,000 things to do side. Forgive me. We do what we can, huh? Below are poems for the past three days and today. All written by me. Enjoy.

Oh and you’ll recognize some of these pieces because I’ve already posted them for your reading pleasure. I’m a recycler. *shrugs*

The Refrain
#14 – Friday, April 14

my constant refrain boasts the childhood belief of manipulating effect by wishing for the opposite to happen.
and so “you will leave me” escapes my lips with the hope that no, you will not leave me, not now, not ever, not when I love you so.
but I continue to carry the cool of the nonchalant, the unaffected, whispering the refrain as if I am discussing the rain or this traffic–
–hoping that you are not privy to this juvenile show and somehow confuse my vain wish for a future I would kill to keep from happening.
but you are not privy to anything, are you, are you, while my refrain echoes within the empty rooms and silent hallways of a longdeserted home.
Birthright
#15 – Saturday, April 15

Before I could even learn to appreciate you, I was desperate to shrug you off, this mantle that clung to the nuances of my dark skin like birthplaces and legacies.

You were the mirror I was ready to turn away from, the reminder that I was nothing like them; not mysterious and joyous, but something to point at and destroy.
And what of it? Merely the source of special names and special people, merely the home of my creators, merely a rich, colorful center.
Before I could even learn to appreciate you, they informed me that I was simply a location hoarder, not real like them, just the holder of an address that was not worthy of me.
You were the mirror I intended to claim, the reminder that blood and culture can be whatever I want it to be; not a clingy shroud of shame, but something to be proud of and accept.
And what of it? Merely the source of special names and special people, merely the home of my creators, merely a rich, colorful center.
Birth and death, accents and colors, time and memory: you are mine and mine alone.
Let them cajole and caw.
I bear it well and I bear it unaffected.
Like the solid stance of a landmass, a continent,
you and I cannot be moved.
Elegy/Texas 2
#16 – Sunday, April 16
I’m in the mood for you.
For your fanciful cowboy tales–
For your romantic sunset–
For that gleam of mischief in your bright eyes–
and for the sadness I saw in them, too, the kind that told me who you really were.
I’m in the mood for you.
For your arrogant understanding of me–
For your occasional inability to understand nothing at all–
and for the sadness I wanted to take away so badly, the kind that your actions couldn’t hide.
But moods pass.
So did you.
And sadness quietly changes partners.
Zelda
#17 – Today, April 17, 2017

so I’d like to believe that you
were his Daisy Fay,
holding him at bay,
until all that could glitter could
finally become gold.

and for a time, you
and your pretty egg were
the toast of the town,
flapping around,
drunk on jazz and roses.

but you forgot, didn’t you,
that such things don’t last forever;
that precious metals fade,
even our own minds betray,
when our own wings become clipped.

you could only flap for him,
as it were;
suppressing your own will
to write in order to remain still
as if he had a hold on history.

perhaps you were punished
for being his Daisy Fay
and holding him at bay
when all he wanted was you there
at the very start, by his side.

nevertheless, harbors do wear away
and lights turn from green to gray
and jazz music no longer plays—
when we are waylaid
by burials that rule the day.

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