Jun 21, 2016
"Let no man pull you low enough to hate him." - Martin Luther King, Jr.
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"Let no man pull you low enough to hate him." - Martin Luther King, Jr.
Needle and Thread
On Grandmother’s green carpet I ate blackberries and watched her sew my grandfather’s shirt. My fingers itched to learn, so I ripped a blanket on purpose. Her calm voice guided my hand until the needle, weaving through fabric, stabbed my thumb. I licked the blood as Grandma said, “It’ll be better before you’re married.”
I don’t have a religion. I guess I just believe in the universe. I think the universe does us small favors every day. Like when we really want to hear a song and it comes on the radio a few moments after, or when we stop our car just short of getting into a major accident and our life flashes before our eyes. That’s just the universe. Probably just doing random shit. But I think the crappy things come from the universe too. I think it just throws harships at us to see if we can take it, and if we can, then we’re the lucky ones. It tries to teach us strength, though sometimes we can still feel so weak. Sometimes the things it throws our way are so big and heavy, and we can’t hurdle over them and we can’t hold them up so we are crushed beneath them. I don’t think that’s on purpose. I don’t think we deserve it. It just happens.Shit just happens. But what happens to us once the universe swallows us whole? I have no fucking clue. But in the grand scheme, I guess, once we are swallowed and stuff, pushed back to the belly of the universe and about to be disintegrated into the earth, we are just gone. And when we are gone, the people that love us die a little too. The universe hits them with something really fucking hard and they have to get through another swift kick in the ass by the stars. And it’s just a big circle from there. We are a cycle of good things and bad things and karma and looking at the stars hoping someone else is staring at the same star and waiting for the moon to change phases and shift the tides in our favor or against it. We are a cycle of balancing all these things with the help and influence of the ones around us, molding ourselves into everything we want to be despite the strain that the universe puts on our shoulders. We carry the weight of the universe so that one day, when it is finally lifted, we feel so light it’s like we’re walking on the moon. We are made of the same stuff as stars, you know.
Fort Knox
I heard the roar of thunder and then I stood on my tiptoes to look out my window and count how often the lightning struck. It was getting too close. My sister and I gathered all the sheets comforters, quilts, and pillows. Found clothespins and paperclips and phone books. And we propped up ironing boards and chairs. Our small bodies were sweating climbing and crawling and lifting building ourselves a shelter against a darkness we didn’t yet understand. Finally, we lifted the afghan door and shimmied inside the low-hanging fort. Everything seemed smaller on the inside, and one wrong move could cause a collapse. But this was Fort Knox to us. Today when thunder struck, I reached for blankets to build a fortress. I sit in it now; it is roomy and durable. And it is dark inside but I feel safe. The softest acoustic melodies drown out the crashing noise. And it is no longer Fort Knox but its museum, a commemoration of the battles we fought, and the fears we overcame, a home for the memories preserved in gold.
In a Blanket Fort During a Thunderstorm
You said there is a delirious symphony in this thunderstorm. A music, an art in the madness. The screams of thunder. The howling of warm wind. Lightning smears a reflection across a stagnant lake. We are surrounded by shadows of the enormous fluff in the skies and the mist dispersing from their eyes. Chaos boils beneath us. But the main events are the beautiful whispers from across the pillow as we try to drown out all the rest. -dani
I am bare drowning in blue blood even my shadow feels the raw ache. I cry to the pale moonlight but either I am too quiet or it has stopped listening. And a thousand tiny drunk whispers smear their tongues along my neck in a language I do not understand and never want to learn. There is a heavy repulsive beating behind my sweaty breast. I never pictured life crushing me like this.
Speak Your Mind
I never saw your face in the morning. But I watched long enough to see the flowers bloom in your windowsill. I craved nothing but innocence. We know little about what happens between our ears. We know more about the universe. So how could I say what was on my mind? There was truth in your touch and force in my words. I tried to be gentle but I ended up only being quiet. And we sit here with our hands over our ears because there are so many other noises filling this tiny world. -dani
Present Picnic - friend collab
You’re wearing a polk dot button down shirt under a moon the size of a polka dot I packed us peanut butter sandwiches and ginger ale because your stomach was upset. I picked you daisies and everything seems okay. I thought of the day you wore that same shirt on the elevator that was the day we met and you laughed at jokes that weren't funny. And now I'm like a triceratops looking sweet but feeling tough and always on defense I've got this blanket laid out all neat and all the stars have all aligned but now I'm obsessed at how sweet the world can be but how cruel can be its people owls coo to the far away moon. and now I always seem to have my foot in my mouth whenever I'm around you but oh, no. I know it wasn't always like this. -dani all words in bold were from a list of random words that my friends yelled out at me as I was writing a poem. just for fun I guess