She Wanted Storms

He touches me and
asks for nothing but a smile -
instead I cry.

Anonymous asked: I really love your poems... seriously, I do. It's like if it's me writing, but, better. Can you recommend me any poetry books? Your favorites. Any that has poems like yours. Or any books that you like. Thank you :)

I haven’t read many actual books of poetry, but so far as poets go, I love Warsan Shire, Pablo Neruda, Andrea Gibson, and Carry Rudzinski….and so far as books are concerned, my current favorite is “Just Kids” by Patti Smith, and it’s the true story of she and Robert Mapplethorpe as they met and fell in love as essentially homeless artists living in New York City and eventually rose to prominence in their respective arts…it’s beautiful really!

What’s your favorite poem/poet? I’m looking for some new things to read now that this semester is almost over

Cleaning our blood from the bathroom floor

shewantedstorms:

Her name
is my name,
is your name,
is the name of every woman
who has cleaned her own blood
from the bathroom floor
body hunched in shame
bent from the weight of secrets
that will haunt her the rest of her life
(she feels the ghosts gathering beneath her skin,
she wants to run but chokes instead,
this is not what she thought being a woman
would feel like)

Her chains
are my chains,
are your chains,
are the chains of every woman
who has fallen silent,
voice crushed by their disapproval -
you must be more gentle, woman,
you must be quieter, meeker,
you are not man, you are not
important enough to speak,
your body does not need a voice
to be pleasing to look at. 

Her history
is my history,
is our history -
Who was the one who convinced you
to douse your fire?
Who handed you a glass of water
and told you to kill the part of you that burned?
(we are easier to tame once we have been
extinguished)
The ones who tried to erase us,
undo us, then remade us with
softer voices and shy smiles 
who dressed us in short skirts and 
heals that only made it harder to run away -
their sweaty palms know nothing of this,
know nothing of the quiet tears shed by women
scrubbing their own blood
from the bathroom floor. 

Cleaning our blood from the bathroom floor

shewantedstorms:

Her name
is my name,
is your name,
is the name of every woman
who has cleaned her own blood
from the bathroom floor
body hunched in shame
bent from the weight of secrets
that will haunt her the rest of her life
(she feels the ghosts gathering beneath her skin,
she wants to run but chokes instead,
this is not what she thought being a woman
would feel like)

Her chains
are my chains,
are your chains,
are the chains of every woman
who has fallen silent,
voice crushed by their disapproval -
you must be more gentle, woman,
you must be quieter, meeker,
you are not man, you are not
important enough to speak,
your body does not need a voice
to be pleasing to look at. 

Her history
is my history,
is our history -
Who was the one who convinced you
to douse your fire?
Who handed you a glass of water
and told you to kill the part of you that burned?
(we are easier to tame once we have been
extinguished)
The ones who tried to erase us,
undo us, then remade us with
softer voices and shy smiles 
who dressed us in short skirts and 
heals that only made it harder to run away -
their sweaty palms know nothing of this,
know nothing of the quiet tears shed by women
scrubbing their own blood
from the bathroom floor. 

Cleaning our blood from the bathroom floor

shewantedstorms:

Her name
is my name,
is your name,
is the name of every woman
who has cleaned her own blood
from the bathroom floor
body hunched in shame
bent from the weight of secrets
that will haunt her the rest of her life
(she feels the ghosts gathering beneath her skin,
she wants to run but chokes instead,
this is not what she thought being a woman
would feel like)

Her chains
are my chains,
are your chains,
are the chains of every woman
who has fallen silent,
voice crushed by their disapproval -
you must be more gentle, woman,
you must be quieter, meeker,
you are not man, you are not
important enough to speak,
your body does not need a voice
to be pleasing to look at. 

Her history
is my history,
is our history -
Who was the one who convinced you
to douse your fire?
Who handed you a glass of water
and told you to kill the part of you that burned?
(we are easier to tame once we have been
extinguished)
The ones who tried to erase us,
undo us, then remade us with
softer voices and shy smiles 
who dressed us in short skirts and 
heals that only made it harder to run away -
their sweaty palms know nothing of this,
know nothing of the quiet tears shed by women
scrubbing their own blood
from the bathroom floor. 

Cleaning our blood from the bathroom floor

Her name
is my name,
is your name,
is the name of every woman
who has cleaned her own blood
from the bathroom floor
body hunched in shame
bent from the weight of secrets
that will haunt her the rest of her life
(she feels the ghosts gathering beneath her skin,
she wants to run but chokes instead,
this is not what she thought being a woman
would feel like)

Her chains
are my chains,
are your chains,
are the chains of every woman
who has fallen silent,
voice crushed by their disapproval -
you must be more gentle, woman,
you must be quieter, meeker,
you are not man, you are not
important enough to speak,
your body does not need a voice
to be pleasing to look at. 

Her history
is my history,
is our history -
Who was the one who convinced you
to douse your fire?
Who handed you a glass of water
and told you to kill the part of you that burned?
(we are easier to tame once we have been
extinguished)
The ones who tried to erase us,
undo us, then remade us with
softer voices and shy smiles 
who dressed us in short skirts and 
heals that only made it harder to run away -
their sweaty palms know nothing of this,
know nothing of the quiet tears shed by women
scrubbing their own blood
from the bathroom floor. 

Devoured

The world
has a million mouths
that may either kiss or bite,
and I’m feeling the sting
of thousands of teeth
closing in around my neck:
I have failed.
The sound
is peculiar and dissonant,
like a chalkboard being
ground to bits
by a cruel metal machine.
My skin
shrinks and shivers away
from the cold touch,
but at least the blood
is warm and thick -
it comforts me
to know that I still bleed.
The world
has a million mouths
that may all kiss or bite,
and I’m afraid
I am being
devoured. 

I fell in love
with the taste
of your smile

Merchild

shewantedstorms:

Beautiful child
covered in webs of dreams,
let down your tangled hair
and stretch your curled limbs
heavy with sleep
you begin to rise –
like a mermaid from the sea
you emerge from sleep,
enchanted and
enchanting me.