Member Poem

This poem resides halfway between your bottom teeth and the tip of your tongue.

This poem is a reminder that every insult

that's ever been thrown at you with switchblade syntax

is in the past.

No, I do not mean that you will never again face violence;

but what I do know is that it’s a lot harder to rip out a plant that knows where it’s roots are.

When I was 7 my Mother showed me where my roots are.

She bottled up the Ocean, gave it to me; and said,

“Everything you need to know is right in the palms of your hands.

Be calm,

like a shallow inlet

and be frightening,

like a lifeless abyss,

and even when there’s no light,

imagine all your friends are luminous,

and remember that a lot of light shines through the dark if you know where to look.”

I tell people I am a child of the Ocean.

Bred on tides and shores.

Pulled by the sweet waxes and wanes of the moon.

I spent so damn long in the waves I swore I bled salt water.

I tell people I am a child of the Ocean;

but I didn’t know how to swim until I was 11.

I was born drowning and saved myself.

How do I tell you the difference between the pills that keep me alive

and the pills that sent me to the hospital?

I want to love like the moon drags miles of the shore in for a hug.

I tell people I am a child of the Ocean;

because it’s too hard to tell you that I was born in the belly of the whale

and had to claw my way out.

My bloody fingernails paint a much darker portrait.

I see fierce love.

A Thirst to be alive.

This poem is a love letter you wrote to yourself.

This is a reminder that roses rarely ever see their thorns.

It is ok to not love yourself.

It’s natural to feel like your roots were ripped out years ago.

But whenever you fail to see your crystal glass eyes in the mirror,

find an animal.

If you can find dreams tucked away behind a squirrel’s ear,

why are you so busy chasing them?

Love like fireworks at noon,

and live like a perennial in bloom.

You are so beautiful.

And I rarely feel beautiful.

But I do feel snowflakes that land on my tongue.

I melt masterpieces;

                                Coax them to sleep.

My body is hard-wired to absorb positivity.

The best cure for dysphoria I’ve found are my lovers hips.

In between friend’s bedsheets I dream of a world

where we can seek love unabashedly

and not be afraid.

We are all children of somewhere.

We are all mothered by the Earth.

To be alive is to struggle to survive until you realize

that you are connected to an ecosystem of fascination that defies explanation

your thoughts are filtered through stardust

and coated in gold

don’t mistake your size

for your relevancy.

You are destined to be everything.

You are never apart from your roots.

You are a part

of something.