Crows on Concrete

She lies a sidewalk
burning souls, dying
on a summer night
morosely ascetic
hair curling, curled earlier
a precarious charm
meant as curative
for another weekend
entombed, concrete feet.
Crows, satin cackles, claw
obsolete across her lips
unaware of the introverted
oddity, feeling
tonight, distinctly, alone.

SS

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(Good) Morning 

She woke up, unfortunate

fortunately warm

and safe

and breathing

herself

in a gentle metronome

before consciousness, still

a faded figment of a sketched girl. 

Then the pen slips, 

buckets slosh,

cold, icy ink condensates

along her brow;

the queen adorned, woven

in a tiara of anxiety,

awakes.  

SS

Slow

365 revolutions again,

already, I guess.

Forced upon my head,

calendars flipping in the wind,

as another semester concludes.

Half done an education,

my last education, and then?

Adulthood, they repeat,

simple crisp words, cutting

infantile flesh,

carving hurry up.

SS

They Have

A lot to say.

When I giggle, smile,

empty minded imbecile

not knowing right, from write

from wrong, they chuckle,

“women are vapid”.

When I consume

an hour of glassy makeup,

lace making me twirl,

shallow, fairy tale prince

less they listen,

“women aren’t serious”.

When I study,

scientifically a scholar

locked in a masculine cave

swallowing a gender gap

engineering for them to scoff

“women make poor engineers”.

When I stomp,

oblivious, dark lips

and darker eyes,

crushing a pathway,

they heckle,

“why don’t you smile?”

They have

nothing over me.

SS

Christmas Bells

Christmas Bells
have ceased ringing
dampened a day before
festivities broke
like my back, a pack horse
for calculus, chemistry, and dynamic
headaches, spurred
by the underside of a 4.0.
A wreath around
my neck and tinsel in my gut,
a festive anxiety, written finally:
eternally.

But a tone whispers,
in two weeks and tears
spewed into the end of pencils
like lead refills
(I’ll need another yet)
a truncated reprieve looms.
Christmas bells…
will start ringing.

SS