Artichoke heart carved

from salty girls

shaken dry,

eyelashes drooped.




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.


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.


Summer, Almost

She slings seashells

by the seashore

onto boulevard rows,

shopping for a bikini

bottom getaway,

polka dots

sliding down her collar bone

sun spotted cheetah

running with cherry lips,

and fingers sticky

Escaping somewhere,



spitting offense curled

(into a ball) lips

painted satin red, blooded

by his (transgression) throat,

primitive vulture (sobbing) screeching,

hunting, hoping for a corpse.


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:

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.