poetry

here's where I'm going to put some poems that I like

Pluto Shits on the Universe

by Fatimah Asghar

On February 7, 1979, Pluto crossed over Neptune’s orbit and became the eighth planet from the sun for twenty years. A study in 1988 determined that Pluto’s path of orbit could never be accurately predicted. Labeled as “chaotic,” Pluto was later discredited from planet status in 2006.

Today, I broke your solar system. Oops.
My bad. Your graph said I was supposed
to make a nice little loop around the sun.

Naw.

I chaos like a motherfucker. Ain’t no one can
chart me. All the other planets, they think
I’m annoying. They think I’m an escaped
moon, running free.

Fuck your moon. Fuck your solar system.
Fuck your time. Your year? Your year ain’t
shit but a day to me. I could spend your
whole year turning the winds in my bed. Thinking
about rings and how Jupiter should just pussy
on up and marry me by now. Your day?

That’s an asswipe. A sniffle. Your whole day
is barely the start of my sunset.

My name means hell, bitch. I am hell, bitch. All the cold
you have yet to feel. Chaos like a motherfucker.
And you tried to order me. Called me ninth.
Somewhere in the mess of graphs and math and compass
you tried to make me follow rules. Rules? Fuck your
rules. Neptune, that bitch slow. And I deserve all the sun
I can get, and all the blue-gold sky I want around me.

It is February 7th, 1979 and my skin is more
copper than any sky will ever be. More metal.
Neptune is bitch-sobbing in my rearview,
and I got my running shoes on and all this sky that’s all mine.

Fuck your order. Fuck your time. I realigned the cosmos.
I chaosed all the hell you have yet to feel. Now all your kids
in the classrooms, they confused. All their clocks:
wrong. They don’t even know what the fuck to do.
They gotta memorize new songs and shit. And the other
planets, I fucked their orbits. I shook the sky. Chaos like
a motherfucker.

It is February 7th, 1979. The sky is blue-gold:
the freedom of possibility.

Today, I broke your solar system. Oops. My bad.

Untitled

by Jamiah Lincoln

She is peeling back her skin for me
all fear on her tongue
all worry on her back
She is smiling in the mirror more
Feeling like the woman she is

I greet her wholeheartedly
Tell her she is worthy
Kiss her cheek

She does not ask twice about my love
Does not question how hard it is
Just loves harder

Then I remember why I bleed here and I tell her

I am missing you,
the way my mother misses my father.
whispering at him while he's dreaming
she will not wake him.

I am tired of reaching for her shoes in the morning
but who else is to wear them, when she leaves them at the door?

I am writing this to your Heart
because, I know it is listening closely
even, when you are not
even when

Some days I am not worth loving
but on the days where the tides have stopped
I feel nothing but your skin in my palms
Your pulse on my chest

There is no way to steal love,
But if I could, everyday
The ocean would sit still.

I am still trying to heal her ache
And hold her lonely
While we are spilling into each other
Flooding the back seat of my car
Swallowing hearts

But I have never felt more at home
Like (hard),
has always meant (love).
Like (love),
Ain't ever been (easy).

and she is peeling back her skin for me
as I tell her,

I have (always) been naked.