No Poetry

There's this poetry inside me,
Words spinning around,

All this truth looking for a way out
Past the walls I've built -
- from everything we've lied about
From a foundation of fear and doubt

So my pen lies still, the paper is clear
But my mind is not

Because I'm afraid of what's in here
What has been lurking and how much?
What lies have been told, for how long?
Mostly, who have these lies fucked?

There's only so long I can stay
There's only so much I can take

Before this poetry ruptures this page.

Just Ask

When I was a small girl, I sat in my grandmother’s yard with watermelon juice dripping down my chin. Once the juicy pink triangle disappeared, I examined the white colored piece of the rind and took a bite. I worried it might not be good for me, but Mum said it was okay. I continued taking bites until the white section was gone. And even though the rind was bitter, I settled for it with the hope of staying connected to the bright sweetness of the watermelon’s pink flesh.

Dear Small Girl, 

     Please, please just ask for a new slice. 

With Love, 

Lessons Learned.