Posted in My Poetry

A poem for you

Is it bad
I don’t care about your kids?
Your kids are whisps of air to me
While you are the ice.
The ice that heals wounds.
Don’t you remember?
I’ve never known yours kids, but you I knew.
For 12 years we wrestled and hid in the dark.
Teaching me to survive,
You protected me.
You loved me when I was just a child.
And now I see that child in you.
The way you vent to me
Tells me your heart is searching.
Searching for the missing pieces.
And I think I’m one of them.
And you’re one of mine.
Sometimes I wish you cared for yourself
Half as much as you care for them.
The demons.
You let them pitch tents in your mind
Cook fires over your heart
And eat at your soul.
You know nothing of your worth!
But I do.
I bleed with your pain
And it makes me sick
That you think you only see it drip.
We all see the blood, brother.
It’s pooling on the ground
And every step you take leaves a trail.
You can’t keep running from this.
You have to ask for help.
Because if it were me
You’d have already cauterized the artery.

Posted in My Poetry

Dear Diane

I feel aligned with you.
I see me
In you.
When I first met you,
I knew.
I could feel your energy too.
The perfectionism, pride and potential
were swimming around you.

Me and you.
You and me.
We’re bonded.
Don’t you see?

Our past pain
Has brought us together
In hopes
that one day
We’d find to be,
What I would consider,
The key.
For your forgiveness of your trauma has unlocked the mystery.

Posted in My Poetry

Cat calling

The horns would honk

The whistles would blow

And the men would stare.

It started when I was fourteen

Walking down the street

in Sacramento.

I felt the attention.

Part of me liked it,

I’m not gonna lie.

But then part of me also felt scared

I was being sexualized and I didn’t even know what that meant.

But it kept happening.

I’d walk

And they’d drive by.

For years this went on

When I was a kid.

It was weird

But it became normal.

And now as a grown adult,

It stopped.

Which some would say, thank god.

But in my fucked up head

I’ve been conditioned to think

“Am I not beautiful anymore?”

Whick makes me wonder

How any woman survives puberty

Unblemished

When they’re taught as children

That only their looks are worth attention.

Instagram : @harleyray.blog

Posted in My Poetry

Tears

Tears

I hear

They run

Not walk.

Is

Running

More

Exciting?

Why do they run down your face

Instead of glide

Swim

Jump

Skip?

Are we to assume they are not

Playful?

Or are we to assume they aren’t able?

What if they only could crawl?

Would that not be worth it all?

So let them crawl, glide, swim, jump, skip.

Describe them with intention.

Don’t assume they need tension.

Posted in My Poetry

Natural rebellion

I have a natural rebellion
To the status quo
People say,
You can’t redesign the wheel,
But I care to try.
Im inspired by outsiders.
Women with hair.
Men with makeup.
And everyone
Undefined.
I love this new renaissance period
We seem to be exploring.
Everything feels
Up for debate
And I’m game.
Let’s start asking
The tough questions.
And let’s have fun
Along the way.
For life is meant
For curiosity.
Without it,
Who are we?

Posted in My Poetry

Morning giggles

I see words like morsels

Little nibble nibbles

I taste their colors

Their exotic tendencies

They try to play coy with me

Because they know I can’t resist

But what can I say?

I’m a hungry writer looking for her next bite.

Because momma’s gotta eat.