Why can't I go home? This war, someone died. There's blood-- it could just be red and I'm freaking out-- why am I freaking out? Can I come home? Because someone died and I wasn't made for this. I was made for mama's arms and the kitchen during the holidays and well worn sofas and-- … Continue reading You Can’t Go Home
Category: Poetry
Catwoman vs. The Plig Dress
The hanger lied. The leather pants were not my size, and my cheeks ballooned like white mushroom tops above the black waistband, promising, and failing, to make me Catwoman. Nah. I'm a thick calved black pillar to hold up the white marshmellow balloons, so thick the band that won't swallow pushes them up to my … Continue reading Catwoman vs. The Plig Dress
When it Rains
When it rains the slugs come out and eat all my green attempts to be skinny. They need no shells, no fear of claw, for predators hide from the sky when it rains.
We Manage Us
You make me queasy. You make me long to sleep the day away and never leave this quilted, padded hole, where no one can find me. You make me hurt. You make me dream of jamming screw drivers to my broken brain to dig out the part that malfunctions, no matter how necessary, so I … Continue reading We Manage Us
One Day I Won’t Be Tired
One day I'll wake up. In a time when I figure out the perfect blend of drugs, the perfect ritual, the perfect layout of blankets, softness, pose, pillows, position of stars I'll wake up when I mean to and not fall back asleep, and the rest of the day will be open without trace or … Continue reading One Day I Won’t Be Tired
Cats and Colds
Sometimes I like to pretend my cat has feelings for me. Maybe it's because my cranium spouts mucous like the blowhole of a whale, and that, for some reason makes me yearn for feline affection. But colds aren't so bad. At least it isn't getting close and personal to the way God designed your innards … Continue reading Cats and Colds
Tell Me I’m Alive
Tell me I am the amber gold of your fallen leaves, the ones not found and pressed between your pages. Tell me I am the winter fog reminding your lungs that there's such a thing as breathing under water. Tell me I am the green musk of your budding arms reaching to a warming sky; … Continue reading Tell Me I’m Alive
When Did I Stop Believing?
When did I stop believing in myself? Was it when I turned my head away-- it seems for just a moment-- from my main work, the little one who bears my eyes, to write? Was it when I looked away from the page and realized I'm not that far from where I started? Was it … Continue reading When Did I Stop Believing?
To Worship
If He came down to me I would happily call him Lord, my God, because of love, not because of any made up idea of religious fervor. How can I not call Lord the One who made it worth it to suffer as I do? The one who made it so I'm meant for something … Continue reading To Worship
To Stop You
You make me tired. Maybe one day I'll get all you and you to stand still so I can breathe and figure out where my mind is kept. But for now, you are tearing aqua marine, a sky swallowing me, because I can't stop thinking, I can't get the trees to just stop and look at me. … Continue reading To Stop You
Author T.S. Lowe 