Tree in Me

For all the strangers who know me better than me.

I am not your enemy,

I just really want to be;

‘Cause what you do to me

With your energy’s taking all my empathy

Away from me; I’m tired of sympathy,

Tired of living here quite so judgmentally,

Immobile— In shadows of monoliths—

Undermined by doubts & absolute certainty

Biding time on burning grounds, yearning

To grow like a tree in toxicity, processing life to be,

From recycled trash left on my roots,

Passed by bodies unknowing, uncaring,

Who really say more about themselves

In the garbage they leave about trees

Than any of us, who stand and bear fruit;

Truth in spite of spite, in love in spite of hate,

Even as lies and life threaten to cut us down.


A poem written before same-sex marriage was federally legalized in the United States by Obergefell v. Hodges on June 26, 2015.

Happy Pride Month!

“How queer that we’re apart now,

at this final place

of white walls and deal desks

behind which you sit

and say to me, ‘You can’t see her, you’re not family,’

family?   I will show you family

I will show you two in love

In ways which you can never understand

In your petty leather chair

I will show you us.

In an embrace on a sofa

In the final moments of a movie

I will show you happy sighs

I will show you lullabies

What will you show me?

You will show me paperwork

You will show me laws

You will show me meaningless things

You won’t show me love

I will show you knitted scarves

In secretly wrapped boxes

I will show you bedtime books read aloud

In our sweet voices.

I will show you happiness

In sharing a springtime sky

I will show you flowers on countertops

In glass vases and well-loved pots

I would show you all these things

To be


What will you show me? It seems clear..

You will show me the door.

But which door will it be?”

Celebrating Black Poets & Black History Month

That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!

This post is going to be a bit different for my blog. On Twitter this month, I’ve been writing a thread celebrating black poets for Black History Month, honoring a different poem/poet each day of the month.

I’m going to transpose the thread here and publish it to my blog. I hope you enjoy! If anyone would care to, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d also like and retweet anything you enjoy from the thread. Thank you!

In Him

“Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!” Psalm 137:9

Oh look,

A pluckable

Piece of universe!

Let’s take it and run,

Free alas, from unmade beds

Dusty floors, and angry fathers

With belts and mothers with hands

Wringing grime out of dirty glass children

Stained with breaking when they start to run

Shattering, soaking the world with themselves

Waiting to be swept up by lonely and angry men

Drawn back as boys and girls break over and over again

His broom whips and scorns the jagged edges on the dirty ground,

Sweeping them up into wordless voids like dustpans to dirty trash bins

Where we’ll never escape from his garbage, broken pieces of ourselves lost

Poetics Anonymous

New Discord Server / Poetry Club!

Poetics Anonymous is a Discord server created by me for the purpose of celebrating poetry. Starting off, we’re a small, but passionate group of poets and poetry lovers who have come together to share our passion for poetry with one another and the rest of the world.

We write and share our own poetry, celebrate the work of others, work together with daily writing exercises open for anyone to participate in, discuss critical theory and the finer aspects of poetics, and have a great time chatting and uplifting one another’s spirits.

I’d like to invite anyone who follows my blog or happens upon this article to join. If interested, please comment here, DM me on twittter @drawnoutofshape, or email and I will provide you with a link.

All are welcome! You don’t need to be a writer. You don’t need to be a poet. You don’t even need to enjoy poetry! But if you don’t, I have to admit I do hope we will convert you.

Our server’s namesake is an allusion to Alcoholics Anonymous, and following their standard, have designed our own Twelve Step program, which you are welcome to read and enjoy below.

Hope to see you join soon!

Poetics Anonymous Twelve Step Program:

We admitted we were powerless without poetry–that our lives had become unmanageable.

Came to believe that truths greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to listening and understanding.

Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

Submitted to paper, to ourselves and to other human beings our exact nature.

Were entirely ready to transform these defects of character.

Humbly ask others to hear to our shortcomings.

Made a list of poems we read, and became willing to make amends through them all.

Made poetic amends wherever possible, except when to do so would injure ourselves or others.

Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

Sought through metaphor, simile, imagery, meter, assonance, consonance, rhyme, and theme to improve our conscious contact with poems as if we understood them, praying only for knowledge of the author’s will for us and the power to carry that out.

Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to readers and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Here are the 12 traditions:

Our common welfare should come first; personal recovery depends upon poetic unity.

For our group purpose there are two ultimate authorities–- a Listener and a Speaker as we may express ourselves in our group conscience. Our mods are but trusted servants; they do not govern.

The only requirement for PA membership is a desire for poetry.

Each group should be autonomous except in matters affecting other groups or PA as a whole.

Each group has but one primary purpose–to carry its message to the Listener who still suffers.

A PA group ought never endorse, finance, or lend the PA name to any related facility or outside enterprise, lest problems of money, property and prestige divert us from our primary purpose.

Every PA group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions.

Poetics Anonymous should remain forever nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ special workers.

PA, as such, ought never be organized; but we may create message boards or chat rooms to those they serve.

Poetics Anonymous has opinions on outside issues; fuck you.

Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and films.

Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to juxtapose principles with personalities.

Queen of Context

Posted without context.

I’m the Queen of

Context, and this is

My decree:

Context always matters

Deny Us and you’ll be

Denied just like you’ve denied We..

Long live Context;

Long live


I’m the King of

Ye, and I deny

Yer “decree”!

I’m entitled to this

Throne, my dear

Beneath me shall ye be..

Ye matter not, ye’ll be erased and

When I reign, I’ll set the pace

Of the seen and unseen..

With ye removed there’ll only be

The emotional outburst, the rage without


Now listen to Daddy, princess

And be gone from me..

I’ve strings to pull

I’ve people to rule

And fool to add fuel the fyre

I’ll set the world ablaze

As I twist their faith

To doubt fyre succumbs to water



I’ll make haste

For there’s gold to take

And take and take…

They’ll stab each other’s backs!

(As I raise the Smithy’s tax)

Never knowing ’twas I

Who created The Enemy!

They won’t stab mine,

I can guarantee;

Because they’ll never know

How their twisted eyes see

The horrific We who exist without


The Framers

There once was a girl who told no lies.

The truth she told never died.

Let’s put the truth

Into perspective:

There’s no such truth

But the truths

Of lying

With your back turned on the sky,

Eyes fixed firmly

On the dirt before you,

Seeping out

Through the cracked fingers

Of Men selling gold.

The gold key turns,

Out falls the dirt

Brought to Men by God

The Almighty, dropped from above

The universe, sprinkled with snake oil

And flushed down your throat

With the rest of the sewage–

Nourishing no one but the narcissist.

Oh, entitled no one

Awe us with your truth!

Show us your gilded dirt frame

Wrap it up in words, words, words..

Those golden lies that hide the truth

Of everyone’s lies–

Especially mine, the one framing truth

In poetry;

Wrapping it up in lies, lies, lies

Like wax candles, slowly burning

Into a juxtaposed cylinder.

You, the wick waiting

For melted truth

Of burnt lies.