My joy

Turns to ash

On your lips

Fingertips

Grey from

Your licking them

With my heart

In your mouth.

Today's the day 

I take the things

I didn't want from you

(Cold and shimmering

In the sun)

Swallow them down

Feel the chill

Bloat inside of me

(Hard round marbles

Left to freeze)

I hope to blush green

And fresh 

Beneath the dew of you

(Turning blueish in the light

As only water can do) 

Instead of letting who I am

Break under weight

Of being unwanted too.

(Cold as ice under

A winters sun)

I want for this to

Grow to become

As solid as

The roots between 

He and I,

To have those ties grow into

Ours and

To create a harmony

The way I sense

You water him

Beyond what has been there before. 

Call me Ariel
But I'm no Disney princess
for all my earnest hopes
of something better
for all the painful
steps I've taken out
the green depths
These fins are crafted
more by Anderson.

Non-Poem Poetry update

I just wanted to let those reading this- and I know there aren't too many of you- know that I had a previously unpublished poem, SEEP, published in Barking Sycamores.

Barking Sycamores is a poetry journal founded by Nicole Nicholson. Barking Sycamores publishes poetry (and art) by neurodivergent writers. They use a broad definition of neurodivergent, inclusive of not only autistic writers but also those who would get a dx of ADHD, Bipolar, Synesthesia, and so on. If you aren't sure if you or your dx qualify, they are quite friendly and I'm sure that they would be willing to answer you. Barking Sycamores contact information is found here.

Nicole's own work you can check out under Ravenswing Poetry. I highly rec it- I'm especially thrilled about her ongoing Sci Fi series Digital Purgatory featuring the (without giving away spoilers) neurodivergent WoC Aanteekwa.

The submissions for Barking Sycamores' second issue are currently open until 6/30/14.

You can read all the poems in Barking Sycamores issue one here.

You can read my poem, SEEP, here.

I want to sit in the shade
of you, fingers dangling
and echoing Fall Out Boy
lyrics into the folds of skirts
foot twitching to stroke the
almost perfect grass in the
long stretch of summer afternoons
and hopeful twinings of hair
grown long in an echo of
restricted childhood framed
by long corridors and
hospital smells fading into
choirs singing hallelujah
 as we left them behind.