Just give me a candy heart.

Her armor is thin.

She knows how this ends: the delicate ones bend.

Oh God, thicken her skin when its arrows they send.

She’s boarding up the door.

She knows how this ends: trusting and expecting unearths the worst.

Oh God, hold the lock and key when no other is of worth.

She’s digging in the dirt.

She knows how this ends: with filthy, empty hands.

Oh God, reap before she sows in what will not grow.

It’s a struggle you know.

To hope in what you cannot see,

Through armor, though thin.

From behind a door boarded in.

Covered in dirt caked like sin.

Oh Love, if you agree,

Let no doubt intervene.

You know who holds the key.

And may you spend your days under each other’s white flags,

Holding dirty hands.

Love,

Taylor

Longing pt. 1

I long to share and break bread.

For rectangular tables with rows of strangers-turned-friends.

To hear the sound of forks scraping on plates and inebriated laughter hovering in the air.

For the day’s worries to dim like the light and for hearts to fill alongside bellies.

I long to love and be led.

For legs intertwined in sheets, a place where sacred and stupid meet.

For steady hands that pull and careful feet that pursue.

To grow, to root, to sink, but to always keep our wings.

I long to be with, not for.

To stand in the right place, not take the right stand.

For the call that elicits response to touch and see.

To share cries, stories, prayers, meals, beds, families.

I long for simplicity, nothing more.

For rhythm and ritual that satisfies and sustains.

For garden sprinklers to run through and a swing on the porch.

For a tiny dwelling that collects memories and not things.

Love,

Taylor

Record

The day was so full of words that carried weight.

That dripped like that candle wax, hot and slow.

That lingered like those billows of incense, permeating and veiling.

Reminders that finite is a description of life. Of time.

Sentences strung together on a broken record we play to remember the infinite.

Round and round, it goes. 

The day was so full of glimpses that stung.

Gazes all too revealing

That what I know and what I do not know are now perhaps equal in measure.

Searching for love

That only I am capable of giving, myself.

Where it stops, no body knows. 

National Poetry Day

My morning pages are kind of sprinkled with poems. Well, I think they’re poems. I won’t claim to know anything about poetry. But I signed up for a membership and a workshop at the Scottish Poetry Library this week. Because why the hell not?!

Today is National Poetry Day in the UK. Therefore, it would only be appropriate to share one. I wrote this on Referendum Day. It was my own personal declaration of ‘Yes’…

Say yes-

To fear.

Say yes-

To lonliness. Table for one. Twin size bed. Tiny quiet spaces. Tired thoughts. Hold your own heart.

Say yes-

To risk. Travel solo. Harness the unfamiliarity. Get lost. Trust your intuition. Open your eyes.

Say yes-

To deep cries. Wash your face in saltwater. Heave out the old. Breathe in the new. Keep your chin up.

Say yes-

To forgiveness. Fail. Let go. Give up. Unclench your fists.

Say yes-

To freedom.

Love,

Taylor

Juvie Jamz

It’s time for another Juvie Jam.

Untitled

When I was a boy I was raised in the trap

Never wanted a toy unless it resembled a gat

Me and my little brother was skinny ‘cuz we were barely eatin’

We got our water from a neighbor’s pipe that was leakin’

Mama stayed in her room ‘cuz she was always tweakin’

Daddy was in prison, they didn’t free him

I used to see my Grandma every other weekend

Not anymore because she has trouble breathin’

I think my family just needed help

By the time I was 9 I had to fend for myself

That same year I started bangin’, I found another family

They taught me loyalty and respect

They understand me

They taught me love, they taught me care

They taught me to never snitch and to that I solemnly swear

While other kids had books and backpacks

I had hooks and crack bags

I have no feelings to feel

Just worried about a ceiling and meals

Every night I walk into a cloud of meth smoke

Every night I lay on my bed and ask myself is life and death a joke?

-C

Also. THIS. Those budding artists, let me tell ya…

 

Love,
Taylor

 

Juvie Jamz

Every week at work we go into the juvenile detention center and do a one hour art or writing workshop with youth there. It’s a great way to briefly spare them from boredom and recruit kids that are interested in participating in our programs once they’re out of detention. Sometimes it’s fantastic. The kids are engaged and happy to be there. Other weeks feel like disasters. The past couple weeks we’ve been expanding on the idea of home. We’ve encouraged them to come up with similes and metaphors for home. To think about what home is or where home is. To explore unique ways of describing where they come from. For one person it’s grandma’s house. For another it’s the basketball court. Or Chester’s Chicken. Or the neighborhood park. Or Liberia. After hearing/reading what emerged, it felt good to know that everyone could at least think of some place or someone that felt like home, even if the connotations weren’t great. On the other hand, my heart still sank into my gut. It’s hard to wrap my head around these homes I’ve never entered. But I think what they write exposes a lot. I learn a lot about them and where their heads are at without having to outright ask them and without them having to outright tell me. There’s this strange paradox I see of kids having to grow up way too fast, but never actually growing up. I’m not sure if that came out right or makes sense. Anyway…here’s an example (from a kid who wouldn’t perform his rap in front of me because he said my ears were too precious):

I come from a broken home, shattered dreams and stained mildew floors

Crawling around on all fours in my drawers

My dad always high like my ambitions to grow and survive

I went from not knowing when I’d eat to having so much, I’d throw away half my plate

I went from a rental property to a place I’d learn to call home

My dad smoked so much meth, he done lost his dome

But my mom, cold as stone, took me away and said he’d have to live on his own

Not always the best, my whole life’s been a test

I’d have to learn a lot of things on my own because my dad left me

On Father’s Day I used to cry

I’d wish death upon my dad in my own eyes

Through all the deception, all the lies, he left a son who would have to find his own will to strive and survive