Even in process:
1 - Alexa W, Two Poems
only a girl lays on a bed
pale sheets under
dark hair falling from her face
a flower tucked behind her ear
she doesn’t deserve this just
cause she lays there like she is
every time the words pass through
another mouth it changes
an orange poppy
a pink tulip
but the brush you use to paint her with is the same
backandforth andbackandforth and
around the whole room if you’d let it
painting the rose anything but white
anything else than what it really was-
a flower stuck in your sticky fingers
she just wants her garden back.
What keeps me up at night
are not the ones we are taught to fear.
your eyes are supposed to chase around nothing, either the
slanted rectangles of muted light from your window or
the unknown time on your broken clock,
the paranoid pinpricks in your room.
They’re not the shapeless monster hidden under the bed,
spell-casters or blood-suckers or ghosts
Or cruel laughter down a never ending hallway.
Nightmares are in the real world.
my imagination an unwilling host to the vulgar possibilities.
the real ones jump out at you too
a sudden swandive of your stomach.
People think it is hands
that they multiply and grab and
that is the only warning.
but isn’t it eyes and words, too?
every whistle shoved down the length of your body,
every engine past evening, headlights imprinting the shadow of your silhouette.
the fear materializes and manifests
so freaking real you could trip over it in your sneakers,
but this is real fucking life you don’t trip you keeponwalking.
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