K.Y. Robinson

i can’t pinpoint
the moment
we decided to stay
in the sun too long
and made raisins
of ourselves.
we sucked the juice
out of ourselves
and withered
on the vine
called life.

men who were old enough
to be our fathers
waited for our ripe bodies
to fall from our mothers’ trees
as if they were entitled to
our fruit.

i feel like something
is broken inside of me like:
shattered glass,
cracked eggs
on the kitchen floor,
brittle twigs
in the dead of winter,
and shards of a mirror
that said i would never be
the fairest of them all.

manic depression

one moment life
is more pigmented
than technicolor.
glitter flows
through my veins
and the stars
in my eyes dilate

and burst
into delusions.

minutes, hours,
or days later,
shades of blue and black
surround me like smoke.
the glitter morphs
into shards of glass
and taunts every
breath that i take.

women like me

we are the abandoned houses
of the world—
stripped of our humanity,
femininity, and autonomy.

rocks are thrown
at the windows of our souls.
we’re expected to stand stoically
and dare not flinch.

our magic is considered
anything but soft.
it is neck rolling,
finger snapping,
and has teeth.

we aren’t the doe-eyed
saving kind.
we are supposed to gather
our wounds in silence,
disinfect them, and heal
all on our own.

dear future lover

teach me how to love without running with my eyes shut.

teach me how to love without filling hollow heartsuntil i’ve become a shell of myself.

teach me how to love without becoming a land mine on the inside.teach me that loveis not warbut peacetime in your eyes.

your starred eyesare tenants in constellations.even the moon swellswhenever you’re near.

you are all the makingsof love at first sight.