A Northwestern Family

One day, you will be all mine.

We will live beneath the trees and above the moss.

Our legs will feel light as we trudge over rocks & waterfalls.

The rain will be your love & the mountains your muse.

We will walk along the strings of higher education

& run with the forested roads.

The city will light up in Big Pink, & purple lights.

The town's people will forever love Voodoo & a Rocky sort of Horror.

I could not imagine your tiny hands growing,

any place other than where mine grew.

I know you will love the light air & chilled mornings.

The snowy holidays & brisk summers.

We will live in a brick built home

surrounded by evergreen trees.

Cool outside, but we sit cozy.

Warmed by the vibrant fire.

I will love him,

he will love me,

& we will love you my darlings

in a Northwestern home.

The Girl Who Reads Slam Poetry

I never chose to be what I am,

some woman of poetry;

a victim of slam?
& never meant I,

to take this road,

.

.

.

down.

But fate led me.

My parents wrote the diary:

Yes, they who,

laid hands...

Just to escape the world's way,

their day to day.

&

It kinda grows on you,

the way the world disapproves

of, a slammed down, me,

except in poetry...

& I never asked for this,

unenlightened sense,

of

only me.

The Girl Who Reads Slam Poetry.