Aja Monet

if ever the gentle deservepresses up against the scarredwindshield of a life you’ve driven throughdon’t press the breaks, just yetthere is always the wind to twist through your curlsthe shiver of firststhe rain storm of new beginnings slowly the weight of tomorrows will come with their new share of forget me notslet them comein due timelet them comeif they will itthey will let you live this over and over…

separate the politicsof America, wherethe soul doneskipped off to?do we call this living or still borndreamland, folksfull of limbo and loss?children born in bloodof fist and fire,where ever the ruthless,the corrupt, the downrightdizzied spirit, protest ones—bring your babies to the river, batheem in starlightwith limitless and ritual.this is how we survivethe unsurvivable,humanity, an outdated wordempathy, an extraterrestrialmake love, aliens make love.

say you wasa body of scars,give me a map.

You can disarm so much tension and hurtwith a smile, the eyesfall soft in dimples.

There will always be a mother the first to hurt the only to heal.She will travel you in veins and all your mannerisms, an ode to her revolt.

When the common good between two people is loss, laughter becomes a strange form of mourning, sounds a lot like crying off tune.I learned about you in fragments. Too busy watching your hands hold me, to notice the way you couldn’t hold yourself. Fixated on the posture of sentences, you said I was your favorite question mark? You first came to me in a dream. I could tell you were coming…

Whereare all the peopleprepared to let us live?