BLOODMILK
Spidersilk forms as you exhale,
words woven to invoke
as you levitate through
this plane,
effortless.
Feral female energy pours
from the core of your breast;
bloodmilk spills abundantly
careless
and vital.
You resurrect barren lands,
your eyes feed. Your smile satiates.
Thunder strikes, crowds throw
shade, you make lemonade
(sage and spirit personified
like grateful dead)
You spoke and the smoke
rose,
vultures kneel
at your very presence.
GHOSTLY GARDEN
I had my cards read the other day.
“I sense you have been quieting
your senses longer than
anticipated.
Oracles &
Tarot decks
contemplated
futures worth
fighting for.”
Crystal gazing
jade jeweled eyes
sent silky moonbeam signals
through misty cool night dew;
her words stayed with you
like a fortune cookie
you kept for good luck.
– Hide in between chrysalis
and metamorph through
catharsis –
“Sunken sun
in juxtaposition to your
dreams.
Every night you
scribbled them in
bathroom stalls
hoping you’d inspire
a drunken
stranger.”
Fell asleep
amid the flowers
after hours of
self reflection
and tangled thoughts
(lavender tears
trickled down
my rosy cheeks)
each droplet a
death of me,
watering the
ground
beneath.
I could make art
out of my
little failures,
pluck them like
rose petals.
(Forget me, forget me not)
intertwined ivy through
rhymes and phrases.
In the garden of deep rooted issues
we grow through phases.
***
Avalon Graves is a 27 year old Miami native, who writes taboo poetry for the open mind and reckless heart. She’s currently majoring in Creative Writing, and working as a behavioral therapist for children with autism. Miss Graves is a fan of matcha green tea, trail blazing, and watching cult classics on rainy afternoons. You can usually find her making collage art with an old record playing in the background, usually Bob Dylan, or Joni Mitchell.
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