Our story bleeds from my eyes until I cannot tell the stars from streetlights.
STEPHANIE BRIAROur story bleeds from my eyes until I cannot tell the stars from streetlights.
STEPHANIE BRIARLast night, I sent you home with a kiss and a promise. I hope you still believe in roses.
STEPHANIE BRIARTo the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.
STEPHANIE BRIARIf we are what we love, Then I am whatever you are made of.
STEPHANIE BRIARWe weren’t written in the stars; all that glitters wasn’t ours.
STEPHANIE BRIAROur memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.
STEPHANIE BRIARAs if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.
STEPHANIE BRIARYou could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.
STEPHANIE BRIARHe’ll keep some daying and tommorwing until he has no tomorrows left. I don’t choose that.
STEPHANIE BRIARThe search for external sources is nothing compared to internal forces.
STEPHANIE BRIAR“Ashes”, we once thought, but the embers in our eyes might have bought us time.
STEPHANIE BRIARTrauma has deep roots indeed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pull the weeds.
STEPHANIE BRIARYou are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.
STEPHANIE BRIARPoetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
STEPHANIE BRIARSome days, my mind will still be in prison, but I will live in spite of it. I unlearn how to swim; I trade my gills for lungs and wings.
STEPHANIE BRIARDo I look as good as I remember, Looking back at you from over my shoulder, smug as the devil?
STEPHANIE BRIAR