Submissions by addyallred
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm an (almost) recent graduate and I love doing performance poetry and spoken word. I love talking about my Latina/Mixed identity and injustice.
SELF POEM
Published
28th Mar 2016 00:54am
28th Mar 2016 00:54am
Love Notes to a Panic Attack
My heartbeat comes in threes,
And in between
bearing witness to
broken promises and foot and mouth
I could waltz with you forever
In a hall of funhouse mirrors
distorted glass tangling our hands
in a silvery mass
reflection as delicate as dried flowers
because I have forgotten how to thirst
(snap three times)
One two three
One. breathe in
Two, Breathe out
Three, a space to remember
all doubt
every yearbook picture, starry night and stale mate
I can remember the blue turtleneck in fourth grade...
And in between
bearing witness to
broken promises and foot and mouth
I could waltz with you forever
In a hall of funhouse mirrors
distorted glass tangling our hands
in a silvery mass
reflection as delicate as dried flowers
because I have forgotten how to thirst
(snap three times)
One two three
One. breathe in
Two, Breathe out
Three, a space to remember
all doubt
every yearbook picture, starry night and stale mate
I can remember the blue turtleneck in fourth grade...
1070 reads
3 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
21st Mar 2016 7:06pm
21st Mar 2016 7:06pm
Evy and Ari
Evy waited on the front steps, itching the little hairs on the back of her neck. She liked how they grew in so pointy. She imagined that her hair would stick straight up like trees reaching for the sky, anywhere to get sunlight. In a year, she’d have a canopy of shade, where monkeys could swing from her branches and birds would thank her everyday for their paradise. Ari always said her hair could have been a nest; it would have been a perfect nest. “Hair grows,” Evy thought. She heard the buzz of a bike chain and looked up, catching Ari pulling up to the stoop.
“My backpack...
“My backpack...
757 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th Mar 2016 6:27pm
16th Mar 2016 6:27pm
Bullseye: When a White Girl Steps on Your Foot
It’s incredibly jolting
to remember yoru context
between braided steps in a packed room
Eleven PM
Three drinks in
and while the floor shook
I convinced my feet to move faster
smooth guitar and djembe carving out
bachata and merengue
it was these moments
where I felt beautiful
A shooting star rather
than a moving target
But maybe the lights
weren’t bright enough
because when I looked towards the stage
trying to engage the army of musicians
who somehow minded my heartbeat—
I only saw the...
to remember yoru context
between braided steps in a packed room
Eleven PM
Three drinks in
and while the floor shook
I convinced my feet to move faster
smooth guitar and djembe carving out
bachata and merengue
it was these moments
where I felt beautiful
A shooting star rather
than a moving target
But maybe the lights
weren’t bright enough
because when I looked towards the stage
trying to engage the army of musicians
who somehow minded my heartbeat—
I only saw the...
1104 reads
10 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
11th Mar 2016 12:48pm
11th Mar 2016 12:48pm
His glancing stream, his crystal girl
His glancing stream, his crystal girl
Her clothes smells like the dust coming off a sixteen-wheeler, making a two-day trip to Lubbock. Her hands are dry and stiff from clenching her bag on the bus all night. She’s going home, like she was supposed too. She didn’t bother to comb her hair that morning because she knew that she was going to get off the bus, and her father would frown, put his arms around her, and drive her away. The silence on the car ride depended on her disheveled appearance. She clenches the bag tighter.
She has two voicemails.
“Hola mi’ja,...
Her clothes smells like the dust coming off a sixteen-wheeler, making a two-day trip to Lubbock. Her hands are dry and stiff from clenching her bag on the bus all night. She’s going home, like she was supposed too. She didn’t bother to comb her hair that morning because she knew that she was going to get off the bus, and her father would frown, put his arms around her, and drive her away. The silence on the car ride depended on her disheveled appearance. She clenches the bag tighter.
She has two voicemails.
“Hola mi’ja,...
785 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Mar 2016 3:29am
11th Mar 2016 3:29am
Bullets
A bullet doesn’t have a name on it
but a shutter snap has a thousand voices,
they break off at the edge of a
Frame, curling around the silhouettes
of onlookers. The words aren’t written in
white chalk, but written nonetheless.
A bullet does not have a name on it.
But a shutter snap has a story.
Trails of smoke encase the 3faces
They run through the trails and compress in
Lungs, like constant shock,
And the shutter snaps
Again, and again
Asking us for a little more aggression
Begging for just the right angle...
but a shutter snap has a thousand voices,
they break off at the edge of a
Frame, curling around the silhouettes
of onlookers. The words aren’t written in
white chalk, but written nonetheless.
A bullet does not have a name on it.
But a shutter snap has a story.
Trails of smoke encase the 3faces
They run through the trails and compress in
Lungs, like constant shock,
And the shutter snaps
Again, and again
Asking us for a little more aggression
Begging for just the right angle...
535 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Mar 2016 3:24am
11th Mar 2016 3:24am
Atomically Correct- A tribute to women in science
Eleven women sought refuge
In Uranium piles,
Thermodynamic properties
and non-porous porcellin
staying silent in the back of laboratories
their stories littered
with over compensation
for a nation that equate them
with just a pretty face
a set of hands for riveting—
boys off to another shore for a
war worth fighting
and so here’s your chance to barter
to join the ranks
and be called to action
to blister and bruise for the nation
you choose to stand with
a nation that still stunts you, hunts you
Like lady liberty...
In Uranium piles,
Thermodynamic properties
and non-porous porcellin
staying silent in the back of laboratories
their stories littered
with over compensation
for a nation that equate them
with just a pretty face
a set of hands for riveting—
boys off to another shore for a
war worth fighting
and so here’s your chance to barter
to join the ranks
and be called to action
to blister and bruise for the nation
you choose to stand with
a nation that still stunts you, hunts you
Like lady liberty...
898 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
9th Mar 2016 6:13pm
9th Mar 2016 6:13pm
LaRaza
La Raza
My mother always told me coffee would stunt my growth
But it didn’t phase me, you see
I wanted to grow into her, her easy shoulders
her calloused—yet delicate—hands
But most off all, her smell,
Can you see it now, embracing a person
atoms dancing between you
between you and the mystic magic
that hides between each heartbeat of another human being.
But the first thing I notice is the smell,
and she smells like
coffee
sonorous and sweet,
sunken into the air,
And my mother would hold her cup
and as...
My mother always told me coffee would stunt my growth
But it didn’t phase me, you see
I wanted to grow into her, her easy shoulders
her calloused—yet delicate—hands
But most off all, her smell,
Can you see it now, embracing a person
atoms dancing between you
between you and the mystic magic
that hides between each heartbeat of another human being.
But the first thing I notice is the smell,
and she smells like
coffee
sonorous and sweet,
sunken into the air,
And my mother would hold her cup
and as...
1090 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by addyallred
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