This is just gonna be a collection of poems of mine that I really like!!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Her Yellow Gloves”<\/p>\n
Her Yellow Gloves<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n All over America women are washing dishes.<\/span><\/p>\n It’s scrubbing and rubbing; it’s Dawn soap<\/span><\/p>\n On subdued yellow gloves; it’s cracks in plates;<\/span><\/p>\n broken glass in the sink; it’s blood and bruises<\/span><\/p>\n and never knowing what’s to come.<\/span><\/p>\n All over America women are washing<\/span><\/p>\n dishes that they’re supposed to save for when<\/span><\/p>\n He wants people over.<\/span><\/p>\n Blues and purples splinter across her arm,<\/span><\/p>\n shaped by strong hands that once held her close,<\/span><\/p>\n hidden by the sleeves on her dress,<\/span><\/p>\n flared at the waist and the color of His eyes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s broken vases and bleeding noses.<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s his knuckles, bloody and bruised\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n and her eyes, black and busted.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n All over America, women are washing dishes,<\/span><\/p>\n their fingers pruning with the constant submersion<\/span><\/p>\n like a housewife under the pressure of perfectionism.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n If she wants to wash anything, it’s\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n the feeling of her husband off her skin.<\/span><\/p>\n If she wants to dry anything, it\u2019s<\/span><\/p>\n the tears on her cheek when he leaves again<\/span><\/p>\n for a hussy.<\/span><\/p>\n Her life is rung out and dried,<\/span><\/p>\n nothing but debris at the bottom of the overused sponge.<\/span><\/p>\n Look, she says, once I was fine porcelain<\/span><\/p>\n saved for special occasions and treasured beyond measure\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n but now I am Tupperware.<\/span><\/p>\n I am overworked and underappreciated.<\/span><\/p>\n Washing is not a choice, but a necessity.\u00a0 <\/span><\/p>\n “What Does She Look Like?”<\/p>\n She stares blankly at me as I assess her.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n There is a white glow behind her.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She resembles an angel.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Parted down the middle, the shiny, black smudge atop her head<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Glistens with the thoughts she hides behind her cold,\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0ash colored eyes.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0She resembles Hades.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her eyelashes are short, visible, and powerful.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Without blinking, she bats away all competitors.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She challenges me.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She stares at me with clean contempt.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her eyebrows arch oddly, the proportions off<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n But still beautifully assymetrical.\u00a0 Her nose runs down<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0her face in a short, bulbous fashion.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She resembles her mother.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her high cheekbones, swaddled in skin of blacks, whites, and browns,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0fade away from her nostrils is a smooth<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Almost flawless motion.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her lips are small, but not pursed.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n They are as blank as her stare.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She resembles her father.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her face goes downwards into a soft roll,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The sides gently curving into the formation of a chin.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her hair reaches down her back, cascading in long spirals.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Her neck is partially covered by her hair.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The part that does show is smooth,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0Kinda like marble,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n And it resembles the complexion of her people.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The Collar.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n It’s a folded collar, like the one I wore in<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Elementary School.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The shirt itself is a mirage of greys, each one slightly different.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She stares blankly at me as I assess her.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n She is suspended in space,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Frozen in time, sentenced to never<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Speak a word again.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Yet, she seems to speak to me,<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n As clear as black and white.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n “My Head”<\/p>\n 1, 2.<\/span><\/p>\n Blink Blink.<\/span><\/p>\n I wake up and count my breaths.<\/span><\/p>\n 1,2.<\/span><\/p>\n 1,2.<\/span><\/p>\n Good.<\/span><\/p>\n Blink Blink.<\/span><\/p>\n Okay.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Get dressed.<\/span><\/p>\n Okay.<\/span><\/p>\n Shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n No no no.<\/span><\/p>\n Pants before shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n I start over.<\/span><\/p>\n Pants.<\/span><\/p>\n Shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Good.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Vest.<\/span><\/p>\n Coat.<\/span><\/p>\n Pocketwatch?<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve got it.<\/span><\/p>\n I get my gloves.<\/span><\/p>\n 1,2.<\/span><\/p>\n Perfect.<\/span><\/p>\n Okay.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Time to leave.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n What time is it?<\/span><\/p>\n 4:15<\/span><\/p>\n Oh my god.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m late. I\u2019m late.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I run. Right then<\/span><\/p>\n Left. Right<\/span><\/p>\n Then left.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The queen\u2019s gonna<\/span><\/p>\n Have my head.<\/span><\/p>\n My head.<\/span><\/p>\n Have my head.<\/span><\/p>\n She\u2019ll kill me.<\/span><\/p>\n Mary Ann.<\/span><\/p>\n