An Approach

My breaths come and go evenly
because I am trying to calm my thundering heart.

My eyes drill deeply into your pores
because I have to commit your face to memory.

My feet tread purposefully
because they are preparing to break into a sprint.

My jutted jaw is held high
because it needs to make you believe I will fight back.

You may regard my smile as a middle finger
because Society has put my hands in mittens.





*Subject: Those darn woman-problems/Response to anyone who has ever said “not all men”










He thinks he loves me.
He is very convinced
the sun rises and sets
on the horizon
of my lips.

And maybe he loves me,
and it’s hard to resist.
But I’d like to think
I know better
than this.

*written in August 2016. Subject: The Photographer