drizzle [poem] 

while others play the part
of wild hurricane and torrential downpour
I become only drizzle
they tear apart the world around them
remaking it in their wake
and I just
get things a little wet
my presence passing without fanfare
this would be a depressing truth
if I cared

-poem by Larissa Lee

places called home [poem] 

 
if I don’t remember you
do not think it a purposeful slight
my life has been too full of faces and names
for me to place you at first glance
it makes me feel lost in the middle of speaking
my chest aching as my mind scrambles to find you
to cough up your name
I’ve had a dozen different places called home
crowds of strangers washing over the years and miles
to draw up the outline of familiarity over everything
but nothing’s ever colored in

-poem by Larissa Lee

fix this [poem] 

I could fix this
I could run my shaking hands
over the sharp edges of our brokenness
until my blood glues us back together again
please
let me fix this
let me offer up my everything to
whichever gods we’ve angered with careless words
just please don’t say we can’t fix this
don’t say it’s too late to
sew up this gaping wound between our
bruised and battered hearts
I swear I can fix this
please
I swear I’ll do anything
if you’ll just let me try one more time
please just
let me fix this
please

-poem by Larissa Lee

asteroid [poem] 

he is an asteroid with planetary aspirations
like all he has to do is
get enough people to look up and notice him
and he’ll get to join the solar system’s special line up
like suddenly his tiny ball of dust will matter
swaying star signs into new alignments
like hanging around the cosmic belt
isn’t good enough for him anymore
I think he misses the mark
forgets how many bigger bodies will always exist
in this vast universe
his dim presence forever outshined by brighter lights
and his dark spots
never matching the intense darkness
between the stars themselves

-poem by Larissa Lee

my heart [poem] 

my heart is empty walls with dust outlines
after all the picture frames are packed away
it’s the old socks lost
between the machines at the laundromat
it’s that one drawer
where all the random junk collects
until you start calling it the junk drawer
my heart is the last forgotten potato
covered in eyes after weeks of being left alone
(there’s a metaphor there
about growing even in the dark)
it’s that spot no one else visits
and hiding there when you can’t breathe
it’s the ridiculously hot shower
after standing out in the rain
but it’s also the rain
and the sweat
and the tears
my heart is ocean
full of too much salt
to quench anyone’s thirst

-poem by Larissa Lee

the kind of woman I  married [poem] 

I married the kind of woman
who knows how to put me in my place
that is to say
when I forget myself and
start to act the part of peasant at someone else’s feet
she readjusts my crown and
reminds me that I’m a queen
and yet
if my reign should ever turn sour
leave me a disastrous dictator or
with the false belief that I am anyone’s god
I know she’ll quickly bring me back down to earth
down to my knees if need be
always love the kind of woman
who sees past the masks you wear
the kind of woman who can help you
take them off at night
so you can breathe

-poem by Larissa Lee

the taste of failure [poem]

failure tastes like bad wine
like burnt popcorn
like the worst case of morning breath you’ve ever had
failure tastes like his skin
like sweat and sin and silence
whatever silence tastes like
failure sticks to the tongue
after toothbrush and breath mint and gum
because failure is unavoidable
and reliably persistent