Hello, and welcome to "An Argument for Angels", the place where I will stash my poetry for 2026's Na/GloPoWriMo 2026. One poem per day, all April! Let's do this thing. Most recent poems will be at the top ♥
Tuesday, March 6, 2001
April 11
it wasn't all about you. so little of it was.
you were not the sun in my skies, you weren't even the north star
you were a black hole that ate and ate and ate until you grew bored with my matter,
and figured you had to be a good girl and put on the righteous hat.
I meanwhile, was the thing you could kick when someone kicked you.
it could have been about you, maybe,
if I could have gotten a breath in around your ego.
it was admiration that turned to dust,
and still is just that, dust.
not in the wind. no winds blow through purgatory.
it sits and stains like blood on lace.
it wasn't about you. it was about other things.
other reasons to reach and rage and scream.
other reasons to try and crawl out of the underworld,
while the harpies screamed so loud that the gaslights flickered,
and I was cowed into thinking, "maybe I deserve hell, anyway."
now I spend hours on end reading old dead words that make me bleed inside.
it wasn't about me. or you. it was just another Tuesday.
a complex form of self-injury
April 10
i've no inner child.
just an inner teenager
bent double sobbing.
screaming for someone to see
the bruises the good girls cause
"does not play well with other children"
April 9
I despise, hate them:
I loathe my fellow poets.
I know I shouldn't.
But I do. I can't stand it:
shower thoughts and a scribble?
I open my veins,
I bleed upon the keyboard
only to be told:
it's too much. it's not enough.
it's not Instagram-friendly.
Iruel and exorcism
April 8
there is still so much.
so much darkness, so much blood,
so much left to HATE--
I believed it, like a fool
everyone else laughed, offstage
here's another truth:
there is no Angel of Fear.
or at least, not one:
all angels are made fearsome.
the only one not was mine.
down down down (bad timing)
April 7
as swift as it blooms,
the blossom falls to the ground;
one more dead flower.
don't be fooled by the poppies:
they too are ephemeral.
unfurling
April 6
जय श्रीकृष्ण -- I am happily conquered by your love.
an arrow of honey and roses, shot through my heart
sudden, uninvited, but so very welcome
petals unfurling across an endless universe
possibility dancing upon the notes of a flute
peace given, because I am human -- I am worthy.
leaning back into a sunbeam of love
cradled in the palms of dearest laughter
all worry fades like smoke upon a playful breeze
love bringing madness and with it a freedom
a love so startling, so sudden, so always there
I peer shyly past the golden door, heart and face aflame
reaching for the hand that was my mirror and strength
and the question, the gloried question that rings upon the air
"when will you sing out again, songbird?"
temporary error
April 5
disconnected hum,
reaching out towards the server
made apathetic
let me redial, try again
eventually: connection.
Pain Poem
April 4
they ask, "where are they?
the words, the poems you promised!
you said you'd make them!"
try looking beneath the ache;
they'll be by the painkillers.
God Heals
April 3
I excised you from me;
wings and all.
I ripped us apart in decadent twists of pain,
sinew tearing from sinew, the gentle snap of a hollow bone,
the low pained call, trembling like distant thunder
of a storm to tired to hit --
the weary anguish of an angel.
I removed you from my soul,
glass shard by glass shard,
paring the skin on my fingers, made rosy with life,
as I built you back up into something broken along the edges,
slivers of crystal as facets on the diamond of your soul,
fed you my blood instead.
at some point,
your heart beat,
and my heart beat,
together,
wholly separate.
your lips formed with words, your tongue
a song sung in registers so high
only the holy
or the absolute beginners
would be able to hear it:
"ruin us. split us. break us.
let us become two from one."
your ichor and my blood,
your zephyr and my breath,
the cloud of your body and my clump of earth,
forever sundered, and made better than one.
I set you free on new wings.
You bid me dive into clearer waters.
We pull apart, and come together again, and again,
a two-part symphony of the angelic and the beloved child,
and our shared reward for choosing as we did:
"There never was an Angel of Chaos.
Don't be afraid anymore."
PEM Poem
April 2
(in case you're wondering)
in another life
I'd have a reason for it.
a late night. a drink.
the fact of the matter is
I just stood up and sat down.
in another world
I'd have a cure for the thing.
some pill, some potion.
right now, all I have is sleep:
two hours of, plagued with nightmares.
another body
would find this reaction wild,
extreme, dramatic.
but this body knows it well,
how excess looks so normal.
there are no blessings.
no quiet upsides to this.
nothing you can sell.
just a wide ache, feverlike,
and turning over in bed.
do not even try--
do not start with me on this.
sail it up your arse:
wellness, mindfulness, yoga
kindly fuck off. let me nap.
I will be sweeter
kinder, tolerant, and awake
maybe tomorrow
for now, there's only malaise
and the facts: ME just sucks.
Clockwork Liminality Cycle
April 1
all of these are both linked and separate...and tanka form.
seeking grace. searching
in hidden places for dreams
too old to recall.
a personal history
as fragile as antique lace.
...
the sun was setting.
the angels folded their wings,
so we closed our eyes.
the risen and the fallen,
all faded from time and space.
...
I felt it back then:
how the lifestream flowed through us,
how our magic danced.
if I knew how it would end,
I would have faded quicker.
...
back then, there were wings
elements, magic, fear, hopes
belonging somewhere.
I crave it and I mourn it;
and I know...we can't go back.
...
resplendant in blue
sky-tinted waves of satin
settling against you.
at the time, I loved you so
in memories, I still do.
...
do you think of me?
or was my memory lost
when my part was played?
do you look back and miss me?
the doll returned to the shelf.