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Ugly Ear

The wiggly flesh with a waxed hole. Two—trapping the skull. Cotton stuffed inside to paralyzes their only function—to hear.
How not attractive your features; how valuable your role.
Copyright 2017
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In case of a fire, do not use the elevator.
In case of rejection, don't run to your father.
In case of being lost, don't go somewhere you can be found.
In case you lie, don't steal.
In case you need a remedy, don't believe.
There is news coverage in America that Jesus calls propaganda.
Don't follow me.

An Adulteress's Dream

I have a lullaby for an adulteress.
Rest your head, but not next to your husband.
Close your eyes and imagine yourself under different sheets.
Listen to comforting music while you contemplate your sin.
Remember your mother's breast as she whispered you to sleep.
And hold onto your pillow while you avoid an accusation from a stone.


Copyright 2017 Tamara Peachy
I am naut pregnant.
I just have an extended belly from late night popcorn, chewed all alone.
I am not having a baby.
I just look like I carried a burden for nine months.
I am not seeking out a midwife because I don't want to know about pain.
I am not taking prenatals because I just have an empty uterus that bleeds randomly.
I am not dating because I understand responsibility.

I Can't

Copyright 2017
I was not made to save the black man.
I was not old enough to save the Indian.
I can't break down a wall, guarded by intensity, so the Mexicans are no more.
I can't let Syrian refugees into my country because such fighters would get bored.
I can't stand up for the Irish because I don't drink.
I can't heal the sick because we are all going to die.
I am a free American, and I can even lie.

Only Hope

There is only hope in this,
no mistake.
This foundation is sure.
There is only hope in this.
Every promise true,
all glory revealed.
If we wait longer, the same end will come.
There is only hope in this.

I Will

I will His pleasure be.
The luscious holiness of His gaze will silence my armies.
My cruel boredom and apathy will fall asleep, 
waking pleasantly as a lifted voice
of desire for wholeness.
I will His pleasure be.
Crawling out of the mud
to dress in royal white as a bridal song.
Leaving everything that had me bound
to carry His weight till His kingdom more fully come.


The swirl of the cutting knife...
the slash of the open wound...
heals in body and in soul.
The day I look toward
comes sooner than the pain.
If I remember to lift my face above the beam
of flooding water.
Will this day be always as beautiful
or will another slice bring me to bleed?
It matters not now.
It matters that today
is a good day,
not a death.