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Sunday, November 29, 2015

To The Boy I’m Having Sex Dreams About:

After four consecutive nights
of seeing your naked body leaning across my unshaven subconscious
I found a poem grinning between my gums
A poem that is officially too embarrassing to write
The kind of embarrassing that erupts
When you really fucking want someone
When fucking isn’t a dirty enough word for the collision
The burst of our lavender breath
They started as fantasies
We’re in the mall buying lingerie
I ask you if this means we’re together
You do that yes of a laugh
And suddenly I am under you
Suddenly there’s an amber alert for my clothes
Suddenly I’m quaking in your arms
Constellations drying on my neck
You turn my mattress into a notebook
Stain my memories with tar-bled ink

I’ve told 3 friends
Thought: make this a joke
Turn the haunting into B movie gore
Laugh reverb into this jump cut

But this is not raw desire
Ok it’s pretty raw desire
But not Rocky punching steaks in the freezer raw desire
Like ahai tuna with a side of couscous please hold me until you’ve consumed my breath desire
But not like trendy
Like healthy
Like you are the first guy to meet me past moonlight
And photograph the sunlight in my smile
You mention everything I say
Somehow staples me down
You whisper
Not every sentence has to be my hanging
My autobiography looks a lot like a stabbing
But baby
If I’m even allowed to call you baby
Because putting you in poems
about me putting you in my sex dreams—
Fuck, it’s my poem, so baby
I scoop out my self-esteem to make room for your compliments
For your chocolate eyes
The overpriced fancy wrapper with quotes and 60% cocoa eyes
The I shouldn’t have bought this in whole foods
But today I stampede delicious eyes

You are my newest prescription of twitching heartbeats

Cover me like fresh snowflakes
Fill my teacup kneecaps with honey
So I can stick to something
So I can stick and not be stuck
You say I speak a lot and really fast.
I say there aren’t enough moments to dig up the words you bury in me
You walk me halfway to my apartment
Your bike skids into a memory
I’m laying between extra pillows and poems
Hoping see you later
meant tonight

Monday, November 2, 2015

Cat Dissection

I’ve realized that 90% of human interaction
is metaphor
Complaining over single ply toilet paper
tells your housemate to clean the bathroom
the perfect dress is the trophy for winning a breakup

We insert items in place of emotions
So I'm writing this poem about my cat
instead of anxiety
I got him
to nestle in the shadows of all the empty I carried this summer
the symptom of swallowing loney
He found space to sleep in my hollow self estem
he tiptoes across my stomach
like it’s been paved by pointe shoes
he rumbles
interrupts everything
interrupts my mind mid poem
mid class
mid breath
the last time I left my flesh in a man’s sheets
let his fingers bristle against my broken
I scarved down cereal and fled home to feed him
my cat is the anchor to my bed
only comfortable between the comforters
and behind closed doors
he tsunamis over moonlit voyages
I've forgotten the taste of dreaming
I have midnight silence
eyes wide open
mind never quite shut
he sprints across a copper wheel in my crania
mowing down every person who’s told me I matter
every person who’s told me they will be here
I trust my anxiety more than people because
he always will be here
anxiety--I mean kitty
follows me across my kitchen and nibbles on my breakfast
reminds me I am never alone
that the universe is a china shop
and I am always the bull
he knows I rupture everything I touch
knows I'm running from expansion of my bones

when I admitted I was a cat person
I made more friends than ever before
a kid in my editing class tags me in posts of tiny tigers on instagram
my friend passes me a joint
and says it lets his kittens out long enough
so he can sleep

Everyone likes dogs
but for some of us
the purr of anxiety is the only way we recognize home
they call us crazy cat ladies
but it is not just tattered women
it is not just the hum of insanity
we trembling nervous systems
don't talk about our quake
silence is our evolutionary shell
we carve cellular cages
to contain our rumble

this is my dissection
I am opening up
stroking my kitten while typing these lines

I’m must acknowledge he exists
before I leave him at home.

Sunday, November 1, 2015

This Poem Is Not A Movement

If civil rights movements happened in 2015:
MLK would be that guy always inviting you to facebook events 
that sound like Mumford and Son song titles
Deep South Freedom Ride
Montgomery Sit In
Lincoln Dreams
While Gloria Steinem slut walked to a new profile picture
Ghandi would probably be instagram famous
for his fair trade yoga pants
and no eating challenge

It's hard to find a movement in a generation where people don't move
Self proclaimed advocates
smolder flame wars in burning cities
post about homelessness beside the hungry on their street
your profile claims you're the leader of our revolution
but you poured ice water on your head to avoid donating to ALS research
for an “activist” there is nothing active about championing from the comfort of your keyboard
you tweeted #blacklivesmatter
while people outside your window
chant it in the streets
chant it in the tear gas
chant it in the prison cells

you crave convenient equality
to be the cavern praised for its echo
but oppression’s eyes can’t be gouged by thumbs up
facebook likes elevate your ego not the fallen
today you shouted through a silent medium
we became the generation
who demands wildfire out of unlit cigarettes
you are a severed lighter who’s never tasted flame

we were not built to tweet from the shoulders of giants
we climb blood and bones for more than the view
Malala took a bullet to go to class
and we pretend sharing an article about her
is solidarity

Resurrected hope isn’t reverb
isn’t the applause of a digital choir
the three minutes it took to reblog about Orange is the New Black
won’t spark prison reform
posting hunger statistics won’t change them
just as staring at beer won’t take you off those antibiotics
splashing around in your own tub will never make waves
a hashtag is not a movement
a retweet is not a movement
this poem is not a movement
a movement involves moving
standing up for something
strong enough to pin you down
wrestling with controversy under mustard moonlight
until it quivers at the edge of your jaw
skin it into a saddle and ride into a ruptured horizon

you know, Ghandi didn’t instagram the sea
he marched to it

it’s important to be heard
but America’s systems
have bleeding out for centuries
someone has to stitch us back together
someone has to do more than scream doctor
someone should start a conversation
but we need more than just talk.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Skinny Friend

To my skinny friends:
Stop staying
But you’re not fat!
Every time I complain about my body.
Because we all know you will not follow it with
you’re SO skinny you make
Victoria Secret models develop new eating disorders

I am not the 12 year old girl trading insecurity for compliments
I’m the size where people can’t publicly comment on my eating habits
but guys look at me and think
I don’t know the man of my dreams
because they keep swallowing me
last week I was having a surgery
and the doctor offered to scrape off my fat
while I was drunk on morphine
I woke up still listing body parts I want him to cut off

Cut off telling me my eyes are concrete lilies
pretty will never be a dress that zips up without an extra pair of fingers
My fingers point at you, skinny friend
who I know doesn’t like being called skinny friend
because no one's actually allowed to feel good about their body
they serve us all a slice of shame
but you wouldn’t have any of my strawberry cheesecake
you want to Rachel Dolezal yourself into pudge
I never worry about someone wanting me for my body
but no one says my stretch marks mean I can grow
he likes something to grab onto, not hold
We get potholes every time we’re full

skinny friend
my voice is a vibrating chick held in human palms
when I tell mom she only laid bikinis across my sister’s bed
that my sexy is properly tucked in
when you cackle at my granny panties
I never explain they help me stand straighter
my lungs breathe smoother sucking in
I am always holding my breath
suffocating above water
I didn’t go to your pool party
I was too ashamed to stuff myself in a two piece
but ordered a swimsuit that kisses my fleshy angles
like crimson leaves across dead grass
tried it on seven times
hoping readjusting its wires
would puppeteer my cellulite

You say, let’s just work out.

but the gym is silent segregation
each pair of yoga pants shriek thin only
shriek a flickering white noise
a trembling television melting behind my eyes
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
but what if you’re too big to carry?

skinny friend
I get carried away when you talk about your body
talk about how it doesn’t fit you
I know there’s skinny shaming
but this whole society fits you
it’s you in the movies
on the magazines and lips of every man
my fingers are too sausage to reach for

photoshop is one size fits all
and the lady who works there
won’t give me a key to the dressing room
because she’s afraid I’ll stretch out the filters

skinny friend
you say fuck the sad out
I never bring boys back from the party
I’m terrified of no fabric to hide behind
that if I spilled out 
everyone’d know 
I am loose lava
melted ice cream
too much mix for the waffle fryer
that the corset of self confidence and body empowerment
has dug welts into me
that you have dug welts into me
by burrowing into your self esteem
making my dream body a graveyard
in Silence of the Lambs
the serial killer chases thick women
because they have more flesh for him to skin
the actress wasn’t even that big
and I couldn’t help thinking
even psychopaths need an excuse to want us

I’m learning no one needs an excuse to want themselves.

I write this
because I think you’re stunning
romance novel beautiful
I write this
because I’m still fighting to say
me too


Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!