The Water Bearer Series

THE WATER BEARER

Click on each image below to listen to the poem associated with the painting...

Water On Fire.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

Breadcrumbs.

the poems
about you
don’t
come
out
easy

they’re always incomplete

waiting for resolution

Is there a past tense to healing?

I count the months like battle scars. Still so many to go. When did I let go of knowing how this will end? If the police will finally tell me your name? If I’ll ever get over the guilt of your next victim?

closure is a fickle foe
an elusive infinity
teasing me
with would have been’s

metaphors can’t break concrete

there will only ever be
before the rape
and after

I keep trying to get back to easy. To that place I didn’t know I had. To trust I didn’t know was flowing. The tap runs dry with every hungry eye.

Safety is a myth.

I didn’t know how deep a soul needs to hide to survive the knowing of pain.

How hard the mind tries to find meaning.

Could it be in the soft hands of my best friend’s mom rubbing arnicare into my wounds?

Could it be in the flowers my grandparents sent? The last card my grandfather ever wrote to me?

Could it be my dad staying away cuz I couldn’t be around even men who loved me?

or the tribe of women
wearing trauma
on their sleeves
telling me
we
will go on

Is my art mine if I include him?
If art is how I understand myself
Does that make you a part of me?

But you are not all I have survived.

I am not a victim.
I don’t truly know who I am now but I do not end with you.
I will not let you make me hate myself.
I will not let a lover wear your face for even a moment.
I will not let PTSD limit me to a life of razor eggshell while you walk fine.
I will not pull poetic punches.

pain is easier
when shared
with soft hands

flowers can grow through concrete

your words will crumble
from my mouth
fall out
as breadcrumbs
a story in pieces
easy to eat up
hard to swallow
hard to follow
i am all at once
too much
and not enough

I will not let the world put me in silence.

this poem isn’t about rape
it’s about hope

No fire can char the red in my heart.

soft things are vulnerable and all the more beautiful for it
i am not a broken ballerina box
my delicate pieces know how to turn
just fine together
grow feathers
fly higher
than you
could ever
fucking know

I won’t forget your calluses.

but i will let go

Caged Water.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

The Broke Poem

I haven’t worn glasses in three years because I can’t afford them
A roof has sometimes stayed over my head but I can’t enjoy the view

I work full time to save up and burn out
I work so hard I’m unable to work

I was a Server
6 years of delivering my dignity on a plate
Stacking dishes and diagnosis’s at impressive speeds

the trick to being a great server is to remind customers you are a human being
without showing them the blisters and back pain

Remind them you have a name

I’m Talia
I’ll be taking care of you today

I take care of strangers more than I do myself

the trick to a great budget is knowing what you can survive

There are weeks where I eat oatmeal every morning if I eat at all
ramen the holy broke grail

I have entered a grocery store with $10 to my name knowing it has to stretch for two weeks

My friend shows me her broken black hole of a tooth
Says she’s knows she’s going to lose it but can’t afford to get it fixed
I want to pour into her but my cup is empty
my teeth chipped too

I had a cyst rupture on my ovary at work
My boss kept trying to call an ambulance but I still haven’t paid back the thousands from the last one
So I wait in pain for my sister to drive me to an ER trip I won’t be able to afford either

What is a budget but pain tolerance
What is money but a pair of handcuffs

How the fuck are we supposed to live like this

They say money can’t buy happiness but it’d sure solve the housing crisis
They say stop spending
When I am only tending the garden
Trying to water myself
Before I off myself when depression convinces me the double digits in my bank account is how much I’m worth

Growing up, I thought everyone got their toys from McDonald’s happy meals
Thought it cosy to share one bed with two sisters and sometimes dad when his back couldn’t take the couch anymore
We normalize poverty so the rich can stay rich
We bitch about a friend owing us money when the government is stealing from us every day
We say wait your turn to climb the latter
But everyone at the top keeps taking the rungs with them
Expect us to be their human pyramid
Got the police waiting at the bottom for anyone who tries to stand up
Got policy in their pockets
Got the news by the neck
So their names are just ”they”

Who is the enemy here
No really, I still can’t see
I have trouble seeing faces from a distance
So tell me
Who is it killing me?

Water In Pieces.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

Existing is painful
Breathing ain’t cheap
Can’t afford an inhaler
These lungs play for keeps

The doctor is a luxury
Even dying has a bill
They’ll tell you the world is ending
And it’s time for a refill

Antidepressants
Can’t numb my presence

A pharmacy
Makes a good fence

An industry
Makes a good graveyard

Capitalism
Wants me hard
Harsh thing

The Burden Bearer.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

It’s broken
I know it
Mom knows it

Wait until morning
No money for mourning

The sun resets so many things
but not this broken bone
painful shifts
The solace of sleep impossible

We cannot afford the ER again
Clumsy child
Wait until morning

Lay soft thing
Lay as still as you can
Become your own cast
Chrysalis this hurt
Be still racing heart
Go to that place you go

Forgive
Forgive tough love
You tough little love
Be lamb
Bend and break
Become butterfly

Wait until morning

The Smoke Bearer.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

A deep breathe
feels
as close to high
as I can get
right now

Double digit dollar signs
Enough
for an orange juice
and the subway

I’m not even
sweating
Spend
something
on something
And it’s nothing

Money
is nothing
Family
is a word
I’m trying
to define

Someone said
they want to stop existing
in group therapy today

I feel something
And
it’s not nothing

Doctor
defaults
to a verbal handout

The (6) things happy people do
Like we haven’t heard
this (6) times
already

Says
do you exercise?

When all she wants
to do
is die

I interrupt
him

Lean forward
in my chair
to make
eye
contact

A connection

Say
I’m glad
you’re here

Want
to say
this is
a safe space
but
it’s not

But
maybe
we can make it one

But
maybe
safety
is a myth

Maybe
we all
want
to die
because everyone wants
us to

The conversations turn
to systemic oppression

Doctor
says
we have gotten
off
track

I think we just
got
started

Someone talks
about
the weather

How it wants
to die too

I head back to my house full of fixes needed
How I long to be the mice who find sanctuary there

Mouse family
Searching for food
The exterminator comes tomorrow
But today we eat the cheese
Today we sing soliloquies
Today we venture out

There will be a time for dying but we say not today

Tonight we crawl
back home to our hole
Tonight our body heat is all we need
Like the poison will never come

The Water Bearer.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

Nature Knows

nature makes a marsh of everything

birds shit seeds
suddenly an abandoned construction site
thrives in green

the sky brings the water
knows not to take too much back

a construction site man once told me

water will find a way

he was talking about damage
but I picture wildflowers
under highway overpasses
ivy through concrete
a tree growing straight through a wall
ten feet from the ground

water will find a way

I do not think of drowning
I think of growth
I think that is growth

nature makes a marsh of everyone

Worn Waves.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

I am a shapeshifter
This body holds multitudes
Perceiving me is like contemplating infinity

I am an ocean
Stay inside me for too long
You’ll come out smooth

I am a Tiger
You won’t see these stripes coming until it’s too late

I am a flower
Don’t count me out
I’m just waiting for my season

I am a moon
I have my phases
Every single one is beautiful

I am a body
I hold scars and softness the same
Loyal to the end

I am nothing
An empty space makes room for dreaming
We need so many more dreamers

The Electric Bearer.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

Men. I know you think you’ve heard enough angry women poems. But this one's about tits. So listen up and laugh along. Like you’re in on it. My family has a running debate. Whose boobs are the biggest? No one wants to win it. A cursed prize. A so called gift. Too robust to carry. Like the time I won a body pillow at Dorney park. And had to lug it around. All. Day. On. Every. Ride. In. 90. Degree. Weather. Some “gifts” are just inconvenient. Burning bra feminism really isn’t an option for me. No matter how much I hate bras. I’ve invested too much. Need the support too much. These tits. Drive me nuts. Drive men nuts. Often to nut prematerly. But it’s okay. I’d rather a quick one. Than one who doesn't know when to stop. I just want boobs. Without the pain of teaching men. How to treat them. Nipples aren’t volume knobs. Stop twisting them. Hoping I’ll get louder. A bra clasp is not a test of your masculinity. Please stop fumbling. And let me get it. I want boobs. Where you don’t virtually suggest. I let you titty fuck me. Yet wish me luck. Trying to get an uncensored nipple on Facebook. Even if it had a child attached to it. Not that I’ve tried or anything. I know. There’s probably a bunch of nice guys here. I know it must be so hard to relate to my experiences. To understand my anatomy. Is a part of me. Not apart from me. And in case you haven’t figured out my tits are a metaphor. I’ll mansplain it plainly. My tits represent. ME. So stop naming them anything other than Talia. I’m talking to you Justin. T1 and T2 isn’t gonna stick. I’m not sexy R2D2. I’m not a boat. You can throw your name on. I’m not gonna let you name a piece of my body the minute you see them. Especially not T1 & T2. This could get repetitive. Advances become competitive. No’s are never one and done. Unlike your dick. So I’ll say it again. I’m. Not. Fucking. You. With. My. Tits. If I wanted to. I would ask. Same goes for my ass. Misogyny. So obvious to me. Until. It’s not. Until. My thoughts. Become part of the problem. Until jaw clamped no’s become tired dignity swallowed yes’s. If all you’ve seen is misogyny. It takes hard work to rewire. To rewrite the narrative. To name yourself. To say fuck you to the haters. The misogynators. Saying. They’re nice guys. While they share nudes with their buddies. Dudes. Who say. Bros over hoes. As an excuse to be a douche. Go. Ahead. Laugh. Louder. At these things you still do. Did last week. Or turned the other cheek to. But. I’m. Still. Rooting. For. You. Nice guys should always finish first. I mean. Not in bed. But in life. But my life surprisingly. Does. Not. Revolve. Around. The. Orgasms. You. Give. Me. So I’m cat walking away. From nice guy’s in disguise. Telling me my body is a gift. I should give to them.

Lifted Water.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

The Perfect Day

Today is supposed to be the luckiest astrological day of the year
A child chooses me in a West Philly fresh grocer self checkout line
She holds a giant white fuzzy bunny stuffed animal
Tells me it’s his birthday
That he eats carrots
I came to this place with -$13 in my account and $40 worth of coupons
She beams when I tell her I bought a bag of carrots
I don’t look at the prices but somehow it all adds up to exactly $40
I find two pennies
Heads up
On my way to the bank
I usually flip over tails up pennies so the next person will have good luck
I imagine the two souls who paid it forward for me to smile
Run into an old friend who finally looks like themselves
Sit on a park bench
eat a Clementine in the setting sun
Then another because the first made me remember I am alive
I leave the rinds for the flowers
My lover tells me I can’t cum until I tell them why I love them
I paint a paragraph
And promptly melt into a puddle
My sheets rumble in the dryer
The signal a little song
The little things aren’t little things
I close my eyes and sway to music
I might just be the luckiest human alive

The Wing Bearer.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

Flowers Growing On Graves

Lunch is buffet style today.
Every conversation topic consumable.

She talks of God.
I talk of rape.
She talks of signs.
I talk of flowers.

She asks about my love life.
I tell her about the best sex of my life.

She pauses.
Rape and flowers do not mix well on her plate.

Like, how do you do that after everything? Is it hard?

I do not think she intended the pun.
I do not think she is used to seeing roots in the sun.

I think of last night.

How the back injury I got from the rape flared up again during sex and for a moment.

I was not there.

I wonder if my lover noticed me time travel.
I wonder if my skin turned translucent.
I wonder if it collapsed in on its hollow self.

Over a year later and my rapist still has a hold on me.
Over a year later and I still manage to hold my lover tighter.

I do not know how a thing becomes whole again.
Only that it happens slowly.

It happens when I go shopping for lingerie.
When a new lover is all I can think about and there is no room left for flashbacks.

When I take ten selfies in black lace.
Keep them all for myself.
I keep parts of myself for me now.

But I’ve put myself out there.
Dared to fall.
To try and have it all.

I do not know why they say sex is a give and take.
That implies I am being emptied and refilled.
When I can only offer overflow.

I am slowly unlearning pain disguised as pleasure.
Suck it up.
Is not something I allow myself to do anymore.

His orgasm is not the end all be all.
My body is no buffet.
There are limits on what he can eat.

My mouth is both flower and bouncer.
Rejecting gluttony.
Savoring my limited pollen and honey.

Taste me when you know what it takes to get wet with a war in the back of my head.

But slowly.
Oh, so slowly
My bed has become mine again.

What magic.
For nails to become soft.
For a lover to become a victory song.

What magic.
To be having the best sex of my life a year after I was raped.
To witness flowers growing on graves.

I say.
God is hope.
And god I hope wholeness waits in some buffet a year from today.

I pray for flowers that come back every year.
I pray for friends that listen to it all.
I pray for the fall.
No matter who catches.
The point is that I jumped.
That this fear is not a rule.
Only a suggestion.

And I decide when I take it.

Sea Color.

*Link to video is at the bottom of this page*

My Eulogy Will Not Be a Goodbye

I hope you think of me every time you drink lady grey tea
And see a flower growing out of compost

I hope you hear my name every time you’re afraid to face the silence

And hear that song I sent you because it reminded me of you

I hope you think of me when you hope
And how that’s what I wanted to leave behind most
hope never dies
It only transforms

I hope you see me in the transformation of every butterfly
see my smile every time one flies by
It’s me
It’s me telling you “I remember too”

I hope you love the parts of yourself I loved too
And more

I hope you have the courage to share the parts of you we never shared
And know I’m here
Cheering you on

I hope you think of me after every gentle truth
And know bravery can be a soft quiet thing
And secrets are lighter when soaked in the sun

I hope you know it’s just begun
That seasons are swift
So soak them up
Don’t forget the sun
And the moon
It has truths too

I hope when you cry
You feel my hand on your cheek
Reminding you it’s okay to become creek
Let the water flow
We are the water bearers
I am not the only Aquarius
We carry us
And that weight does not have to be a burden
And a goodbye does not have to be an ending