Leave the Light On
Thank you for loving me
even when I was easy
to love.
Did you think I was going to say thank you
for loving me when I was hard to love?
I am not
hard to love. Neither are you.
This world is built on the wonder of
people who make space for each other
despite everything.
Despite ourselves.
No Use
If this isn't god, I have no use for him. Hands
weaving into hand weaving into stories
weaving
into me.
Babe, did I ever tell you that story— yea, yea,
I probably have. I've probably told you
every story by now. But, see,
when I take a piece of my you-less
past and pluck ya right down the middle,
suddenly things sound a lot more interesting.
Can god tell me stories
that make my toes curl? Can god
stare me down from across a
crowded Walmart and instantly know
the color he'd chosen was awful?
Can god tell me why every time I look
at the sky, I see ground, and every time
I look at the ground, I see sky? I am
upside-down. I am right-side-up.
I am all.
Rachel (she/her) is a queer, disabled writer from Alabama whose work has appeared in Peach Mag, Feed, and elsewhere. She currently writes three monthly-ish columns: video game poetry in Videodame, Taylor Swift poetry in Headcanon Magazine, and movie poetry in For Page and Screen. She tweets @rickit.