The Walls We Are Inside


For the man who doesn’t need me,

I am a million wanting hands growing from stones

too hard

and impenetrable to sprout

anything at all.

Against me, an ocean.



It is a mirror

unconcerned with the self I want to see


I am facing the wrong direction

and so is he.


I am an open mouth

wrinkling for lack of moisture and he is the whale’s tail

fanning warm, salty air against my tongue.

It is then, that wet and dry are the same to a wanting body

and survival

is in a difference I refuse to know.

If only I could sink beneath the water

where his eyes are.

Would I know him then?

-Angie Hoover

Art: Goodbye by Michael Harford

I am you


There is a  mountain

betwixt the hearts of lovers

That cannot be climbed

nor eroded

by the prickles of hail

It sits

through iron-willed blizzards

and roaring fires.



None have tried to break it

or tunnel through it’s chest

Instead, they dream right passed it

and so

it falls

 to dust.

“Betwixt Lovers” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Ayman Zedani

My morning in Velvet

Emma and Josephine  are Young and in Love

As we sat on the bed

the silk kissing our limbs

the ceiling cracked open to let the light in

you smiled and I felt the warm wind on my nose

the  sheets and the walls fell away as we rose

floating higher and higher until we broke through

spinning and grinning, our spirits so new

soaring among those bright pieces of heaven

petting the velvety purple they rest in

Poem from unfinished play by Angie Hoover

I began writing  this one night while my fiance was asleep. The moonlight was shining in through our bedroom window, and I was overwhelmed with joy and love.  I revisited it several years later and planned to use it in a play that incorporated spoken word poetry. The plot focused on a lesbian romance between two southern women during the Jazz age.