The Kind of Love Your Mother Felt

Time will bury girls and boys

paint their minds 

then blow 

away

I was bright– and you were new

I was a poem yesterday

Now

 cut my skin– or kiss my mouth,

The notes I sing are always 

gray.—and every time you look at me

My eyes 

are nothing much

the bitter kiss

 of compromise

 stained your lips 

and stole your voice

you’re a stranger.

 I’m a ghost.

and i can’t reach 

through all your noise

I’d float through all our clouds of smoke

—that’s if I felt I had a choice

but 

Every morning, I feel older

dark nights crawl, 

and 

warm days race

–you’re so black and I’m too blue 

our bed

 is such a lonely place.

Every day we wake up dry

in fields too brown for rain to save

we’ll

–sleep in weeds until we die

yes,

–sleep in weeds until we die

-Angelisa Miranda

That Kind of Girl

That mouth hanging open

-dripping

like a soiled dish rag–

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–she is porn

–she is titilation

she is the repulsion that

comes afterward

with green fingernails and wet, dying eyes.

Sweet, cherry nipples

stuck on Tender breasts

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She’s here

for you

sweaty–

greasy–

limp with filth.

  salty fingers on her tongue

she wakes

alive again but at the bottom

–where hell is

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defile her-

Life says its safe to make her stink

to make her cry

She’s made for this.

On a good day

she feels numb

cause

She knows how

To be

A thing with no center

There, but not really.

a rusty red husk

drying

in a shadow

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Keith P. Rein & Cassidy Rae Limbach

When She Waves

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For Hellos and

goodbyes

my hands are

brittle sticks

stiffened by the forceful elements

raised up as if ready to punish the space

between us

with a strike.

unable to grasp–

They are unable —

to feel

to hold

Affection slides off of them.

and

sharing is lost.

Whether coming

or going

they wag.

wag.

wag.

Hi There.

 Hi there,

whoever you are.

“Her Wave” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Artwork: Shadows by Bird Heart

The Gymnast

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In the evening,

when her elbows grind into the gravel

beneath whirling toes

and plump, freckled cheeks,

she is alive

in the world with the rest of them.

She is the bringer of motion

of percussion—

of lightness and music–

she

is

everything.

But when the faint moonbeams recede,

she is a hardened lump of throbbing thighs

and raw skin–

stiffened scabs

and sleepy hands wrapped up in sheets

longing for the comfort of

adoring

eyes to tell her that

She Exists.

“The Gymnast” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Hugo Barros

This piece will be featured in an upcoming stage production called Cat-Fight, which explores  the complexities of womanhood!

Support Women in the Arts! Donate to CAT-FIGHT !

Cat Fight


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My work is going to be featured in a Los Angeles-based production this spring!

Vanessa Cate, critically acclaimed director,  is developing her first independent production. The project,”Cat-Fight”, is an all female show which will explore the complexities of womanhood through a series of vignettes written by Vanessa, myself, Crystal Little Bird SalasCheryl Doyle, and Natalie Hyde! It will incorporate poetry, dance, music, scenes, and other performance art.We are all very excited about the project ! Please support if you can, even $1 will be useful! 

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JOIN FACEBOOK GROUP HERE

Over the next couple of days I will be reposting some work that has been selected for the show  in an effort to raise funds and draw attention to the project! This is the only official announcement I will post, however. I don’t want to spam anyone! Thank you!

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