I wish there was a god

so I could talk to him about you.
I don’t want to talk about you
to someone who has ears and eyes and a heart
that could fall in love just from hearing me recount
all of the goodness that lives in you.
I want to talk to the creator about you,
He who made existence,
who has seen and heard every love story,
whose hand was their genesis and also their deliverance.

He wouldn’t interrupt me or roll his eyes,
He who made eyes just so I could see you,
He who made hands just so I could touch you.
He who made adoration,
appreciation,
infatuation,
also made you.
And so he’d need no explanation
for how I could ever possibly love the way I do.
I don’t believe in God
but you make me wish there was one,
so I could have someone to talk to about you.

She’s Full of Herself

We all wear the same black gi

the same black pants
no shoes

We all do the same 50 laps across the floor

the same warm-ups in our lines

Rank governs our place in line

I’ve done the warm-ups
from each place along each line

and at the front of them all

I face the lines
and lead the warm-up
for the kids who will replace me

Because I was once a kid

watching

The boys are not allowed to say
I don’t want to spar with the only girl here

If he wanted to complain

about sparring with me

he should’ve said
I don’t want to spar with the best fighter here