Brenna Allison

“I am very boring, I am the prisoner of two plants. Help me.”




Selected Works:

“Procrastination of the physiognomy”

I should write a poem about your nose

The way it curves into this beautiful bridge

So that if you ever needed glasses

They would perch perfectly

If you ever needed sight

I hope you would find it in me

You bring me to life with every breath

Nostrils are such an ugly word for a beautiful construct

You are a beautiful construct

//

I should write a poem about your chin

The slope of your jawline that is much more than y=mx+b

Your beard which tickles my chin every time we kiss

When you’re upset your beard swallows you’re words

Until we’re screaming to communicate

I wouldn’t force my lungs to leak our love

If your mouth didn’t bleed our love

//

I should write a poem about your eyebrows

I don’t know what purpose eyebrows serve

If I had the slightest of clues I’d romanticize it

They’re wisps of hair each contains a memory of us

So when you observe them in the mirror

Thousands of memories replay at once

A cacophony of  beautiful sonnets

Written in scripture only we understand

//

Your face is a poem I should write

But I could never do it justice


“250 Days”

 

I don’t do well with being alone,

Which is why tonight scares me

Why every night scares me

I have counted the days till graduation in my head

And as each ticks by I don’t feel relief

But an awful sense of remorse

I don’t do well with being alone

I am not a whole being but a fragment

Take me as you will and reconfigure me

I will be your personal mannequin if you will offer me company

I wish I found comfort in solace

In days yet to come

In memories yet to make

But days have gone by

And I will forget so many things

I will remember your names

I can’t promise your faces

I can only promise my love

I am broken but if you take a piece of me with you as you leave

I will never be alone

You can do with me as you will

Shatter me

put me next to yesterday’s coffee grounds in the trash

Tape me to a scrapbook of long forgotten memories

I am beautiful only in my loneliness


“A hate poem to babies”

 

It is three in the damn morning and if I hear that baby cry one more time-

Six times I have been woken by a shrill scream

I knew I shouldn’t have taken my sisters offer

Come visit this summer

Learn how to take care of a newborn

It’ll be fun she said

You can relax she said

That baby has reminded me of why I hate kids

They pee

They poop

They smell like a sick combination of both

I have been vomited on twice

It never stops screaming

I have started screaming back

Did you know babies confuse very easily?

I hate kids

So much so that a fire burns in my belly

and I can’t tell if it is fueled by rage or by envy  

This is my nibling so I have to love it but

I can’t

Every time I gaze into his eyes it reminds me of the cruelty of never being able to have kids

Wanting a family so bad but never being able to achieve that goal

I thought about kidnapping him

telling everyone it was mine

“Ha yeah had you fooled for nine months”

But I couldn’t do it

The bond between mother and child is so precious

So fuking precious

And I have to stand on the sideline

I have to watch as she holds him and he cooes at her

To be a mother is to be a patron saint

But alas I am sinner only in my envy

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