Author Archives: Angelique Palmer

About Angelique Palmer

Poet, poeting poems

Two Poems – Angelique Palmer

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Kakorrhaphiophobia

Kakorrhaphiophobia-\ˌkak-ə-ˌraf-ē-ə-ˈfō-bē-ə\ n. 	1. abnormal fear of failure
                                                        2. The reason I have to believe in me. 
                                                        3. A novena for this poet


To the 17th false start, 		Amen

To the string of inky blood,		Amen

To the parchment, sacrificing itself to a loopy midnight destiny. 			
                                        Amen.
				
The chased boy, the parking lot star, 
the embrace, the tears 		Amen.
				
The wave on my feet at Jensen Beach, 
the words that they birthed, 
the way they’re a prayer now
			Now.
				
To the glitter in Will’s smile, the only thing of his I still see in my sleep
			Now.
					Amen.

To being replaced, three times now. 
To being replaced, three times now. 
To being replaced, three times now.
To being irreplaceable, right now.
		Now
					Amen. Continue reading
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Five Poems – Angelique Palmer

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On the Mysteries of Cotton Candy

Dear Person I Would Like to Remain Friends With:

I was wrong.

There’s a cotton candy machine in the back of my throat. It is all sugar and cloud. I like sugar. 
Not everyone does.

A man touched my hips two weeks ago, rather incidentally, and reminded me I had hips. 
And skin. 
And that I like to be touched. 
When I met him in the daylight, his smile went flat. 
I am so tired of being after midnight hips. I didn’t feel like that with you. 
Maybe because it is always sunshine, never daylight. 
Maybe I got confused.

Your default avatar in my phone is a picture of you smiling so hard, you warm my face. 
I been smiling, because you been smiling, a lot.

I thought you were playing. I thought we were playing. 
I thought I felt you yank my ponytail. It is my tradition to then give chase, but never catch. 
Always get caught, don’t act like that’s what I wanted all along. 
It is a hard habit to break.

I have slick wrists and good technique. I can spin pink grains of hope into a puffy fantasy so 
expertly, in nothing flat. I think, “Look at what I’ve done! Even I want a bite!” 
I expected you to bite. 
Not everyone does. 

I have mood swings. I don’t slide into My Dark as much anymore as I: 
                                                             use feet for brakes,
                                                          pull myself to stand,
                                                             walk back up the 
                                                                                            slide.
But My Dark figured out my fake-out. Now, I flip quicker than a trick wrist. I am sure the 
moods could be controlled by the medication I don’t want prescribed to me. Little pink pills 
that won’t let me feel.

When I valley, I don’t want anyone near that brand of stuck. 
What if I got some of it on them?

Have you ever seen what happens to cotton candy when it gets caught in the rain?

I have been telling every single one of my friends, so I wouldn’t say it to you first. 
Better to mask face than have to save it.

You are a good person. 
 Continue reading