Poetry by Lizzy Hammonds

Poetry by Lizzy Hammonds

by Lizzy Hammonds

Illusions

I’ve heard so many lies
in my past that I’ve begun
to fall in love with them.
The way they held
no limitations on reality.
The nostalgia of believing
as a child.
For a girl, always
searching for the truth,
sometimes illusions
are the
sweetest thing
to live for.

Fruit

He was a different sort of fruit.
Bitter like lips curled.
An offering that would never satisfy her hunger.
A dance that she would stumble through each step.
He was winter,
With all his breath leaving traces,
With all his absence.
She was blue Spanish eyes.
Her look Indigenous,
His wolves
Let loose to eat her sunrise,
And at night she welcomed them
And taught them a song to sing on the horizon
Before she said goodbye.

Him

Go tell your momma what you've done.
She's raised you better I'm sure,
Dirtying up all the girls in town.
Tell your momma how you snuck out to the river,
Opened up her heart with your words
let the water run it dry.
And you,
With all your ruffled-up hair,
Your pockets full of sugar cane,
And cheeks made out of tobacco.
You,
under that hood for hours a day.
Go tell your momma
how you can't fix it.
All the skirts you've broken before.


Lizzy Hammonds is a yoga instructor by day, poet and artist at night. She has competed in slam poetry across the state and also loves to dance. She is genuinely a free soul.

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