My mind races, not like the turtle,
loose and slow paced over the hurdles
but the rabbit, minus all those naps
just an automatic rifle firing synapse snaps
so let me explain
that every time you wake me up
with a sludge to my brain
it's the same
it's insane
it's like the time I stood
in someone else's neighborhood
and though, damn, this looks good
until I came inside and saw
all the fiberglass that lived in the walls
itching at my skin
until the scratches got in
and daddy would bust her jaw
and daddy might bust my jaw
and I might learn to run
before I learned to crawl
babygirls wanna stay young
and boys always say “I'm grown now,
“I'm a grown ass man, I'll show you how,”
and he cracks you
cracks you right in two
right into a pipe or a crack in the wall
tonight I'll sleep in the hall
or the bathtub
but we won't leave the house
rather live like a mouse
hiding between the panels
the quiet spots between flipping channels
silent, don't make a peep
silent, don't let him hear you weep
silent till he sleeps
and we creep creep creep
for a little bit of life in the dark
because sometimes the dog's bite
is worse than his bark
and tonight, tonight
he just might, he just might
break his chain
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Untitled as of yet
And you would slip a noose around my neck
if only I would let you
but you would let my name slip right from between your fingers
if only I would let you
and I told you how daddy cracked my toddler face right open
behind the engine of a freshly revving car
and I told you how my new daddy cracked his face right open
with metal that would leave him with more tangible scars
and you would wonder why I have a quick and sharp temper
flying off the handle and into your ear
and I would wonder why so many gentle folks I knew did wander
into a white blinding light coming bright and near
and some would rearrange the enamel in their mouths
and bits of calcium would flow into the skies
and in my dreams I would hear their mothers' shrieking
and you would wake to the sound of my sleeping cries
and all the pastel and sweet in the world would dissolve in my mouth
like fair ground cotton candy
and you hurt my teeth but it's all my own fault because I let you
but goddamn my mouth aches so much this time
if only I would let you
but you would let my name slip right from between your fingers
if only I would let you
and I told you how daddy cracked my toddler face right open
behind the engine of a freshly revving car
and I told you how my new daddy cracked his face right open
with metal that would leave him with more tangible scars
and you would wonder why I have a quick and sharp temper
flying off the handle and into your ear
and I would wonder why so many gentle folks I knew did wander
into a white blinding light coming bright and near
and some would rearrange the enamel in their mouths
and bits of calcium would flow into the skies
and in my dreams I would hear their mothers' shrieking
and you would wake to the sound of my sleeping cries
and all the pastel and sweet in the world would dissolve in my mouth
like fair ground cotton candy
and you hurt my teeth but it's all my own fault because I let you
but goddamn my mouth aches so much this time
Saturday, October 23, 2010
draft for today
I wear a pretty narrow sash
more like a ribbon, I suppose
shiny with little threads of you
and in the sun we melt into
everything we used to do,
a number less than two
you were like a seashell to my ears
I could hear all the perfection so far away
a swirl of water that begged us to swim
but we lived in cold white snow
not gentle flurries
like on made for tv movies
but covering the grass and eating our shoes
till there's nothing left to do but sit inside
and sip booze, sing the blues
more like a ribbon, I suppose
shiny with little threads of you
and in the sun we melt into
everything we used to do,
a number less than two
you were like a seashell to my ears
I could hear all the perfection so far away
a swirl of water that begged us to swim
but we lived in cold white snow
not gentle flurries
like on made for tv movies
but covering the grass and eating our shoes
till there's nothing left to do but sit inside
and sip booze, sing the blues
Friday, October 15, 2010
sin king
You're sinking in, sin king
it's hard night to be the martyr's mule
someone else's sinking fool
someone else's colorless fuel
gas has a smell, you know me well
and as far as I can tell, I'm not 100% justified
I won't claim I'm right, but I won't say I'm wrong, either
I won't apologize for your lack of attention
so we can go, merry go, round and round
but I don't see the point
when you can't hear your own sound
or shed some old town
so tear me down, but you don't have solid ground
to stand on or rebuild, and when you shoot
your aim is always to kill
so don't be surprised
if sometimes, I die
I'd do, I'd do, anything for you
but you'd fuck and and screw
anything to get through
to the top
and I won't say stop, I'm not putting my fists up
for a false fight
because even when I win
I always lose
I'm trying to lose heat but it fire leave ash
and I flinch at this flame, you and I both to blame,
but it's too big now
for either of us
to easily piss it out
it's hard night to be the martyr's mule
someone else's sinking fool
someone else's colorless fuel
gas has a smell, you know me well
and as far as I can tell, I'm not 100% justified
I won't claim I'm right, but I won't say I'm wrong, either
I won't apologize for your lack of attention
so we can go, merry go, round and round
but I don't see the point
when you can't hear your own sound
or shed some old town
so tear me down, but you don't have solid ground
to stand on or rebuild, and when you shoot
your aim is always to kill
so don't be surprised
if sometimes, I die
I'd do, I'd do, anything for you
but you'd fuck and and screw
anything to get through
to the top
and I won't say stop, I'm not putting my fists up
for a false fight
because even when I win
I always lose
I'm trying to lose heat but it fire leave ash
and I flinch at this flame, you and I both to blame,
but it's too big now
for either of us
to easily piss it out
Sunday, October 10, 2010
cleaning
I used to love the vein in your neck
when I said I was studying to memorize every inch
I meant it.
I use a lot of mouthwash
but I can't seem to get rid of
the taste of you
It's more like soap now
washing off sex sweat and sugar words
but leaving big bubbles --
a slippery blanket.
when I said I was studying to memorize every inch
I meant it.
I use a lot of mouthwash
but I can't seem to get rid of
the taste of you
It's more like soap now
washing off sex sweat and sugar words
but leaving big bubbles --
a slippery blanket.
fear of recovery
These days I'm not so obsessed
with being medicine for someone else
your anti-depressant
your clonezapam
I lie in bed, chemicaless
no white tablets
no words to fill my heart with swaying
and I'd like to say
that I like it
but some days I am just so bored
I want to be over it, I want to be sane
but if I reach the day where your voice
doesn't make my stomach ache
but instead, I feel nothing,
not even anger
then that seems like
I'd be much worse than feeling anything else.
with being medicine for someone else
your anti-depressant
your clonezapam
I lie in bed, chemicaless
no white tablets
no words to fill my heart with swaying
and I'd like to say
that I like it
but some days I am just so bored
I want to be over it, I want to be sane
but if I reach the day where your voice
doesn't make my stomach ache
but instead, I feel nothing,
not even anger
then that seems like
I'd be much worse than feeling anything else.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
bleach
my latest preferred method of hypothetical suicide is swallowing a bottle of bleach. bleach must really burn when it goes down your stomach. it must really fucking hurt. it probably boils down your esophagus, not pussy weak shit like pain pills and not sudden and virtually painless like a bullet to the soft pink brains, no, it must hurt like hell and sting full of the realization of itself, it must make your eyes water, not that anyone would notice or really be able to tell because I imagine that by the time you swallow a bottle of bleach you're crying, anyway. i've tasted bleach before, though, as part of some sick science experiment, and it doesn't taste how you would think, all slippery and chemical. it's salty, saltier than ocean water and not dirty like ocean water, either, but bright, very bright, the way fresh, super concentrated blood must taste. I've had bleach gurgle in my stomach, just a little bleach, mixed with milk, mind you, and it was achingly painful. what would a stomach full of bleach feel like? would it churn so hard that the milk in your stomach would turn to butter? would it burn so bright that your whole body would feel lit up, electric, alive for one last time? and what if you did feel alive for one last time, after swallowing all that bleach? would they be able to save you, that is, if you wanted to be saved, after feeling lit up and whole again, lying there on the floor, all burnt up on the inside and full of bleach – I watched a documentary once about a man who made himself a kitchen cleaner cocktail, swallowed it heartily, and survived. he was praying mantis skinny, stick bug skinny, even though he ate a full meal every few hours, and you could see the food move down the tube in his chest, the pipe in his stomach, you could see it go right through him. is that would life be like after, if life can possibly exist after swallowing a bottle of bleach? what could possibly make someone desolate enough to swallow a bottle of bleach want to live such a terrifying existence after? surely they had no want for any sort of existence before, but I suppose that all changes when the chemicals hit and everything suddenly becomes slow and fast at once and you realize that this is real. and the ambulance lights are bright and you're thinking “oh god, please don't let these red flashing lights be the last thing I see, please don't let these screeching sirens be the last thing I hear, please don't let this acrid bleach be the last thing I taste, please don't let this overwhelming regret be the last thing I feel.” and whoever it is that loves you the most is probably standing over you, screaming, why, why, why, but you can't see their mouth move anymore. the room is getting dizzy and you're wishing you would have mopped the floors more, scrubbed the counters harder, used up that damned bleach before it used you.
Speak to me / breathe
you lived in the bags under my eyes
that I kept large and lofty because night
meant dreams of starving cats and
dirty old men scratching at my thighs
and when some men sing they try too hard
but you scream it out so effortlessly
you've got a handsome chin
under that beggar's beard
and every night I sing alone but there's no
rhythm, there's no melody, just sound's like
someone else's voice cracking,
talk to me, because there's oxygen tubes
and radio wires, there's little brown bugs
and water that won't put out any fires
speak to me, I'm living inside someone else's
dirty broken parts, I'm living inside of a
painting but I'm no piece of art
that I kept large and lofty because night
meant dreams of starving cats and
dirty old men scratching at my thighs
and when some men sing they try too hard
but you scream it out so effortlessly
you've got a handsome chin
under that beggar's beard
and every night I sing alone but there's no
rhythm, there's no melody, just sound's like
someone else's voice cracking,
talk to me, because there's oxygen tubes
and radio wires, there's little brown bugs
and water that won't put out any fires
speak to me, I'm living inside someone else's
dirty broken parts, I'm living inside of a
painting but I'm no piece of art
Tablecloth
am I just some tablecloth, something you make
a mess on and then just pull out and brush off,
throw me in the wash, but some blood was spilled
today, this red wine stain won't come off and you've
got enough change in your pocket for something else
cheap and white.
a mess on and then just pull out and brush off,
throw me in the wash, but some blood was spilled
today, this red wine stain won't come off and you've
got enough change in your pocket for something else
cheap and white.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Artist
The artist is the worst kind of whore, guarded but constantly and consistently eager to connect, to find someone to tell her secrets to, crying and fumbling, all humbling and shriveling, open and bleeding out but she never runs dry.
And I cry between your thighs every night. I thrust my scabs and scales into your palm and I beg of you to see these things, see the dirty and cheap me, the desperate and weak me, and not look away.
But so often you just think my scales are a sign that I am a snake in your grass, a needle in your arm, I am coming at you fast and chemical and addictive and you don't think I am worth the comedown.
And I cry between your thighs every night. I thrust my scabs and scales into your palm and I beg of you to see these things, see the dirty and cheap me, the desperate and weak me, and not look away.
But so often you just think my scales are a sign that I am a snake in your grass, a needle in your arm, I am coming at you fast and chemical and addictive and you don't think I am worth the comedown.
Just something short
I put my headphones on
I turn your vocal chords up
tonight.
I'm supposed to be an artist
so why do I always end up
the muse?
I'm sitting pretty on the tip
of your lover's tongue,
but tonight, I just might
come undone.
I turn your vocal chords up
tonight.
I'm supposed to be an artist
so why do I always end up
the muse?
I'm sitting pretty on the tip
of your lover's tongue,
but tonight, I just might
come undone.
Friday, September 17, 2010
unsatisfied
lord knows I am
unsatisfied.
with all my feathers ruffled
doing the lousiana shuffle
past cinderblock built walls
down an old school hallway
your voice, it violated
my lover's brain, my thinker's heart
until the ache in my chest
told me it would refuse to cease
I watched seed feathers fall
from your dandelion hands
and wisp past my hair
through the cracks in the neighbor’s fence
you plant yourself somewhere else
but manage to still keep your eyes
on me.
unsatisfied.
with all my feathers ruffled
doing the lousiana shuffle
past cinderblock built walls
down an old school hallway
your voice, it violated
my lover's brain, my thinker's heart
until the ache in my chest
told me it would refuse to cease
I watched seed feathers fall
from your dandelion hands
and wisp past my hair
through the cracks in the neighbor’s fence
you plant yourself somewhere else
but manage to still keep your eyes
on me.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Nobody's Perfect
And I wish you'd see me
like I see me
not golden, bathed in
some angel perfection
but just lucky enough to catch
some angled light
because when look at me that way
all misty and glassy and floating along
I can't get better;
I can only do you wrong
and in my eyes you saw some light
some ethereal, more than a being
but instead a beam, something more than
I could ever be.
I'm just a girl, not even a man with a plan
I'm just some girl, with some shaking hands
sleeping on the bottom step of your stairs
getting tangled up in the curls of your hair
there's no such thing as falling up
and even though I'm tough
when I plummet from this pedestal
I'm gonna bruise and scratch so easily
Baby, I'm gonna look so rough to you
you won't even recognize me
and the noise I'll hear as I'm getting up
it'll be the sound of you leaving me.
like I see me
not golden, bathed in
some angel perfection
but just lucky enough to catch
some angled light
because when look at me that way
all misty and glassy and floating along
I can't get better;
I can only do you wrong
and in my eyes you saw some light
some ethereal, more than a being
but instead a beam, something more than
I could ever be.
I'm just a girl, not even a man with a plan
I'm just some girl, with some shaking hands
sleeping on the bottom step of your stairs
getting tangled up in the curls of your hair
there's no such thing as falling up
and even though I'm tough
when I plummet from this pedestal
I'm gonna bruise and scratch so easily
Baby, I'm gonna look so rough to you
you won't even recognize me
and the noise I'll hear as I'm getting up
it'll be the sound of you leaving me.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Hmph
I am sleeping in your chest,
not your heart or your head,
but your chest, chest of drawers
that you sometimes dump out
onto the floor.
Ice chunks, over here
we are, we are listlessly
listening or maybe just hearing
something that we couldn't be
kind to me.
not your heart or your head,
but your chest, chest of drawers
that you sometimes dump out
onto the floor.
Ice chunks, over here
we are, we are listlessly
listening or maybe just hearing
something that we couldn't be
kind to me.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
untitled
and my stomach bubbles
I'm not quite in trouble
but it is coming
I see his physical collapse
a half-hearted aftermath
of years of neglect and rasp
my lips are tense tonight
while you're on a one way flight
sailing somewhere far from me
and you're pissin' out your mouth
while I'm here, sweatin' out the south
another night in the pine trees
I'm not quite in trouble
but it is coming
I see his physical collapse
a half-hearted aftermath
of years of neglect and rasp
my lips are tense tonight
while you're on a one way flight
sailing somewhere far from me
and you're pissin' out your mouth
while I'm here, sweatin' out the south
another night in the pine trees
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
a long A
you're kind of strange
but I guess you could say the same
about me
it's mother's day
and I wish I was you, babe
but I'm nobody's
your middle name
is a word that I can't say
I'm sorry, honey
I feel ashamed
from your gaze, should I refrain,
sway or stay
hi, hi, hi, hey
I'm glad you're not me
hi, hi, hi, hey
I'm glad it's not Sunday
make up your mind
or I will just take mine away
all right, baby
a small price
for such a large and lovely stain
is it that insane?
wash it away
the bleach won't sting past yesterday
inching down the drain
your voice strains
but it's still living inside my brain
for at least one more day
but I guess you could say the same
about me
it's mother's day
and I wish I was you, babe
but I'm nobody's
your middle name
is a word that I can't say
I'm sorry, honey
I feel ashamed
from your gaze, should I refrain,
sway or stay
hi, hi, hi, hey
I'm glad you're not me
hi, hi, hi, hey
I'm glad it's not Sunday
make up your mind
or I will just take mine away
all right, baby
a small price
for such a large and lovely stain
is it that insane?
wash it away
the bleach won't sting past yesterday
inching down the drain
your voice strains
but it's still living inside my brain
for at least one more day
Sunday, August 22, 2010
moving fast
and my head is a beatbox
too irregular to be a tick tock clock
baby, this boat don't rock
if you want out I won't stop
you'll have to jump, belly flop
I've got no time to gather moss
or seaweed or anything
no time to walk around in your whisky dreams
no time to push you in your mind's tire swings
I, I, I, I'm leaving
too irregular to be a tick tock clock
baby, this boat don't rock
if you want out I won't stop
you'll have to jump, belly flop
I've got no time to gather moss
or seaweed or anything
no time to walk around in your whisky dreams
no time to push you in your mind's tire swings
I, I, I, I'm leaving
recovery
you said I was your favorite, you're lost and last only one
kissed me hard like I was some fire you were trying to put out
but I just burned on
all night I lit the walls of your bedroom, kept us from dark
glowed at you
baby, I wanted to
and that's the truth
I'm telling the truth
but now you're just living on the the back of my eyelids
and I can't stand to sleep
uncomfortable, now.
and I know it's better that it is over, I know it is better
that you are far away, no longer bogging me down,
but I just hate the feeling
that love can turn so bitter, that all those tender touches
were really just strikes.
How could you blow this match out?
kissed me hard like I was some fire you were trying to put out
but I just burned on
all night I lit the walls of your bedroom, kept us from dark
glowed at you
baby, I wanted to
and that's the truth
I'm telling the truth
but now you're just living on the the back of my eyelids
and I can't stand to sleep
uncomfortable, now.
and I know it's better that it is over, I know it is better
that you are far away, no longer bogging me down,
but I just hate the feeling
that love can turn so bitter, that all those tender touches
were really just strikes.
How could you blow this match out?
beats me up
ring it back to me,
sing it back to me,
babygirl is lonely.
and your blue eyes
had some sort of mythical
flecks of brown and complexities
weighed down so heavy on me.
why'd you make me cry all these days
I know I'm not perfect
and you know you won't change
left me pity and pithy, with words to listen to
and the music turns me on, and the music turns
my head off
I just listen to the beat,
the heart beat,
but can't move my feet.
sing it back to me,
babygirl is lonely.
and your blue eyes
had some sort of mythical
flecks of brown and complexities
weighed down so heavy on me.
why'd you make me cry all these days
I know I'm not perfect
and you know you won't change
left me pity and pithy, with words to listen to
and the music turns me on, and the music turns
my head off
I just listen to the beat,
the heart beat,
but can't move my feet.
word tangles
these words were bread and butter on days when I could not eat
these words were hard thrust on days when I was wounds up
these words were long, long, arms on days when I was lonely
but today, it's not enough
but today, it's not enough
angered caress, restless, drawing in deeper breaths
and your heart lived beneath my breasts,
sinking deeper in my lover's chest
your eyes say it all, but you refuse
to let those words
come out your mouth.
these words were hard thrust on days when I was wounds up
these words were long, long, arms on days when I was lonely
but today, it's not enough
but today, it's not enough
angered caress, restless, drawing in deeper breaths
and your heart lived beneath my breasts,
sinking deeper in my lover's chest
your eyes say it all, but you refuse
to let those words
come out your mouth.
Why I do it.
I know poetry is what I love because it's spiritual to me. When I sing I am worshiping. When I write I am praying. When I close my eyes and everything melts away but the tap in my fingers and the syntax beat in my mind, I am meditating. It's the closest to god I can ever get.
Free Write
I'm choking on the pine trees. The needles are green on the branch but they will eventually turn brown and cover me. Cover me like the forest floor that sleeps behind my sliding-glass door. I see through it but can't walk through it. The lake paints the ground blue, blue black at night like your eye after your brother punched you in the face and you woke up with a bloody mattress and you said you can't remember anything but I'm not sure if I believe that anymore. You wake up sometimes and just go back to sleep. And I asked your silver mirror what your face looks like and if you are the same now that you had your lights all punched out. But the mirror man didn't have an answer because he said you avoid him like he's cancer or the plague or something bigger than what he really is. He says you think that your mirror reflection will cause you to see something more and that you aren't ready to deal with that yet. But what are you ready to deal with? Do you ever really deal with anything?
I still miss drinking 40s with you, though, and the way you roll around on my couch after you sip warm absinthe and your hand runs down my spine but we don't kiss, we just sit and are silent and still and then someone walks in the room and breaks the air with some impeding talk and dismissive thoughts and I just want to go to bed but you can't go to bed when there are people in the living room talking and babbling and drowning the moment that we spent all night drinking to get to.
So I just go outside and smoke even though I really hate these cigarettes because they tether me to some redneck, white trash past. And I have spent a million years trying to convince myself that I am not that, that I am special and different and I don't like riding around in the woods and drinking bud light and I don't watch nascar and I don't even know what cotton plants look like even though all those things are false, to a varying degree, but still they are false.
But you know that and I know that so we don't have to talk about it. And I met someone new now and he makes me nervous but then I remember that I don't like being nervous and I just miss being comfortable with you in silent dark or weeping morning or whatever and you put your arm around me and you don't have to say it because we both already know it even though we pretend we don't and I'm happy I never kissed you because your face is all bruised now and I don't want that bruise to be me, too. And I bet I hurt you a lot already and I know you hurt me a lot already but I really can't remember who struck first, or why. Or maybe I can and that's what I'm blocking out tonight.
I still miss drinking 40s with you, though, and the way you roll around on my couch after you sip warm absinthe and your hand runs down my spine but we don't kiss, we just sit and are silent and still and then someone walks in the room and breaks the air with some impeding talk and dismissive thoughts and I just want to go to bed but you can't go to bed when there are people in the living room talking and babbling and drowning the moment that we spent all night drinking to get to.
So I just go outside and smoke even though I really hate these cigarettes because they tether me to some redneck, white trash past. And I have spent a million years trying to convince myself that I am not that, that I am special and different and I don't like riding around in the woods and drinking bud light and I don't watch nascar and I don't even know what cotton plants look like even though all those things are false, to a varying degree, but still they are false.
But you know that and I know that so we don't have to talk about it. And I met someone new now and he makes me nervous but then I remember that I don't like being nervous and I just miss being comfortable with you in silent dark or weeping morning or whatever and you put your arm around me and you don't have to say it because we both already know it even though we pretend we don't and I'm happy I never kissed you because your face is all bruised now and I don't want that bruise to be me, too. And I bet I hurt you a lot already and I know you hurt me a lot already but I really can't remember who struck first, or why. Or maybe I can and that's what I'm blocking out tonight.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tipsy Cheat Sheet
whisky's for when I'm with southern boys
with honey tongues
and sea lungs,
tan but charming.
tequila's for my Mexican friends
who squirt my eye like limes
and leave me,
on to come back again.
vodka's for my Midwestern men
pale and flavorless
they blend in
to anything.
absinthe's for the alcoholic who calls me
his green wing fairy, but takes it back
as soon as morning starts
and the night ends.
with honey tongues
and sea lungs,
tan but charming.
tequila's for my Mexican friends
who squirt my eye like limes
and leave me,
on to come back again.
vodka's for my Midwestern men
pale and flavorless
they blend in
to anything.
absinthe's for the alcoholic who calls me
his green wing fairy, but takes it back
as soon as morning starts
and the night ends.
Alcoholic Men #42
You drink the whisky like it's water. We go swimming every night. You drink me as fast as you can. You let me go straight to your head. You get so dizzy and you fall so hard. You're spinning around in my bedroom, steadily still sipping, until it gets to be too much, you can't keep me down like this anymore. You can't stand how full you feel, how your stomach churns and flutters, how your head pounds, and you've just gotta get me out. And that's how I end up on the toilet seat, on the bathroom floor, splattered on the walls, but mostly just down the drain.
No more grey.
goosebumps and the hair
pokes back through my skin.
you say you might leave, might
not need me.
but I'm not responding to your
half-hearted threatening
of half-hearted anything.
pokes back through my skin.
you say you might leave, might
not need me.
but I'm not responding to your
half-hearted threatening
of half-hearted anything.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Do you, really?
you say, "maybe,"
but I know better.
three simple words,
but it's careless,
even if coupled with a caress
it's just parts on a mattress
it took a year, and it hurt
but if nothing else,
the one thing if I've learned
it means nothing if it's not earned
that word.
but I know better.
three simple words,
but it's careless,
even if coupled with a caress
it's just parts on a mattress
it took a year, and it hurt
but if nothing else,
the one thing if I've learned
it means nothing if it's not earned
that word.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
ant
and sometimes I just wish I was an ant
all tiny and black, slipping through the cracks
and no one could tell me anything, because
I wouldn't have ears, just antennae
and we'd walk in a line and not really
think, or at least not cerebrally
we'd march to the beat of some
silent drum
and I would lift so much, so so much
and I'd carry, it, too
and I wouldn't complain or anything
because that is just what ants
are supposed to do.
all tiny and black, slipping through the cracks
and no one could tell me anything, because
I wouldn't have ears, just antennae
and we'd walk in a line and not really
think, or at least not cerebrally
we'd march to the beat of some
silent drum
and I would lift so much, so so much
and I'd carry, it, too
and I wouldn't complain or anything
because that is just what ants
are supposed to do.
I'm the animal.
I will stalk you
not like a hunter
lusting after a deer
more like a bee
hoovering over
a strawberry flower
I'm gonna drink your nectar
like it was sweet, blushing wine
and baby, I just hope some of your pollen
sticks to me.
not like a hunter
lusting after a deer
more like a bee
hoovering over
a strawberry flower
I'm gonna drink your nectar
like it was sweet, blushing wine
and baby, I just hope some of your pollen
sticks to me.
a little something
Chisel my face
whittle it back down
to you.
Heavy heaving walks
with me but I don't
hear anything.
You're the slipperiest fish
that I've ever known
you're the heaviest dress
that I've ever sewn
and I still remember when
you used to have a soul,
oh, I don't know, you say
oh, I don't know, your hips sway
living your life like a muscadine
crush, crush, crush,
as soon as you were plucked off the vine.
whittle it back down
to you.
Heavy heaving walks
with me but I don't
hear anything.
You're the slipperiest fish
that I've ever known
you're the heaviest dress
that I've ever sewn
and I still remember when
you used to have a soul,
oh, I don't know, you say
oh, I don't know, your hips sway
living your life like a muscadine
crush, crush, crush,
as soon as you were plucked off the vine.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
8/11
Brothers, I never had, instead
sisters in the park with pinkish
barrettes in blond hair, feather
curls whipping in southern wind.
Still, part of me liked toy trucks
and metal slides and basketball
hoops; the sort of adventures that
not just anyone can have.
But little boys can be so cruel,
spraying at me with stink bombs
and tripping me with wire in the
woods behind my momma's house.
Yet, something was always a bit
different when you were here, even
if your firecrackers were snapping in
my window on a heated Friday night.
And sometimes my best friend's
mother just didn't care, left for
weeks and we all kept the secret
-- kept each other close at night.
Afternoons boombox blasting on the
roof and I think that, for the first
time I felt a little bit comfortable
being a little more than different.
Aaron T and Aaron A, my brothers,
inside you were twins, and our
mommas were working together
in a chainsaw factory, playing
spades on the weekends.
We lit each other's first cigarettes
and went to bed with our heads
wet, but didn't give up on each
other just yet, not just yet.
You ran and got me a rag when I
sliced at my finger in woodshop,
sopped up what was red, raw, and
wrought, or so we all thought.
One week I left home but I had to
come back early, the highway had
captured one of your bodies and we
all wept but I can't even remember
I can't even remember what his
casket looked like, or what my
momma's looked like, or what
Aaron T's momma's looked like
I just remember that her ceremony
was closed casket and by then I
was glad for that, I had decided
that I liked it better that way.
So we spent a lot of time as smoke
clouds after that, lighting each other's
last cigarettes of the night, what once
had been play had became necessity.
Because you and momma met quick
ends on opposite ends of the highway,
because the road to our homes got
stained with something more than black
Because Debbie was growing sicker
by the day, because she threw away
all the pictures and lied to us and said
the end wasn't near, not yet, children.
Brother it has been six years, today,
six years full of mustn't and won'ts,
six years full of doubts resting on
some dusty, black, country road.
And I can't say I'm better this way,
I can't lie and say it is all for the best,
but I can say we lived through and that
at night, I can still feel your breath.
So today I will go to the woods
behind your momma's house and we
will chase the dogs and not gaze
at the highway at all.
sisters in the park with pinkish
barrettes in blond hair, feather
curls whipping in southern wind.
Still, part of me liked toy trucks
and metal slides and basketball
hoops; the sort of adventures that
not just anyone can have.
But little boys can be so cruel,
spraying at me with stink bombs
and tripping me with wire in the
woods behind my momma's house.
Yet, something was always a bit
different when you were here, even
if your firecrackers were snapping in
my window on a heated Friday night.
And sometimes my best friend's
mother just didn't care, left for
weeks and we all kept the secret
-- kept each other close at night.
Afternoons boombox blasting on the
roof and I think that, for the first
time I felt a little bit comfortable
being a little more than different.
Aaron T and Aaron A, my brothers,
inside you were twins, and our
mommas were working together
in a chainsaw factory, playing
spades on the weekends.
We lit each other's first cigarettes
and went to bed with our heads
wet, but didn't give up on each
other just yet, not just yet.
You ran and got me a rag when I
sliced at my finger in woodshop,
sopped up what was red, raw, and
wrought, or so we all thought.
One week I left home but I had to
come back early, the highway had
captured one of your bodies and we
all wept but I can't even remember
I can't even remember what his
casket looked like, or what my
momma's looked like, or what
Aaron T's momma's looked like
I just remember that her ceremony
was closed casket and by then I
was glad for that, I had decided
that I liked it better that way.
So we spent a lot of time as smoke
clouds after that, lighting each other's
last cigarettes of the night, what once
had been play had became necessity.
Because you and momma met quick
ends on opposite ends of the highway,
because the road to our homes got
stained with something more than black
Because Debbie was growing sicker
by the day, because she threw away
all the pictures and lied to us and said
the end wasn't near, not yet, children.
Brother it has been six years, today,
six years full of mustn't and won'ts,
six years full of doubts resting on
some dusty, black, country road.
And I can't say I'm better this way,
I can't lie and say it is all for the best,
but I can say we lived through and that
at night, I can still feel your breath.
So today I will go to the woods
behind your momma's house and we
will chase the dogs and not gaze
at the highway at all.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
one more from high school
You're such a perfect boy now
Such a perfect man, now, I might say
But I must confess
You're so much better when you're unsatisfied
Because I never loved you more
Than when you were flawed and fruitless
Young but useless
And when angered, ruthless
I never knew you were beautiful
Until I saw the tears in your eyes
Trapped inside a hard, hard shell
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you are cold and desperate
Waiting for the comedown in the back of your car
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you're body is soaked
Standing in the shower with all your clothes on
Just letting to water run down
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you're fast and breathless
Yanking off your necklace
Hurling it into the nearest garbage can
So curse the girls that make you hurt
And bring back your warm, if reluctant embrace
Lay your body down in my bed
And I'll just sleep on the floor
I will just sleep on the floor
I listen to you breathe
Counting the seconds between the ins and outs
Making sure we didn't get ourselves too strung out
Making sure we didn't take too much this time
Making sure we didn't kill ourselves this time
Such a perfect man, now, I might say
But I must confess
You're so much better when you're unsatisfied
Because I never loved you more
Than when you were flawed and fruitless
Young but useless
And when angered, ruthless
I never knew you were beautiful
Until I saw the tears in your eyes
Trapped inside a hard, hard shell
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you are cold and desperate
Waiting for the comedown in the back of your car
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you're body is soaked
Standing in the shower with all your clothes on
Just letting to water run down
No, I couldn't love you more
Than when you're fast and breathless
Yanking off your necklace
Hurling it into the nearest garbage can
So curse the girls that make you hurt
And bring back your warm, if reluctant embrace
Lay your body down in my bed
And I'll just sleep on the floor
I will just sleep on the floor
I listen to you breathe
Counting the seconds between the ins and outs
Making sure we didn't get ourselves too strung out
Making sure we didn't take too much this time
Making sure we didn't kill ourselves this time
my lovely lost ones
Your face - it slowly fades
It looses its clarity a little more each day
I thought I'd burned your image in my head
What I thought was a memory
Is now a scar, instead
Your voice - it slowly fades
It loses its meaning a little more each day
I thought I'd carved it into my ears
But the oceans of my thoughts have eroded
over these past few years
At one time I could see your face
At one time I could hear your voice
At one time I could feel your breathe
Hot and gentle on my neck
At one time you were always there
In the wind, in my hair
I thought I could hold on to you forever
But my memories have been severed
It looses its clarity a little more each day
I thought I'd burned your image in my head
What I thought was a memory
Is now a scar, instead
Your voice - it slowly fades
It loses its meaning a little more each day
I thought I'd carved it into my ears
But the oceans of my thoughts have eroded
over these past few years
At one time I could see your face
At one time I could hear your voice
At one time I could feel your breathe
Hot and gentle on my neck
At one time you were always there
In the wind, in my hair
I thought I could hold on to you forever
But my memories have been severed
I want to be the music coming from your headphones.
I wrote this (and the thing beneath this and the thing above this) in high school, found and redrafted them all today. You can tell this one is from high school because no one listens to CD Players anymore.
You are quiet and alone
The way you like it, blocking out the world
Concentrating on your work
and the music coming from your head phones
I watch you quietly, pretending not to look
I Peek out at you
hiding behind my book
I see the outline of your chest against your shirt
your rounded fingertips gently graze the pages of your text
Your touch seems delicate but powerful
I can feel your pulse rising through the air --
thick and electric;
You don't even know that I am here
Or maybe you do
It's so hard to tell with you
perfectly alone and comfortable with yourself
resisting the distractions of everyone else
Text books and CD player
the only things you need
You don't see me
You won't see me
I want to be the music coming from your headphones
filling your head with thoughts unknown
I want to be the words in your text book
your gaze fixed upon me so intently
Your fingers grazing me with their powerful grace
I want to be the slight smile on your face
the words that spark an interest in your brain
the words that take away all that pain
I'd get my own headphones
But I know that all I'd be able to hear is you
So why bother
All I want is you
All I want is to be the music coming from your headphones
Please, tap your pencil to the rhythm of me.
You are quiet and alone
The way you like it, blocking out the world
Concentrating on your work
and the music coming from your head phones
I watch you quietly, pretending not to look
I Peek out at you
hiding behind my book
I see the outline of your chest against your shirt
your rounded fingertips gently graze the pages of your text
Your touch seems delicate but powerful
I can feel your pulse rising through the air --
thick and electric;
You don't even know that I am here
Or maybe you do
It's so hard to tell with you
perfectly alone and comfortable with yourself
resisting the distractions of everyone else
Text books and CD player
the only things you need
You don't see me
You won't see me
I want to be the music coming from your headphones
filling your head with thoughts unknown
I want to be the words in your text book
your gaze fixed upon me so intently
Your fingers grazing me with their powerful grace
I want to be the slight smile on your face
the words that spark an interest in your brain
the words that take away all that pain
I'd get my own headphones
But I know that all I'd be able to hear is you
So why bother
All I want is you
All I want is to be the music coming from your headphones
Please, tap your pencil to the rhythm of me.
Meet me at The Majestic.
Meet me at the majestic
Meet me at the old place
Where we sat beneath the stars for a few moments
As the younger ones walked by laughing
And if I was ever broken
You were the only person who could ever fix me
You arms were screwdrivers
Your voice was needle and thread
You warmed me up
Without a single touch
If you keep holding my head
When it threatens to roll over and fall off
I'll keep on keeping you
In my head twenty million times a day
But who I am kidding
I'd do that either way.
Meet me at the old place
Where we sat beneath the stars for a few moments
As the younger ones walked by laughing
And if I was ever broken
You were the only person who could ever fix me
You arms were screwdrivers
Your voice was needle and thread
You warmed me up
Without a single touch
If you keep holding my head
When it threatens to roll over and fall off
I'll keep on keeping you
In my head twenty million times a day
But who I am kidding
I'd do that either way.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Just another draft
Ethereal, you don't say
you can make the words float
but at night, you won't.
And I felt you all warm and dark
on my skin in the park
And I felt you all hot and bothered --
bedroom fodder
You know so much more than me
but you'd like to think
you don't know anything
no, no.
He calls me artist, what a farce
I'm just a hot, hot mess
with an unpainted face
in a cotton summer dress.
and it's layers, like a painting
covering up the last to get to the next
sacrifice the beginning
for a new ending
but I don't feel the same
but I don't feel the same
I'll let it flow back into me
I'll let you sing, sing, sing
but I'm barely listening
This time not focusing on the words
but just the melody.
I'm washing you out of my hair
untucking your name from my underwear
oh, no. oh no?
Just go.
you can make the words float
but at night, you won't.
And I felt you all warm and dark
on my skin in the park
And I felt you all hot and bothered --
bedroom fodder
You know so much more than me
but you'd like to think
you don't know anything
no, no.
He calls me artist, what a farce
I'm just a hot, hot mess
with an unpainted face
in a cotton summer dress.
and it's layers, like a painting
covering up the last to get to the next
sacrifice the beginning
for a new ending
but I don't feel the same
but I don't feel the same
I'll let it flow back into me
I'll let you sing, sing, sing
but I'm barely listening
This time not focusing on the words
but just the melody.
I'm washing you out of my hair
untucking your name from my underwear
oh, no. oh no?
Just go.
the jump [automatic writing]
the moment you step off the cliff and feel yourself drift into a pile of empty beneath you you lose the fright and the anticipation of what was to come, what is coming now, and you don't fear it, you don't feel it, you just are it. You don't want it and you don't wish for it to stop it just is, it is just there and you are just here and you don't know how it happened and you don't care. It's like the moment after orgasm and your head is empty and you are floating but not really floating just existing but not even that and not even breathing because you took in a sharp breath just before and you can't let it out now, now can you? No you can't think to do anything and your head is just black -- not soot black or ash black or bad black, just empty black, transparent black. And if every moment could just be this moment then you could be so different, you could be so free, you could be so anything. But you hit the water or the ground or whatever's beneath you and it's over. You're gonna have to climb back up if you want that moment again.
argument #147
Yes, of course, tonight
is a big, big fight.
I was purring but you were growling
crumpling me up like a browned old
paper sack.
The light creeps in; it's the morning hour
and you are flinging me around, breaking
my back.
You won't mean the words tomorrow but
I'll still remember every thing you've said --
you can't take it back.
If you touch me tonight, a bit too harsh
I might do something surprising, this time
I might fight back.
is a big, big fight.
I was purring but you were growling
crumpling me up like a browned old
paper sack.
The light creeps in; it's the morning hour
and you are flinging me around, breaking
my back.
You won't mean the words tomorrow but
I'll still remember every thing you've said --
you can't take it back.
If you touch me tonight, a bit too harsh
I might do something surprising, this time
I might fight back.
something short I will revise later
your voice rings empty
like an old telephone
clank, clank, click
nobody's home
I'll be, keeping your head above water
I'll be, keeping you close to heaven
I'll be the newspaper on your floor
The lock on your door
A book you read but don't understand
A scar dug deep in the palm of your hand
like an old telephone
clank, clank, click
nobody's home
I'll be, keeping your head above water
I'll be, keeping you close to heaven
I'll be the newspaper on your floor
The lock on your door
A book you read but don't understand
A scar dug deep in the palm of your hand
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Redraft of some old shit
We ran out of matches before it was time to strike
We're rubbing sticks together hoping this might turn out right
But all the smoke signals spell the wrong words
And the flame just won't burn bright
Like it did last night
I tied you into the laces of my shoes
And just ran, ran, ran, not knowing what else to do
Pinned you on my shirt in an effort to keep you close
But you squirmed out, right under my nose
We're rubbing sticks together hoping this might turn out right
But all the smoke signals spell the wrong words
And the flame just won't burn bright
Like it did last night
I tied you into the laces of my shoes
And just ran, ran, ran, not knowing what else to do
Pinned you on my shirt in an effort to keep you close
But you squirmed out, right under my nose
Sunday, August 1, 2010
untitled at the moment
and he was steam,
hot and clean.
oh babe, you're a charmer
a disarmer of all the armor
I've been wearing around the house
like a cross on a necklace
all my troubled years,
he couldn't give a fuck
my fondness of beer,
he thinks he's in luck
and I'm starting to believe he is.
hot and clean.
oh babe, you're a charmer
a disarmer of all the armor
I've been wearing around the house
like a cross on a necklace
all my troubled years,
he couldn't give a fuck
my fondness of beer,
he thinks he's in luck
and I'm starting to believe he is.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
I want
this is more of a writing exercise than it is actually something of substance. I recommend you try it, though.
I want someone whose voice cracks when they sing. I want someone who is secure in their masculinity, femininity, or lack thereof. I want someone who understands poetry and hates Jane Austen. I want someone who wants to go out and get shit wasted on Saturday night but stay at home with me all day on Sunday. I want someone who drinks wine and beer. I want someone who thinks about how they dress. I want someone who wears nice underwear, when they do wear underwear. I want someone who swears. I want someone who doesn't insist upon eating their Chinese food with chopsticks. I want someone who won't mind that I can drink them under the table. I want someone who smokes, but is trying to quit. I want someone who isn't afraid to smile in pictures. I want someone who likes being kissed behind the ears. I want someone who is really fucking smart. I want someone who doesn't mind if I am smarter than them. I want someone who works hard. I want someone who plays harder. I want someone who owns more books than DVDs. I want someone with hair I can run my fingers through. I want someone who doesn't care that I stay up all night. I want someone who thinks I am a person and not some abstract work of art. I want someone that knows how to roll. I want someone who doesn't like to be in the car. I want someone that smells like a person and not a drugstore box of perfume or cologne. I want someone that says "thank you," when I cook and serve them pancakes in the morning before they take their first bite. I want someone who will call me on my bullshit. I want someone who has nice lips. I want someone who doesn't like watching war movies. I want someone who fevers when I glance at them. I want someone that takes comfort in the fact that everyone is a little broken. I want someone who knows better than to act broken all the time. I want someone whose mind races. I want someone who loves their mother. I want someone who feels words in their spine. I want someone who sings and dances when there is no one there to listen or look. I want someone who bites their lip when I walk into the room. I want to sweat when I hear their name and I want all these things but I can't have them so I'm gonna sit at home alone today.
I want someone whose voice cracks when they sing. I want someone who is secure in their masculinity, femininity, or lack thereof. I want someone who understands poetry and hates Jane Austen. I want someone who wants to go out and get shit wasted on Saturday night but stay at home with me all day on Sunday. I want someone who drinks wine and beer. I want someone who thinks about how they dress. I want someone who wears nice underwear, when they do wear underwear. I want someone who swears. I want someone who doesn't insist upon eating their Chinese food with chopsticks. I want someone who won't mind that I can drink them under the table. I want someone who smokes, but is trying to quit. I want someone who isn't afraid to smile in pictures. I want someone who likes being kissed behind the ears. I want someone who is really fucking smart. I want someone who doesn't mind if I am smarter than them. I want someone who works hard. I want someone who plays harder. I want someone who owns more books than DVDs. I want someone with hair I can run my fingers through. I want someone who doesn't care that I stay up all night. I want someone who thinks I am a person and not some abstract work of art. I want someone that knows how to roll. I want someone who doesn't like to be in the car. I want someone that smells like a person and not a drugstore box of perfume or cologne. I want someone that says "thank you," when I cook and serve them pancakes in the morning before they take their first bite. I want someone who will call me on my bullshit. I want someone who has nice lips. I want someone who doesn't like watching war movies. I want someone who fevers when I glance at them. I want someone that takes comfort in the fact that everyone is a little broken. I want someone who knows better than to act broken all the time. I want someone whose mind races. I want someone who loves their mother. I want someone who feels words in their spine. I want someone who sings and dances when there is no one there to listen or look. I want someone who bites their lip when I walk into the room. I want to sweat when I hear their name and I want all these things but I can't have them so I'm gonna sit at home alone today.
Hometown
This place used to be more quiet, when I was growing
up so tall and bold, so much louder than anyone else
we'd ever known and no one knew what to think of me
or anything.
I come home in the summer and notice all the little
splinters and splits, which stores have been abandoned,
which cars have been hit. Every warm day is a little
bit different.
The cops from one town over started cracking down;
so the methheads scattered through the pine trees,
like cockroaches suddenly bathed in refrigerator light,
all skeletal and brown.
They swept through the green leaves into our yards,
wandering, searching, not-sleeping, mattresses
on the floor, ash in the windowsills and after a day
in the sun, one of them drowned.
But they multiply every day, all spiny and spindly
and dark. I see them swinging too hard in the town
park where I used to play with my best friend and
we would smoke cigarettes there as soon as we
turned fifteen.
Maybe I don't belong here and maybe I'll never find
comfort in the arms of that old tire swing but still I'd
rather things stay warm and twinkling, not turn brown
and chemical and stinking.
up so tall and bold, so much louder than anyone else
we'd ever known and no one knew what to think of me
or anything.
I come home in the summer and notice all the little
splinters and splits, which stores have been abandoned,
which cars have been hit. Every warm day is a little
bit different.
The cops from one town over started cracking down;
so the methheads scattered through the pine trees,
like cockroaches suddenly bathed in refrigerator light,
all skeletal and brown.
They swept through the green leaves into our yards,
wandering, searching, not-sleeping, mattresses
on the floor, ash in the windowsills and after a day
in the sun, one of them drowned.
But they multiply every day, all spiny and spindly
and dark. I see them swinging too hard in the town
park where I used to play with my best friend and
we would smoke cigarettes there as soon as we
turned fifteen.
Maybe I don't belong here and maybe I'll never find
comfort in the arms of that old tire swing but still I'd
rather things stay warm and twinkling, not turn brown
and chemical and stinking.
A draft
I've been camping the last few days. Did some writing, but mostly reflecting and experiencing, which I think are more important than the actual writing, sometimes. Home alone the rest of the day so I'll be working on things. Here's a draft.
hip bone bruises
always remind me
of you.
Stay away boy,
sickly pale
your hand is cracking down my back
Look at you now
lord knows you've got a smile
but it just won't crack
and I drank you like water
but you went down like fire
lightning clanking at my teeth
So lick your lips and sway your hips
but you're not digging any deeper
into me
In the dirt, we'll dig around
but there's not much left to be found
since you stuck me in the ground
and your head, it's blacker than
your coffee
What will it be this time –
a bullet, or a noose?
cut it loose
You tick like you're name is clock
and today it's just too much to watch
I think I might just let you wind down
and I'd shower you like rain
turn your body into moss
but you're just a sprinkler
so easy to turn off
hip bone bruises
always remind me
of you.
Stay away boy,
sickly pale
your hand is cracking down my back
Look at you now
lord knows you've got a smile
but it just won't crack
and I drank you like water
but you went down like fire
lightning clanking at my teeth
So lick your lips and sway your hips
but you're not digging any deeper
into me
In the dirt, we'll dig around
but there's not much left to be found
since you stuck me in the ground
and your head, it's blacker than
your coffee
What will it be this time –
a bullet, or a noose?
cut it loose
You tick like you're name is clock
and today it's just too much to watch
I think I might just let you wind down
and I'd shower you like rain
turn your body into moss
but you're just a sprinkler
so easy to turn off
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
wine vs beer
baby, you wanna down me like some cheap six back
some beaster on the beach
chug me up and bust my bottles
so that both of us get smashed
but I'm a bottle of cab sauv, which'll still get you drunk
but it's nicer if you sip me slow
get a little tipsy every night
savor the complexities
so go ahead, drink me up real quick if that's what you want
I guess I always knew you were an alcoholic
but I'm just warning you right now
too much wine'll make your head hurt in the morning
some beaster on the beach
chug me up and bust my bottles
so that both of us get smashed
but I'm a bottle of cab sauv, which'll still get you drunk
but it's nicer if you sip me slow
get a little tipsy every night
savor the complexities
so go ahead, drink me up real quick if that's what you want
I guess I always knew you were an alcoholic
but I'm just warning you right now
too much wine'll make your head hurt in the morning
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
something sweet
you're some headphones I put on
I can't hear anything else
but you
and your breathe lives in my teeth
baby, you make me weak
but only in the best way
my bed is just blankets and sheets
crisp and clean, but incomplete
when you're not here
you make me think my name is melody
the way you sing it every night
so sweetly
tonight I could pour out the firewater
shed some of this cold armor
and be kept in warm arms, instead
I can't hear anything else
but you
and your breathe lives in my teeth
baby, you make me weak
but only in the best way
my bed is just blankets and sheets
crisp and clean, but incomplete
when you're not here
you make me think my name is melody
the way you sing it every night
so sweetly
tonight I could pour out the firewater
shed some of this cold armor
and be kept in warm arms, instead
Monday, July 26, 2010
Princess Peach
Charcoal curves get on my nerves
especially when someone thinks
that words are just words
I'm all knotted up again
like the hair on your new lover's head
after a night not sleeping in your bed
and I'm bruising like a fallen peach
no one reached for
when she was on the tree
but I'm a bench and you sit
on top of me
digging at me with your knees
I'd rather you sink into me
with your teeth
one bite and you might know I'm sweet
especially when someone thinks
that words are just words
I'm all knotted up again
like the hair on your new lover's head
after a night not sleeping in your bed
and I'm bruising like a fallen peach
no one reached for
when she was on the tree
but I'm a bench and you sit
on top of me
digging at me with your knees
I'd rather you sink into me
with your teeth
one bite and you might know I'm sweet
Sweet Ash
You're no heart of glass, candy ass
sometimes sugar ain't so sweet
but just sticky instead, covering me
and the ants come out
sometimes people get caught up in my dark
instead of a person, they think I'm a work of art
and late at night, I'm walking all alone
into the ark
or they wear their sorrow like a crown
and I pick it up but the thorns stick
so I sit him back down
he just wants to prick me
and I puff him like a cigarette
keep him secret, tucked in a drawer
but I always make sure
it's the one that's closest to my bed
sometimes sugar ain't so sweet
but just sticky instead, covering me
and the ants come out
sometimes people get caught up in my dark
instead of a person, they think I'm a work of art
and late at night, I'm walking all alone
into the ark
or they wear their sorrow like a crown
and I pick it up but the thorns stick
so I sit him back down
he just wants to prick me
and I puff him like a cigarette
keep him secret, tucked in a drawer
but I always make sure
it's the one that's closest to my bed
Cold Water
My heads a swimming pool
he said he thinks its cool
but he'd say different if he knew better
yeah, he'd say different if his head was wetter
Oh, but you've never been much of swimmer
more a daydreamer, or just a dream weaver
picking flowers, but you won't keep them
And sometimes it's my fault,
I always save the leaves
even when they're all dead
I just wanna move my feet in the heat
shuffle up before I fall back down
stand up before my head hits the ground
but you're chugging your bad luck now
and sometimes good conversation
doesn't mean a goddamned thing
I'm naked, skinny dipping again
and you won't jump in
I'm through with it baby,
after all, it wasn't my idea to swim
he said he thinks its cool
but he'd say different if he knew better
yeah, he'd say different if his head was wetter
Oh, but you've never been much of swimmer
more a daydreamer, or just a dream weaver
picking flowers, but you won't keep them
And sometimes it's my fault,
I always save the leaves
even when they're all dead
I just wanna move my feet in the heat
shuffle up before I fall back down
stand up before my head hits the ground
but you're chugging your bad luck now
and sometimes good conversation
doesn't mean a goddamned thing
I'm naked, skinny dipping again
and you won't jump in
I'm through with it baby,
after all, it wasn't my idea to swim
Lock 'n Key
You say you've got drunk fingers
and I think you're itching at the trigger
drinking alone, covered in sin again
and I can just almost see through your skin
you're just not the type of boy
whose skies are always baby blue
you're just some new chore
one more thing left for me to do
your pockets whisper to my hips
but I just shut my lips
I'll listen but I'm not speaking back
no longer making up all the words you lack
“but when I sing, I mean those things”
over and over you said
well that's all good and well
but I can't have you living in my head
Once or twice, we messed around
but it's like Fort Knox now
I'm all locked up
you ain't getting in
and I think you're itching at the trigger
drinking alone, covered in sin again
and I can just almost see through your skin
you're just not the type of boy
whose skies are always baby blue
you're just some new chore
one more thing left for me to do
your pockets whisper to my hips
but I just shut my lips
I'll listen but I'm not speaking back
no longer making up all the words you lack
“but when I sing, I mean those things”
over and over you said
well that's all good and well
but I can't have you living in my head
Once or twice, we messed around
but it's like Fort Knox now
I'm all locked up
you ain't getting in
Saturday, July 24, 2010
thrust
Keeping down sustenance is a fight
my body is weak, even in the morning light
weary from laying in bed with a boy named Fright
who, never sleeping, shakes and shivers into me
all night.
As the boy I used to know would say,
"Love is a dirty trick,"
his words echoed as he thrust his dick
into whatever warmth would have him.
It's a tough thing, to be a whore
but what do I know, anymore.
All my knowledge sleeps behind
champagne screams.
my body is weak, even in the morning light
weary from laying in bed with a boy named Fright
who, never sleeping, shakes and shivers into me
all night.
As the boy I used to know would say,
"Love is a dirty trick,"
his words echoed as he thrust his dick
into whatever warmth would have him.
It's a tough thing, to be a whore
but what do I know, anymore.
All my knowledge sleeps behind
champagne screams.
My eyes are hazel but sometimes they are more green than brown.
I really hate this feeling.
Jealousy, seeping into my skin. Slipping under my eyelids and fingernails. Tingling down into the nerves in my toes. Being insufflated through my nose and into my brain. I fucking hate it.
The worst part is that I'm not really mad at anyone in specific. Except for myself, that is. Except for myself.
My head feels faint. I grind my teeth.
I hate the way they do that. Shut the door most of the way, leaving their body poking out. Hiding the other person behind the wooden plank between me and the air in the room, the warm body on the other side. As if we wouldn't be able to stand it if we saw each other, as if we'd scratch at each other like starving cats.
He didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure. It's just a pattern I've noticed. It's just my over-stressed brain, constantly studying behaviors and the slightest movements. I put too much meaning into smallest eye twitch, the tiniest slight of hand, the placement of someone's fingers, how wide their eyes get or how their ears perk up at certain words. I read them like books.
But people are not books. Men are not composed of pages.
I could take the easy way out and be pissed off at her, but that's just silly. I have no right, no claim to stake. If anything, she should be angry with me. She was here first. She had him first.
She never had him, either, is the thing. And she's leaving. In a few weeks. I need to be patient. In a few weeks.
But really, I don't want to be mad at her. Why should I? She has done nothing wrong. I am not one of those girls. I'm sick to my stomach just at the thought of being jealous as it is. I cannot possibly let myself be one of those girls.
I wish he would walk through my door right this second. I could shut my notebook and make these feelings disappear.
But I know that won't happen. Even if he were to walk through my door this very moment, it won't happen. He'll be a little different. A little distant. It will be tomorrow before he goes back to what he was before, until we go back to what we were before.
And then it still won't be enough. Not for me, anyway.
Jealousy, seeping into my skin. Slipping under my eyelids and fingernails. Tingling down into the nerves in my toes. Being insufflated through my nose and into my brain. I fucking hate it.
The worst part is that I'm not really mad at anyone in specific. Except for myself, that is. Except for myself.
My head feels faint. I grind my teeth.
I hate the way they do that. Shut the door most of the way, leaving their body poking out. Hiding the other person behind the wooden plank between me and the air in the room, the warm body on the other side. As if we wouldn't be able to stand it if we saw each other, as if we'd scratch at each other like starving cats.
He didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure. It's just a pattern I've noticed. It's just my over-stressed brain, constantly studying behaviors and the slightest movements. I put too much meaning into smallest eye twitch, the tiniest slight of hand, the placement of someone's fingers, how wide their eyes get or how their ears perk up at certain words. I read them like books.
But people are not books. Men are not composed of pages.
I could take the easy way out and be pissed off at her, but that's just silly. I have no right, no claim to stake. If anything, she should be angry with me. She was here first. She had him first.
She never had him, either, is the thing. And she's leaving. In a few weeks. I need to be patient. In a few weeks.
But really, I don't want to be mad at her. Why should I? She has done nothing wrong. I am not one of those girls. I'm sick to my stomach just at the thought of being jealous as it is. I cannot possibly let myself be one of those girls.
I wish he would walk through my door right this second. I could shut my notebook and make these feelings disappear.
But I know that won't happen. Even if he were to walk through my door this very moment, it won't happen. He'll be a little different. A little distant. It will be tomorrow before he goes back to what he was before, until we go back to what we were before.
And then it still won't be enough. Not for me, anyway.
automatic writing #19
When you are sleeping with grinding teeth and sighing between snores and snoozes I am plenty frightened by what lucid trappings your tangled mind has gathered and wish to gently shake you from fractured slumber, keep you calm under heavy breasts and steady breathe but you are young and in need of rest, tired on my account and I cannot bare the thought of disturbing you.
don't think
You walked to the beach with stones in your pockets
You walked into the night with all your flashlights buried
You wear no picture inside your locket
At the best times, you always look worried
I don't think, don't think, don't think this will work out.
I don't think, don't think, don't think anything.
Maybe in a million years I could trust you
Maybe in a million years I wouldn't mind the rust you
keep on the soles of your shoes.
Always going, going, going,
going nowhere.
You walked into the night with all your flashlights buried
You wear no picture inside your locket
At the best times, you always look worried
I don't think, don't think, don't think this will work out.
I don't think, don't think, don't think anything.
Maybe in a million years I could trust you
Maybe in a million years I wouldn't mind the rust you
keep on the soles of your shoes.
Always going, going, going,
going nowhere.
Fidget
This sucks but whatever. I need to digitally archive stuff until my computer is fixed.
He shoots but he doesn't cry
the rosewater stings but it is still
the beat in my head won't wait no more
the heat in my head starts a war
I see all the honey flying out your mouth
It's sweet but it is sticky and it weighs me down
I'm no bug trapped in amber
not a coffee table paper weight
“If we could be still
wouldn't that be great?”
well I'd rather not stay
I'd rather not stagnate
But you're pondwater that won't move
you're a predator with nothing left to do
so you lick your teeth, growl at me
as if I'm some flesh left for the taking
I'm so sick of rolling around in your hay,
hey, hey, get out of my fucking way.
He shoots but he doesn't cry
the rosewater stings but it is still
the beat in my head won't wait no more
the heat in my head starts a war
I see all the honey flying out your mouth
It's sweet but it is sticky and it weighs me down
I'm no bug trapped in amber
not a coffee table paper weight
“If we could be still
wouldn't that be great?”
well I'd rather not stay
I'd rather not stagnate
But you're pondwater that won't move
you're a predator with nothing left to do
so you lick your teeth, growl at me
as if I'm some flesh left for the taking
I'm so sick of rolling around in your hay,
hey, hey, get out of my fucking way.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Untitled as of yet
your hands clap
but there is no beat
I walked for 800 miles
before realizing I had no feet
you are a kite flying
but you're tied to me with string
and every bow in between
is a once-secret, singing, screaming
when I met you, you were a stream
thin and shallow, cold and flowing into me
when you met me, I was a mountain
quickly eroding
with each passing day you grew deeper
and carved more into me
with each passing day I turned into rubble
brought down to the earth's floor
Thank you, but I don't swim here,
anymore.
but there is no beat
I walked for 800 miles
before realizing I had no feet
you are a kite flying
but you're tied to me with string
and every bow in between
is a once-secret, singing, screaming
when I met you, you were a stream
thin and shallow, cold and flowing into me
when you met me, I was a mountain
quickly eroding
with each passing day you grew deeper
and carved more into me
with each passing day I turned into rubble
brought down to the earth's floor
Thank you, but I don't swim here,
anymore.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Black and Blondes
This is not one of the things I previously mentioned working on. Still haven't finished those. Like I said, they'll be long. I just whipped this out. Not perfect, but enough for now.
You got me feeling like a jerk
in an ocean of blue, blue, blue
You're forgetting it fast,
that you're the one that set the mood
I'm broke but I'm laughin'
while you're tying your shoes
You're drunk just like you planned it
and you're blowing me away
With the way that you keep changing
how do you expect me to ever match your mood
You say its all my fault but I never told you
anything but the truth
Night time, it keeps falling
you're still howling at the whisky moon
Night time, it keeps calling
and I'm locking myself in my room
'Cause when the phone rings me alive
I don't even have to think or blink
I just open it and pour my black and blonde out
right into your wide open mouth
And every night you sing it right back
tossing stones and lifting bricks from my back
Until one night your tongue goes flat,
swallows me up and burns me black.
You got me feeling like a jerk
in an ocean of blue, blue, blue
You're forgetting it fast,
that you're the one that set the mood
I'm broke but I'm laughin'
while you're tying your shoes
You're drunk just like you planned it
and you're blowing me away
With the way that you keep changing
how do you expect me to ever match your mood
You say its all my fault but I never told you
anything but the truth
Night time, it keeps falling
you're still howling at the whisky moon
Night time, it keeps calling
and I'm locking myself in my room
'Cause when the phone rings me alive
I don't even have to think or blink
I just open it and pour my black and blonde out
right into your wide open mouth
And every night you sing it right back
tossing stones and lifting bricks from my back
Until one night your tongue goes flat,
swallows me up and burns me black.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I promise...
I am working on a few things but they are going to be pretty long and they are kind of hard to write so it is going to take a while.
Also they will not all be stupid sappy stuff or stupid bitter love stuff as per usual, ha.
SEE YOU SOON!
Also they will not all be stupid sappy stuff or stupid bitter love stuff as per usual, ha.
SEE YOU SOON!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
but you can have it
Your voice always shakes
breaks through the glass screen
and baby, when you scream
it gets me weak in the knees.
I pretend I hate it, because
I know we won't make it
pretend, I said,
I'm just faking it.
Well, we've both been waiting
for him to leave me, for you to
need me, knead me like dough for
bread, medicine for your
thick, thick head.
My days are long and wrong
but you can have them
my knees are weak and bare
but you can wear them
my heart is battered and broken
but you can have it
breaks through the glass screen
and baby, when you scream
it gets me weak in the knees.
I pretend I hate it, because
I know we won't make it
pretend, I said,
I'm just faking it.
Well, we've both been waiting
for him to leave me, for you to
need me, knead me like dough for
bread, medicine for your
thick, thick head.
My days are long and wrong
but you can have them
my knees are weak and bare
but you can wear them
my heart is battered and broken
but you can have it
hear boy
[Side note -- lack of updates due to broken leg/pain meds.]
I'm making all the pretty turns
and run around words
but I can seem to veil my meaning
quite thickly enough
what if you see me, really see me
what if you don't need me, won't need me
and here I am, open again
showing you all the inches of my skin
and here I am, love drunk again, struck again
work is supposed to make you think
but my heart is still just so thin
hear me, here boy
I'm making all the pretty turns
and run around words
but I can seem to veil my meaning
quite thickly enough
what if you see me, really see me
what if you don't need me, won't need me
and here I am, open again
showing you all the inches of my skin
and here I am, love drunk again, struck again
work is supposed to make you think
but my heart is still just so thin
hear me, here boy
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Just a Little one
When you look at me, I feel naked
paper thin, can't wear a grin
staring at your chin, your stubbled chin.
I grow my hair so long, cover myself up
the boys say I'm tough, tumble and rough,
but they haven't seen me, not even once.
paper thin, can't wear a grin
staring at your chin, your stubbled chin.
I grow my hair so long, cover myself up
the boys say I'm tough, tumble and rough,
but they haven't seen me, not even once.
Siren Song
I swear, I'm a succubus
I destroy every man
that I see.
But next time I've got to remember
to do it to them first,
before they get to me.
I destroy every man
that I see.
But next time I've got to remember
to do it to them first,
before they get to me.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Then and Now
The clock looks at me so hungry
face all empty and hollow
This house is big but it is empty
save for the shadows
and me.
I remember when we lived in a trailer
with copper wires and avocado green ceramic --
bathtub, toilet, sink
and tiny brown moving legs
and tiny brown watching eyes
Now the TV is almost as big as me
it covers a big green painting
impressionistic blurs
an anniversary present that costs far more
than my mother's diamond wedding ring.
When I was seven we ate
ramen noodles for dinner and
we drank water from the faucet
took drives while counting cows and picked
black-eyed susans from the side of the highway.
Daddy and I don't go out anymore
he sits in his recliner and I cook for him --
steak, filet mignon, medium rare.
He comes home from work so tired
but his pockets are deep and fat.
Every day he drives down the highway
but I won't touch the steering wheel
we didn't hang up one of those fake flower crosses
we don't need an acrylic memorial
to remember such things.
I thought I was miserable back then, hormones
rushing and bones aching, growing taller
but I was lucky then, living in a rent house
or a trailer or with my grandparents
but it was still all gonna be okay.
If only I'd known it then, so many people
always seem to say. But they don't know
it still, they still don't know it. A withered
waitress rests her hand on my father's back
but the only comfort she's providing
is for herself.
face all empty and hollow
This house is big but it is empty
save for the shadows
and me.
I remember when we lived in a trailer
with copper wires and avocado green ceramic --
bathtub, toilet, sink
and tiny brown moving legs
and tiny brown watching eyes
Now the TV is almost as big as me
it covers a big green painting
impressionistic blurs
an anniversary present that costs far more
than my mother's diamond wedding ring.
When I was seven we ate
ramen noodles for dinner and
we drank water from the faucet
took drives while counting cows and picked
black-eyed susans from the side of the highway.
Daddy and I don't go out anymore
he sits in his recliner and I cook for him --
steak, filet mignon, medium rare.
He comes home from work so tired
but his pockets are deep and fat.
Every day he drives down the highway
but I won't touch the steering wheel
we didn't hang up one of those fake flower crosses
we don't need an acrylic memorial
to remember such things.
I thought I was miserable back then, hormones
rushing and bones aching, growing taller
but I was lucky then, living in a rent house
or a trailer or with my grandparents
but it was still all gonna be okay.
If only I'd known it then, so many people
always seem to say. But they don't know
it still, they still don't know it. A withered
waitress rests her hand on my father's back
but the only comfort she's providing
is for herself.
It Still Burns Me Up
The only thing you ever caught was on fire. Constantly on fire, there it was on your tongue, living in your head and shooting out your mouth. I felt it fizzle and flame when our tongues met but always thought it was a good kind of warmth, something solid, something real.
I was younger then, not so much in years but in the wrinkles and folds of my mind, younger in the fluid in my spine. I felt younger, too. We blew bubbles and rolled in the grass like children. I never had a chance to be a child but with you it felt familiar. What I couldn't realize was that you were not returning to some former lost grace or innocence. You were wearing your youth the way a bride wears a veil – pride, glory, attention. But the veil has to lift sometime. The girl gets married and becomes woman and grows up. But not you.
Your tongue turned to ashes and it painted my body black. I felt so sooty and old but still it seemed natural. I've been living in the dark for a lot of years. I'm not like those other girls, with their charcoal eye liner and painted on sad faces. I know those girls because I used to be one of those girls, before the real trouble hit. Before the house burned down. Before lumberjack turned to withered, blind sack of skin. Before new car and fresh paint turned to new wreck and fresh blood. I went quietly but scribbled a lot.
So we bathed in the dark, in what we thought was art. You said I was beautiful when I cried. I hated that. I knew my face was red and puffy and desperate. I never wanted anyone to see me that way. I always kept three spare tins of face powder in case someone walked in on some private shame, in case I got upset at the last moment before some important meeting that simply could not be skipped, wound up too tight like an old clock and even older man was trying to fix.
And the fire came out. At first it was just smoke, thin and grey but steady. The smell was almost comforting, once again, familiar. I guess I'd never really met any men worth talking to then, and maybe I still haven't, yet. So I didn't mind, not just yet. But it got denser and grey, came out all secretly through the telephone wires. “Is she with you? Where is she?” your voice would meander at some boy across the room. As if I could catch fire with anyone else. As if I'd choke on another man's smoke.
The little pages were nipped and scorched. “I never meant a thing,” you'd say. I always thought fire was supposed to be bigger, brighter. Instead it was just steady and spreading fast. It burnt up the bedsheets and melted silver and gold. It slipped into my notebook and charred love-scrawled pages. It burnt everything in my house save for your voice, flat and hollow. You can't burnt up something that was never there.
I was younger then, not so much in years but in the wrinkles and folds of my mind, younger in the fluid in my spine. I felt younger, too. We blew bubbles and rolled in the grass like children. I never had a chance to be a child but with you it felt familiar. What I couldn't realize was that you were not returning to some former lost grace or innocence. You were wearing your youth the way a bride wears a veil – pride, glory, attention. But the veil has to lift sometime. The girl gets married and becomes woman and grows up. But not you.
Your tongue turned to ashes and it painted my body black. I felt so sooty and old but still it seemed natural. I've been living in the dark for a lot of years. I'm not like those other girls, with their charcoal eye liner and painted on sad faces. I know those girls because I used to be one of those girls, before the real trouble hit. Before the house burned down. Before lumberjack turned to withered, blind sack of skin. Before new car and fresh paint turned to new wreck and fresh blood. I went quietly but scribbled a lot.
So we bathed in the dark, in what we thought was art. You said I was beautiful when I cried. I hated that. I knew my face was red and puffy and desperate. I never wanted anyone to see me that way. I always kept three spare tins of face powder in case someone walked in on some private shame, in case I got upset at the last moment before some important meeting that simply could not be skipped, wound up too tight like an old clock and even older man was trying to fix.
And the fire came out. At first it was just smoke, thin and grey but steady. The smell was almost comforting, once again, familiar. I guess I'd never really met any men worth talking to then, and maybe I still haven't, yet. So I didn't mind, not just yet. But it got denser and grey, came out all secretly through the telephone wires. “Is she with you? Where is she?” your voice would meander at some boy across the room. As if I could catch fire with anyone else. As if I'd choke on another man's smoke.
The little pages were nipped and scorched. “I never meant a thing,” you'd say. I always thought fire was supposed to be bigger, brighter. Instead it was just steady and spreading fast. It burnt up the bedsheets and melted silver and gold. It slipped into my notebook and charred love-scrawled pages. It burnt everything in my house save for your voice, flat and hollow. You can't burnt up something that was never there.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Go away
All right well, shit
I guess this is it.
You say you want it bad
This one thing, you could have
But now I'm up for grabs
and you hold your hands [back]
You bite your swollen tongue
empty your frost-bitten lungs
No more longing
for lonely me
I danced around the plot
tried to fool myself
You had me almost caught
then became someone else
Go away, go away
I'll say
But only because I know
you're too much not enough
to stay.
I guess this is it.
You say you want it bad
This one thing, you could have
But now I'm up for grabs
and you hold your hands [back]
You bite your swollen tongue
empty your frost-bitten lungs
No more longing
for lonely me
I danced around the plot
tried to fool myself
You had me almost caught
then became someone else
Go away, go away
I'll say
But only because I know
you're too much not enough
to stay.
Friday, June 4, 2010
A little more each day.
Will, will, will.
You left us a puzzle of yourself
in refrigerator magnets
and the bottom of whisky bottles
Red label, I read your label,
more like honey than liquor
sweet, no bite.
Now the days are empty
Like your once-lover’s arms
But we’re still singing your charm
I’ll keep singing your charm
The buzz will wear off
But we can’t shake you off
We can drink ourselves numb
But without you, I just feel
so fucking dumb.
Your momma’s real religious
and your lover, she’s real cross
me, I don’t know what to think
watching her twitch under hospital sheets
‘Cause when the blood slipped under the sink
I was holding you in my teeth
biting my tongue and missing arms
stunned from too many false alarms
I’d come home
I’d kiss your grave
but I’m a fool and a coward
so I sit here alone, in shame.
Good night, skinny boy
Good night, humble man
Good night, devil dreamer
Good night, and I hope you made amends
even though we never believed in then, anyway.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Small Writings
Sachrine
I fell from a pedestal
"well, is this it?"
on the ground, now
here I sit
getting to the top
takes a long time
knocks the wind out of you
that's the price of the climb
so don't place me up there
so haphazardly
just because you're tall, naturally
it doesn't mean a thing
He's candy store sticky sweet
rots my teeth, rots my teeth
but he melts on my tongue
sticks to my gums
'till my throat scratches numb
Fear of Heights
I fell from a pedestal
"well, is this it?"
on the ground, now
here I sit
getting to the top
takes a long time
knocks the wind out of you
that's the price of the climb
so don't place me up there
so haphazardly
just because you're tall, naturally
it doesn't mean a thing
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tired Talk
I admit, that one night,
part of me liked seeing him
cry.
Fallen at the feet of some escaped beauty
that I wrote in a notebook
a long time
ago.
I let him leap out the room
misty red, barely read
but already knowing...
I let the days grow thicker
answered the questions in my own head
but didn't forget
all the drunken things he'd said.
Just a boy on a string
god, how can I
be so mean?
But it's not, it's not
my fault
he's so flawed.
He's just another set of lips that
deny love
“I'd love to be alone...”
but we're not kidding anyone.
If he wanted this
he'd have to miss
me more in the long run.
We waited with arms crossed
and cross talk
“You just love arguing.”
But really
I think he just loved
me.
part of me liked seeing him
cry.
Fallen at the feet of some escaped beauty
that I wrote in a notebook
a long time
ago.
I let him leap out the room
misty red, barely read
but already knowing...
I let the days grow thicker
answered the questions in my own head
but didn't forget
all the drunken things he'd said.
Just a boy on a string
god, how can I
be so mean?
But it's not, it's not
my fault
he's so flawed.
He's just another set of lips that
deny love
“I'd love to be alone...”
but we're not kidding anyone.
If he wanted this
he'd have to miss
me more in the long run.
We waited with arms crossed
and cross talk
“You just love arguing.”
But really
I think he just loved
me.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Free Write
At night you still come to me, but not like before. You break into my head wearing a masks but I recognize your clothes. I recognize your clothes because they're my clothes. They are my clothes you refused to return to me, ill fitting and awkward. Too loose around the hips, too short and your ankles are left open, white socks in my face. White socks. God, you know how much I hate white socks, always dingy and greying, always brown spot stained and loose.
The mask comes off and I know its real – there it is, your face, your pair of lips, all sugar and bite and bile. And I wish that I could hate your face, your tongue – for a moment I do. I scream and curse you and tell you to get the fuck out of here, get the fuck out of my world, my head, my home or land or country or wherever it is I'm floating through today.
And you do. You run. You run fast but I catch you. I want to cut out your throat so you never lie again. I want to cut off your arms so you never wrap yourself around a woman and tell her everything is going to be all right – at least, never again. The biggest part of me that hates you is the part of me that longs for you, long like you, skinny and lean and taut and young and tall.
I catch you but now I can't remember why I was chasing you in the first place. To spit your face? To curse you a few decibels louder? I don't know. You've got your nose to the ground and we're arguing. You're telling me I kept your nose to the ground. “Do you know what its like to walk around like this?”
And maybe that's my biggest fear – that you blame me. That you think its my fault that I'm caterwauling crazy now, that I'm some sick succubus like the girl in that movie we saw in the theater last fall. Am I? Am I sick?
Get out, I say, again. And it's like this these days. I want to think about anything but you, want to know anyone else but you, but when its midnight and there's a pair of jeans pressed up against me all I can think about is your skin and how electric its always been. You were always so warm in my hands, carved and stretched to my exact specifications, it seemed.
“What good are you now?” I say. “You can't even wear your own clothes. Its pathetic.” But you aren't listening. Like so many days I'm here again, droning on and you're barely nodding, barely thinking, just all hollow and still. I climb on top of you and scream in your face, as if loudness could do the trick.
That's when I realize it – my position is weak. I can't be hear, can't be doing this. I'm trying to force you to listen but all I can feel is your skin on my skin. Fuck. It's still electric, still humming, still begging at me. I still know every curve and line and motion. “This isn't what it seems,” I don't want it. I don't want you. I fight it with every inch of my bones.
But you come back at me. I've pinned you down but its really you that's on top. You see me slipping, like soap out of grimy hands, like an earthworm off a hook into a clever fish's mouth.
You move, but only in the best-worst way, as I scream no, we can't do this, I can't do this, not again, not after everything. I can't want you anymore. I can't want you anymore.
But I do, and I wake up ashamed.
The mask comes off and I know its real – there it is, your face, your pair of lips, all sugar and bite and bile. And I wish that I could hate your face, your tongue – for a moment I do. I scream and curse you and tell you to get the fuck out of here, get the fuck out of my world, my head, my home or land or country or wherever it is I'm floating through today.
And you do. You run. You run fast but I catch you. I want to cut out your throat so you never lie again. I want to cut off your arms so you never wrap yourself around a woman and tell her everything is going to be all right – at least, never again. The biggest part of me that hates you is the part of me that longs for you, long like you, skinny and lean and taut and young and tall.
I catch you but now I can't remember why I was chasing you in the first place. To spit your face? To curse you a few decibels louder? I don't know. You've got your nose to the ground and we're arguing. You're telling me I kept your nose to the ground. “Do you know what its like to walk around like this?”
And maybe that's my biggest fear – that you blame me. That you think its my fault that I'm caterwauling crazy now, that I'm some sick succubus like the girl in that movie we saw in the theater last fall. Am I? Am I sick?
Get out, I say, again. And it's like this these days. I want to think about anything but you, want to know anyone else but you, but when its midnight and there's a pair of jeans pressed up against me all I can think about is your skin and how electric its always been. You were always so warm in my hands, carved and stretched to my exact specifications, it seemed.
“What good are you now?” I say. “You can't even wear your own clothes. Its pathetic.” But you aren't listening. Like so many days I'm here again, droning on and you're barely nodding, barely thinking, just all hollow and still. I climb on top of you and scream in your face, as if loudness could do the trick.
That's when I realize it – my position is weak. I can't be hear, can't be doing this. I'm trying to force you to listen but all I can feel is your skin on my skin. Fuck. It's still electric, still humming, still begging at me. I still know every curve and line and motion. “This isn't what it seems,” I don't want it. I don't want you. I fight it with every inch of my bones.
But you come back at me. I've pinned you down but its really you that's on top. You see me slipping, like soap out of grimy hands, like an earthworm off a hook into a clever fish's mouth.
You move, but only in the best-worst way, as I scream no, we can't do this, I can't do this, not again, not after everything. I can't want you anymore. I can't want you anymore.
But I do, and I wake up ashamed.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
As yet untitled
God, you know I really barely ever write when I'm drunk. Oh well, here goes.
Baby, I wanna kiss you and
roll around on your floor
whisky-drunk
I wanna rip your name out of the
phone book and walk across
your chest
I wanna walk uneasy when you're
in the room and shiver a little
when you speak
I wanna scream at you while I'm all
wrinkled up and strung out
and say sorry in the morning
I wanna be the one that
smiles when you walk in the door and
cries when you leave
But you just wanna whisper
half-hearted, quarter-hearted sweet nothings
into my hair
You just wanna feel the
smooth, the silicone and fake
artificial love
Baby, I wanna kiss you and
roll around on your floor
whisky-drunk
I wanna rip your name out of the
phone book and walk across
your chest
I wanna walk uneasy when you're
in the room and shiver a little
when you speak
I wanna scream at you while I'm all
wrinkled up and strung out
and say sorry in the morning
I wanna be the one that
smiles when you walk in the door and
cries when you leave
But you just wanna whisper
half-hearted, quarter-hearted sweet nothings
into my hair
You just wanna feel the
smooth, the silicone and fake
artificial love
Monday, May 17, 2010
Newest work in progress
I didn't start the fire.
I remember the first time I saw your hands shake
shake like mine, just like mine
as you held the stump of a cigarette
and tried to smile, just tried to smile.
We walked home together that night
but first we walked for miles
and your face looked like lightning
or fire, bright burning fire.
There was no wine on your breathe those days
no whiskey in your walk, just a hint of
tabasco on your tongue,
twist in your talk.
But it all exploded, like a lime burst
in your gin and tonic,
a cinnamon flame
spicing rum.
You used to hold my hand the way you hold
that pint glass,
firm and sure
this is what you want.
And I stuck to you like honey,
thick and sweet and heavy,
not fast and liquid, like whatever's at the bottom
of so many bottles.
You let me crystallize, crystal eyes
crystal like wine glasses,
broken at the bottom of the staircase,
broken at the edge of your mouth.
The house is in flames now, burnt down
by the fire in your mouth, the heat living
on your tongue.
I remember the first time I saw your hands shake
shake like mine, just like mine
as you held the stump of a cigarette
and tried to smile, just tried to smile.
We walked home together that night
but first we walked for miles
and your face looked like lightning
or fire, bright burning fire.
There was no wine on your breathe those days
no whiskey in your walk, just a hint of
tabasco on your tongue,
twist in your talk.
But it all exploded, like a lime burst
in your gin and tonic,
a cinnamon flame
spicing rum.
You used to hold my hand the way you hold
that pint glass,
firm and sure
this is what you want.
And I stuck to you like honey,
thick and sweet and heavy,
not fast and liquid, like whatever's at the bottom
of so many bottles.
You let me crystallize, crystal eyes
crystal like wine glasses,
broken at the bottom of the staircase,
broken at the edge of your mouth.
The house is in flames now, burnt down
by the fire in your mouth, the heat living
on your tongue.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Short Life, or J. C. H.
I JUST wrote this, haven't looked it over, nothing. It's very long and even more personal. I'm posting because I've known that it needed to be written for over a year, but just now forced myself to do so, and even though I haven't read over it yet, I really think I have something here.
The Short Life, or J. C. H.
You were in love with me, when I was only a girl
Not yet even a shadow of a woman,
but already an open wound.
You'd pull my hair, trip my heels,
steal my purse and I cursed you in the schoolyard,
poured ice and syrup water over your head, the dye ran down
your blonde hair, your pale head.
But in the cafeteria line, one day
I burned my finger and stuck its red tip in my mouth
“Don't do that,” you said, moving my hand, protecting my body for it's own harm
“The inside of your mouth is over 98 degrees,
the air around us, the surface of this stainless steel, are much cooler, better for you body,”
and my arm hung down, stinging slightly less.
I never saw it, never saw the light in you eyes when I entered the room
chalked you up a schoolyard distraction,
found your words and tug crass, not searching or longing
for their lost meaning.
But some we'd talk and you'd seem bright, just a child a bit lost
I didn't know your family troubles, your too open wounds,
and I sang to myself that old radio tune,
“I wonder what it is I see in you, I wonder if I'll always be with you...”
but replaced the ambiguous nouns with your name.
At my twelfth and your thirteenth year we lost
you closest playground companion, a boy in love with my best friend
a boy she too rejected, swatted away like cooties or misquotes, moths drawn to our flames
but we'd always turn out the light.
His body sat in a casket that was kept closed, our parents fearful
that our young hearts would break even more, be made even more scarred
if we could see the accidental bullet hole in young, fleshy neck
in my head, I thanked and cursed them both for this.
We sat on lime green astroturf, the town was poured in our high school gym
That Halloween day, death and dark had suddenly become real
and we saw what swift and stern repercussions
the simplest, easiest sort of mistake could make.
You and I, and she, we broke into more pieces than the bones in his former face,
we shattered like porcelain hurled from a city window
the last strings of youthful ignorance and ambivalence,
forever freed from us.
Every night, the three of us salt-rained into sheets and pillows,
bath tubs and bathroom floors,
but she had my hand, I had hers
no one had yours.
The summer came and our wounds tried to dry
but we still wept in silent dark, in closed door rooms where we could only see each other
but not you, we could not and did not see you,
you stayed within the county line but changed school mascots.
I saw you time to time, basketball games and trivia tournaments,
your smile seemed real again and your hair was short, staunch,
I thought you lucky, to finally be so happy
I couldn't have thought of a better way for you.
The years went by with the weather and I found myself unable to stand still any longer
the summers grew shallower and the schoolyard games of teasing turned into every day rituals of hurt
the boys and girls in our hometown feared me,
I have always been more than a little strange.
So without realizing, I took a similar path as you,
stayed fat away but kept close, looked for better learning or at least gentler children,
gentler something, a mostly-escape from still tear-eyed memories
and that grey yet decorated headstone.
The days kept moving faster, like an over-wound watch on our wrists
and summers past without me finding a trace of your face
I ran farther off, to college
and in my second summer home, gained some knew knowledge of you.
Your ex-stepmother saw me, on my way out of town one weekend,
laughed loud when she heard my name,
“Oh, you, you're Sarah,” she said, slow and loud and sweet,
“Cody, he was always in love with you.”
These words struck me odd, but it all sort-of made sense,
I became angry with myself, knowing I'd been such a bitch at such a young age,
But I consoled myself, we were only children, after all
and besides, every day, more and more I would change.
The next summer, I saw your face from behind computer glass
You were a man now, camo-clad and serious,
with a red-haired barely-woman in a white wedding dress,
I was proud of you again, happy you'd found what so many spend so much
looking for.
I tried to talk to you that summer, occasionally we'd run into each other
at the truck stop by my house
but we were grown now, we were no one like we'd been before
and the red curls of the girl in the truck made looking into your eyes
uncomfortable.
So I went back, back to that cold place, my dorm room, my offices
but was almost pushed out, consequences of minor mistakes
and grew lonely, impatient, unbearable,
wanted it all over.
But the light showed itself to me again, as it always has
when the world deals you much trouble, you learn to find ways
to dig yourself out,
if only slightly.
But again came another black-cloud day, another waning moon sky
you had whiskey on your breath and a crack in your heart,
your love had left you, is what they say
my father saw you that night, said you looked liquid.
But you can't trust me, I'm a faulty narrator,
this, and many parts of the story, are only what
I have been told, I wasn't close enough
to know the truth.
The real truth of the matter is, though
that you are dead now, bullet wounded
a shaky shot to your head and the cycle,
it begins again.
Now I loved many men, most of them loose cannons
and known a few more, blisters in the sun
and with great ache, I admit many of them have turned
to a circled length of rope or the barrel of a gun.
Every day I must live with myself, hollowly promise that there was
probably
nothing I could do.
But I still think of you at night
and wonder if the world we be different
had I loved you.
The Short Life, or J. C. H.
You were in love with me, when I was only a girl
Not yet even a shadow of a woman,
but already an open wound.
You'd pull my hair, trip my heels,
steal my purse and I cursed you in the schoolyard,
poured ice and syrup water over your head, the dye ran down
your blonde hair, your pale head.
But in the cafeteria line, one day
I burned my finger and stuck its red tip in my mouth
“Don't do that,” you said, moving my hand, protecting my body for it's own harm
“The inside of your mouth is over 98 degrees,
the air around us, the surface of this stainless steel, are much cooler, better for you body,”
and my arm hung down, stinging slightly less.
I never saw it, never saw the light in you eyes when I entered the room
chalked you up a schoolyard distraction,
found your words and tug crass, not searching or longing
for their lost meaning.
But some we'd talk and you'd seem bright, just a child a bit lost
I didn't know your family troubles, your too open wounds,
and I sang to myself that old radio tune,
“I wonder what it is I see in you, I wonder if I'll always be with you...”
but replaced the ambiguous nouns with your name.
At my twelfth and your thirteenth year we lost
you closest playground companion, a boy in love with my best friend
a boy she too rejected, swatted away like cooties or misquotes, moths drawn to our flames
but we'd always turn out the light.
His body sat in a casket that was kept closed, our parents fearful
that our young hearts would break even more, be made even more scarred
if we could see the accidental bullet hole in young, fleshy neck
in my head, I thanked and cursed them both for this.
We sat on lime green astroturf, the town was poured in our high school gym
That Halloween day, death and dark had suddenly become real
and we saw what swift and stern repercussions
the simplest, easiest sort of mistake could make.
You and I, and she, we broke into more pieces than the bones in his former face,
we shattered like porcelain hurled from a city window
the last strings of youthful ignorance and ambivalence,
forever freed from us.
Every night, the three of us salt-rained into sheets and pillows,
bath tubs and bathroom floors,
but she had my hand, I had hers
no one had yours.
The summer came and our wounds tried to dry
but we still wept in silent dark, in closed door rooms where we could only see each other
but not you, we could not and did not see you,
you stayed within the county line but changed school mascots.
I saw you time to time, basketball games and trivia tournaments,
your smile seemed real again and your hair was short, staunch,
I thought you lucky, to finally be so happy
I couldn't have thought of a better way for you.
The years went by with the weather and I found myself unable to stand still any longer
the summers grew shallower and the schoolyard games of teasing turned into every day rituals of hurt
the boys and girls in our hometown feared me,
I have always been more than a little strange.
So without realizing, I took a similar path as you,
stayed fat away but kept close, looked for better learning or at least gentler children,
gentler something, a mostly-escape from still tear-eyed memories
and that grey yet decorated headstone.
The days kept moving faster, like an over-wound watch on our wrists
and summers past without me finding a trace of your face
I ran farther off, to college
and in my second summer home, gained some knew knowledge of you.
Your ex-stepmother saw me, on my way out of town one weekend,
laughed loud when she heard my name,
“Oh, you, you're Sarah,” she said, slow and loud and sweet,
“Cody, he was always in love with you.”
These words struck me odd, but it all sort-of made sense,
I became angry with myself, knowing I'd been such a bitch at such a young age,
But I consoled myself, we were only children, after all
and besides, every day, more and more I would change.
The next summer, I saw your face from behind computer glass
You were a man now, camo-clad and serious,
with a red-haired barely-woman in a white wedding dress,
I was proud of you again, happy you'd found what so many spend so much
looking for.
I tried to talk to you that summer, occasionally we'd run into each other
at the truck stop by my house
but we were grown now, we were no one like we'd been before
and the red curls of the girl in the truck made looking into your eyes
uncomfortable.
So I went back, back to that cold place, my dorm room, my offices
but was almost pushed out, consequences of minor mistakes
and grew lonely, impatient, unbearable,
wanted it all over.
But the light showed itself to me again, as it always has
when the world deals you much trouble, you learn to find ways
to dig yourself out,
if only slightly.
But again came another black-cloud day, another waning moon sky
you had whiskey on your breath and a crack in your heart,
your love had left you, is what they say
my father saw you that night, said you looked liquid.
But you can't trust me, I'm a faulty narrator,
this, and many parts of the story, are only what
I have been told, I wasn't close enough
to know the truth.
The real truth of the matter is, though
that you are dead now, bullet wounded
a shaky shot to your head and the cycle,
it begins again.
Now I loved many men, most of them loose cannons
and known a few more, blisters in the sun
and with great ache, I admit many of them have turned
to a circled length of rope or the barrel of a gun.
Every day I must live with myself, hollowly promise that there was
probably
nothing I could do.
But I still think of you at night
and wonder if the world we be different
had I loved you.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Fall Plans
Just to let anyone that cares know, I got into Emerson College 's (in Boston) Creative Writing - Poetry MFA program. They have offered me a $30,000 fellowship.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Naseau -- Rough Draft
You say you wish you could hate me
Well so do I
But the thing you don't notice
The thing you never realized
Is the way that you made me
and your blue green eyes
The way that you held me up
and never, till now, lifted your disguise
It's the reason I breathe, now
The only way I could hold me head high
The way that you'd break me
and tell me the sweetest of lies
It's the reason those three words
make me nauseous now
It's the real reason I cry
But you speak to me now
with such bitter words
it's as if to say
I was the one that caused you hurt
You say that you'll never
love or open your heart again
If that's true, then what am I
but soured means to a bitter end
You say you needed someone
you just wanted a friend
but being friends was never good enough
you sucked me right in
Now what once was beautiful
is a rotten paper sack
Now what once was pure
is painted with ash, is black
My stomach, it churns now,
when a man sings to me
I can see no love, no longer longing
for much of anything.
You walk alone now, never by your side
you walk alone now, hang your head without pride
I'll sleep lonely now, I'll sleep alone
Knowing this house is no longer your home
But I'll break the windows down
I'll get cut by the glass
I'll bleed this life out
and make a new one last
You'll speak slower, now
as you cower in shame
You'll be alone forever, now
but one day, I'll forget your name.
Well so do I
But the thing you don't notice
The thing you never realized
Is the way that you made me
and your blue green eyes
The way that you held me up
and never, till now, lifted your disguise
It's the reason I breathe, now
The only way I could hold me head high
The way that you'd break me
and tell me the sweetest of lies
It's the reason those three words
make me nauseous now
It's the real reason I cry
But you speak to me now
with such bitter words
it's as if to say
I was the one that caused you hurt
You say that you'll never
love or open your heart again
If that's true, then what am I
but soured means to a bitter end
You say you needed someone
you just wanted a friend
but being friends was never good enough
you sucked me right in
Now what once was beautiful
is a rotten paper sack
Now what once was pure
is painted with ash, is black
My stomach, it churns now,
when a man sings to me
I can see no love, no longer longing
for much of anything.
You walk alone now, never by your side
you walk alone now, hang your head without pride
I'll sleep lonely now, I'll sleep alone
Knowing this house is no longer your home
But I'll break the windows down
I'll get cut by the glass
I'll bleed this life out
and make a new one last
You'll speak slower, now
as you cower in shame
You'll be alone forever, now
but one day, I'll forget your name.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Slipping (first draft)
Fuck the day's responsibilities. I just want to write. Here's the newest, freshest thing I have.
Spent a year in regression
I'm sick of this mutual obsession
locked in your bedroom,
I spent too many nights
fearing for your fragile life.
Kiss me, kiss me, tell me anything
kiss me, kill me, I'm waking from a dream
of what I thought
used to be.
You could say a million things
quell a million false dreams
but you say nothing
you never would say a thing.
I'm a checkerboard, I'm a puzzle piece
you're a lazy hand, a mind spent on dreams
but you never once tried to face
this inopportune reality.
I'm a string on the guitar
you never learned to play.
I'm the rope you could never jump
but instead just let swing and sway.
Replace me, but I'm not lost
Replace me, but it's a large cost
You stamped out the last sparks
left in me
half a decade spent in absence
but you said you'd be there, instead.
Tonight, I'd rather you be dead.
Tonight, I'd rather you be in someone else's head.
Tonight, I'm not the books I've read.
Tonight, I'm not sleeping, but slipping, instead.
Spent a year in regression
I'm sick of this mutual obsession
locked in your bedroom,
I spent too many nights
fearing for your fragile life.
Kiss me, kiss me, tell me anything
kiss me, kill me, I'm waking from a dream
of what I thought
used to be.
You could say a million things
quell a million false dreams
but you say nothing
you never would say a thing.
I'm a checkerboard, I'm a puzzle piece
you're a lazy hand, a mind spent on dreams
but you never once tried to face
this inopportune reality.
I'm a string on the guitar
you never learned to play.
I'm the rope you could never jump
but instead just let swing and sway.
Replace me, but I'm not lost
Replace me, but it's a large cost
You stamped out the last sparks
left in me
half a decade spent in absence
but you said you'd be there, instead.
Tonight, I'd rather you be dead.
Tonight, I'd rather you be in someone else's head.
Tonight, I'm not the books I've read.
Tonight, I'm not sleeping, but slipping, instead.
Work in Progress #37
I've been obsessing over thesis and posting very little. I don't want to give away too many big chunks of my project before I'm finished. So, instead, here's a draft I started yesterday. Suggestions welcome.
There isn't enough coffee in the world for the mess you put me in.
Coffee, black, like you, black, like you.
Fifteen nights that still haven't seemed to pass.
Fifteen lives that I could not make last.
But you weren't one
you weren't one
you didn't know
a single one.
Just because you're crying
it doesn't mean your depressed
just because you're lonely
doesn't mean there's no one left.
But you're not Connor Oberst
and you're not a poet,
no,
you're no fucking poet.
So grow your hair longer
call me your father's name
grow your hair longer
and convince yourself of the pain.
I'm not a mirror, I'm no family jewel
but you're just the shadow
of one walking fool.
Don't curse the carpenter
when you gave her no nails
Don't curse the doctor
when you won't tell what ails.
There isn't enough coffee in the world for the mess you put me in.
Coffee, black, like you, black, like you.
Fifteen nights that still haven't seemed to pass.
Fifteen lives that I could not make last.
But you weren't one
you weren't one
you didn't know
a single one.
Just because you're crying
it doesn't mean your depressed
just because you're lonely
doesn't mean there's no one left.
But you're not Connor Oberst
and you're not a poet,
no,
you're no fucking poet.
So grow your hair longer
call me your father's name
grow your hair longer
and convince yourself of the pain.
I'm not a mirror, I'm no family jewel
but you're just the shadow
of one walking fool.
Don't curse the carpenter
when you gave her no nails
Don't curse the doctor
when you won't tell what ails.
Friday, January 22, 2010
rough draft
So, this is going to be my drafting notebook, I think. Here's something I wrote in all of 7 minutes today. It's got some cheesy/trite parts, but I think it's going somewhere.
This is about love, but it's also about the American dream.
----
you're a perfume box
shining exterior, solid walls
holding in liquid love
a hurricane watch
watching over, watching over me
your bed of wheat and honey
golden, sucked me in
kept me stuck
lovestruck
lovedrunk
galoshes stomp
flower field romp
I see your face in the pattern
of the birds on my dress
I see your face in the pattern
of the clouds floating west
romeo, the sun rises east
but it sets, it sets out west
with you, with all the light I give to you
and each morning wake
you return to me
so return to me
return to me
and let the moon never glow again
and let the daylight never end
This is about love, but it's also about the American dream.
----
you're a perfume box
shining exterior, solid walls
holding in liquid love
a hurricane watch
watching over, watching over me
your bed of wheat and honey
golden, sucked me in
kept me stuck
lovestruck
lovedrunk
galoshes stomp
flower field romp
I see your face in the pattern
of the birds on my dress
I see your face in the pattern
of the clouds floating west
romeo, the sun rises east
but it sets, it sets out west
with you, with all the light I give to you
and each morning wake
you return to me
so return to me
return to me
and let the moon never glow again
and let the daylight never end
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