Sunday, March 27, 2011

Almost a Figment

I almost let myself be
the untouchable face
impenetrable memory
the photo clutched
by your desperate fingers.

Nearly said, "No thanks"
because I almost had too much pride.

I almost became that figment
of ethereal beauty
that every man holds on to,
but can have only one real life interpretation of.

Pink lips, 
a slow motion memory of our eyes meeting
of the heat of our bodies
of the touch of my
index middle and ring fingers
brushing your undeserving cheek.
You wanted me that badly, once, 
because I was not yours,
but just an unwieldy,
enigmatic marriage of what went before
with what you thought I could never be again.

What was I but an objectification
of beauty and truth,
which you abandoned in the parking lot
on that chilly January afternoon,
forcing smiles in the pit of my misery
that I had not been enough to have been kept
in the first place?

Subtly edging my way
back into reality
and out of your fantasy world
was the best and worst
move I ever made.
To no longer be yearned for
in the same way,
but in a more familiar desiring
what one has as opposed to what
they cannot get

is not inferior.
Just different.

something steady-- I dont like this

some days
I feel the weight of myself.

And I never see waves of introspection
coming toward the shore of my livelihood. 

self-examination can be crippling,
inescapable--
like being stuck in
the trappings of a
kaleidoscope--
which part is the mirror?

I am not a person who
lets go of things too easily.
I am not a person who
asks for things she needs,
in the right way.
I am not a person who
knows me, as well as I want to.

Maybe I don't need to tell anyone who I am.

Sometimes I just need the sound of something steady, 
like trickling rain on the pavement, 
like a song with no words.
Let the rest all come easy.
Does a snake need to think about shedding his skin,
or a chick about breaking free from the shell?
Who am I kidding?

Saturday, March 26, 2011

I'm thinking its some sort of a sign that I've seen two stray cats and a stray dog today...wanted to take them home with me so badly. Metaphor of sorts?

Friday, March 25, 2011

Drawn by Michael

The man who sits in Caribou coffee,
sipping warm milk at a table near the back--
he is always there.

What is his story?
Well, Stella, Maddie, Cory and I got drunk one time and asked him.
Why not? 
A couple of high school kids who know nothing about life.

He told us he was homeless,
in a very roundabout way.
He told us he had made some wrong decisions in his life,
very vague.
He pulled out a box of crayola colored pencils.
He drew a portrait of us.
Told Cory to eat a spoonful of honey
for his smoker's cough.
He smiled,
he reveled in talking to us about life,
God, horoscopes, different schools of thought--
so knowledgeable for a man of his circumstance.

I haven't seen him in years, 
and I can only hope that it's
because he saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
I can only hope the world didn't swallow him hole,
leaving just a tethered old box of colored pencils,
and a mountain of caribou coffee cups.

michael drew me 2

Thursday, March 24, 2011

All I want right now is contact comfort. Hugging my Teddy. Goodnight world, be kind to me tomorrow.

I accidentally posted a blank entry

and one flaw of blogger is that it won't let you delete a post, you can only edit it. So here is the pointless post which blogger would not let me delete, only refined and no longer blank. I will change it to something poetic about this old photo Chelsea took of me on the train tracks. but for now, as for this post-- it's pretty much pointless.

   
Photobucket


the beginnings of a self-portrait

Small face christened by quiet tears,
I am going to deny them until you see it for yourself,
until you beg me to tell the truth.

Mouth shut, tight-lipped.
you are going to have to drag it out of me.
If I could clutch the words in my fingers,
white-knuckled, I would.

Bluish green looking right through it all.

A graceless ribcage housing the
heart with wings,
I'm going to clip them.

Guarding the weighted core.
I'm just going to be soundless.
I am not going to reveal too much.

fawn--needs developing, just images i didnt wanna forget

This isn't art but it's the truth:

I have a delicate mind.
It is full of sensitive thoughts--
I hate needing someone to protect me
from the things I do not know
because I can't build up the walls around me
like I want to
because everything that comes from my brain
by way of my mouth
is quiet
and understated.

I'm so vulnerable, as if I'm
wandering across the busy
intersection.
So prone to accidents,
misuse, abandonment,
a hit and run.

What can I do?
I am just a little thing
in a big world
with no defense,
and nowhere to put the heartache
after failed attempts
to continue on like everybody else does.

the feeling after fireworks

Subtle.
Painfully shy,
sometimes.

Just as quiet as my grip
on their attention,
which fades like a 
firework, fizzling
out,
at the end of the night.
A trickle of light,
a few pops,
and then I'm 
spent.

My grasp on you is like the crowd's deep sigh
when the show is over--as they know
they need to pack up their picnic baskets
and blankets,
roll their strollers, gather their children,
their tupper ware,
and say goodbye to family friends
as the july sky melts to black.
I'm that feeling in their guts--
that initial
"Oh wow, 364 days until I will see that again,
what a shame that it's over."
I'm a quick sadness, then they forget,
as July becomes August.

I don't know, experiments

GET UNDER THERE 
I bellow at my stubborn light.
Grunting as I
lift the bushel, 
just barely,
struggling to stuff the beams
out of sight,
out    of   mind.

They won't see you under here,
I told it.

Hide the light, and wait
for a person with enough rigor
and aggression
to knock the barrel over.

But maybe I won't hold my breath--
at least not for too long.
everyone is
t  r  a  n  s  i  e  n  t,

and wants 
immediate
gratification.

Monday, March 21, 2011

more 500 days of summer

   
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Inspired by 500 Days of Summer

Mark Webb, director (2009, Fox Searchlight)

Barefoot on the jaded sidewalk
with nothing on beneath his jagged robe,
he steps out of the drug store, 
stomping where he knows bottles have been thrown
without wincing 
as the shards seethe through his flesh.

He lugs his brown paper bag of 
twinkies, frozen pizzas, and various
Rite Aid liquors, the cheapest of the cheap,
grunting at strangers he passes on the steps.
"Get a room," he mutters
to a couple that is innocently holding hands,
happening to be in his destructive path.

He is helpless to stop his mind 
from flashing to memories of her face.
At the bar last night, he cursed her very existence
but everyone knew he was lying--
what else was he to do with a love unrequited?
He longs to suppress the blazing clarity
with which images of her features come to him; 
to belittle the icy blues of her eyes,
to deny their glory. He wants to detach
from the wonders of her body, and perhaps
to forget them all together.



   
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Monday, March 14, 2011

Us in the Grocery Store

Together, we enter the grocery store
blissful, annoying,
unintentionally gloating.
A spanish woman with orangey-red lipstick
glares at me,
her faceless husband leaving her to push the cart,
to gather the coupons for check out.
She must be jealous of our hands intertwined,
your eyes readjusting to meet mine every time I speak,
and the youthful glint.
Absent-mindedly, I run into fixtures of bananas and Tupperware towers,
gargantuan cardboard advertisements for Ovaltine, 
Starkist, Kool Aid.
Like a preteen drunk for the first time, I am
dizzy from the syrupy sweetness,
numbed by the kick.

You drag me by my hand 
when I head in the wrong direction;
An older woman smiles at us with kind eyes.
I help you bag at the self checkout.
You take the heavy one with the liters of soda in it,
and we saunter back to your car.
You unlock my door first then give me a kiss 
before walking around to the other side.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Guardian

In between wake and rest,
I opened my eyes to see the silhouette of your face--
your features were illuminated by the light of the moon.
I was comforted by your familiar presence
and the quiet hum of the cars outside.

Your head calm in the lull between my shoulder and chest,
your stillness rendered me unaware of the world's spin.
I squeezed your hand lightly
before rolling to reposition myself against you,
and took a deep breath in; 
the sweetness of waking and having you there
soothed my body with honeyed relief.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Cough Syrup- I don't rhyme. A children's Poem?

Mucky purple "grape" mistake,
making me gag, making me cringe.
Metallic, unyielding aftertaste,
if only it were administered by syringe.

Its scent is enough to send me running
It reminds me of my childhood,
not being able to sleep from coughing.

For God's Sake! My dad would bellow from the next room. 
I can't help it, I'd cry, as mom got the medicine measuring spoon.

No! Not that! I'd plead,
Open up, it'll be all better--she'd say--you'll see.

I'd wince, I'd whine, I'd hide behind the door.
Cough syrup is something I'd never wish for.

Those Stubborn Words I Finally Let Go Of-- last stanza needs help

We lay on the floor,
limbs tangled, breaths synchronized.
I don't want to take care of myself,
I said, my chest heavy,
my throat straining to release
the words that cripple, and
the frightening truthfulness
behind them.
I want you to take care of me.

I know you don't, sweetheart;
you said--I think I could hear the longing in your
voice. 
I try to take care of you as much as I can.
And then I made myself silent.

Just last week, I wrote you a poem.
I dripped passion from every pore,
I sent my words to you for the first time.
Beautiful you called it, and you thanked me
for writing something so heartfelt for you.
And then you said you wished you could
write something like that for me.

The struggle to express that which had once seemed inexplicable comes easy to no one,
but the few who approach that beast head on
can at least say that they had no regrets about what was said, and wasn't said.

If I left you tomorrow, 
would you wish you had tried to write me that poem?
Would you wait as the words fell from your pen onto the page,
or would you still say I cannot?

Weight- revised

Somewhere nearby

there is someone else cutting their losses.

To sever that part which no longer

functions in conjunction with the mass

is always the strong way--

Preferential to being saddened by the

slaughter of your fairy tale ending after it's too late, anyway...

but it's not easy to let go of that glorified dream.


My window sills still have a few inches

of sleeted snow on them—the debris from

the downfall—and the sight

of the pane is making me stop

and think about it all--

about how I want you to be the crux of it,

the hero who kisses the sleeping princess,

and saves her from the dread and the villain--

but you are too stubborn, and I

am wanting to sleep


because I can't run out and distract myself

from my livelihood or lack-thereof

like I usually do.

The branches on my trees outside

are weighed down by the aftermath of the storm,

and so am I.