chikling
spring green walls in my room
dark green leatherite sofas
dresser circa 1947
sofa circa 1970
strongbox circa 1880
stupid ply bent bookshelf circa 2017
whenever i stand before that mirror
dark dark circles under my eyes
hair puffed like burnt flour
skin tanned by an anti sunscreen sun
still very beautiful
imagine all those who must have stood before this mirror
stood dressed - then undressed
hands that must have touched this strongbox
its as if im paraded by history
paraded so much that im removed from the present
its as if the present is the past and the future but not the present
crowled or crawled by deep thoughts
pause right here you dumb fuck
deep thinkers are lying alone in distant distant graveyards
alone
alone with their thoughts as eaten as their bones
intellect sells
intellect without a heavy tag is really no intellect at all
be pseudo
wear a white tee
beige coat
show biceps
a brown rayban
a five o'clock shadow
khakis
boatshoes
a casual patek on your wrist
a hardtop convertible
and after u tick these boxes
talk pseudo
talk about thimpu and gandhara
even if you dont know jackshit
so save your intellect
bend your bookshelves no more
for the ants in the grave wont spare
lies
I suppose that there are many different types.
there is the lie I tell when I say I am 24, when I mean that this is my twenty-fourth year on this planet and soon I will be entering another.
there are lies we tell children, those 'harmless' ones. cultural tales and legends and tricks to get them to behave a certain way.
there is the lie of one who has fallen out of love - repeating words with lost meaning, no effort, and in avoidance of honesty with themselves.
there's the lie of the deceiver, an intentional misleading. who they are, what they want from you, who they are willing to take down to get it.
and then there is a different kind of lie - the kind that comes from fear. and while sometimes it's well intentioned, it's the one that stings the most. it takes many, many forms.
somehow they always pick the lie that crosses every category. they tell me the same words in different ways. and usually, they mean to comfort, but they don't know quite how, and they don't have the answers. fear does many things.
so yes. there are many different lies. but there are only a few that pierce straight to my soul. so don't tell me that I will be okay just because you do not have the answers. i have sought out my future in the vitality of those who have lived through what I have. and it helped with the trauma. it helped me through the abuse. it helps me survive nights of PTSD flashbacks and harm to myself where I struggle to remember why I am still here, where I fight voices in my head that repeat the words drilled into my being since birth, that prevented my worth from ever growing, that destroyed any semblance of self that ever began to sprout green life from concrete and gravel with hatred and hunger and glee.
but there is no vitality of those with my letters, my labels, my illnesses, far up ahead, in my current progression. my clinical profile identical to those in their 30s and 40s - what's that mean for me? No one can say. It's anyone's guess, anyone's game. I'm not sure it's a game that I'd quite like to play. So no, do not lie to me. Don't tell me that I'm going to be okay; grant me that one kindness. They number only few, those from whom these words and this comfort accepted.
decade dedication
whenever someone asks me for my age
it takes me a moment to respond
because sometimes I forget which answer is correct
aren't i still six?
my memories are narrative
i don't know if it's the norm
they're stories held by someone else
passed along the chain within my brain
and yet I know that I was there
I remember it in sequence
just not staring out my own eyes
more like watching from the eaves
knowing logically and feeling memories
are not, evidently, the same thing
sometimes i forget how old i am
because i have felt too much
for only twenty-four years to hold
- see, there I go again!
because I am still twenty-three.
but even so I forget.
I have told it wrong for months.
truly, by accident.
how can twenty-three years
contain all that I have lived
it cannot hold in the pain
nor the memories
no matter how I know them
no matter how I hold them
my brain says 'twenty-four'
as though the extra months
will stretch it all out
lighten up the load
as if maybe knowing this May
could mark the start of twenty-five
might help me survive
under the crushing weight
of a life that should be stretched
much, much, further,
'cross many more years
but, no. reality is it's just my
twenty-three to bear the burden
though they seem too weak
to many, even often so to me
would it thin out more
if I felt as though I were twenty-nine?
I know not. but I am not, and so
I should not speculate.
and really, this is my 24th year on this planet
my birthday only marks the conclusion of it.
but sometimes when
they ask how old I am and
I have to stop and think
I hesitate because I wonder
why they want to know.
is it so that they can judge my years,
casually decide upon the value
of my experiences, my words?
it feels that way, sometimes
even when they do not mean for it to.
i am twenty-three, I want to scream,
i am twenty-three, but my twenty-three
matches your thirty-five.
and my twenty-three matches *your* forty-nine.
and if this is all
stuffed into my twenty-three
and so many others
with so much less
and so many more years
did not make it,
or they sit here just like I do now,
then how am I to know
that i could one day be okay?
it is easy to forget what it is like
to be nineteen, to be twenty, twenty-one
or to be age twenty-two.
i wish i could remind you
but those years for me
have not been what
everyone else's seem to be
so i sit quietly and listen
to your forty-two
and your sixty-seven
your thirty-six
and your fifty-four
and you are all in pain
and your pain is real
and you are valid and seen
but i cannot help but wonder.
and when I step out for a moment
to refill my water bottle
please know that this is code
for crying in a bathroom stall
because i am scared. and i am young. and no one can tell me
what the future will be
so don't you dare say
that i will be ok.
you don't know that.
we are in the same place,
only i got here far too soon
for anyone to say what is next.
let me cry. let me scream. let me be.
I know I am kind,
I make people laugh
they call me gracious and patient
the delightful perfect patient
who takes it all in step
and has it all in hand
but i confess it all pretend;
and i do not know how
no one else has noticed yet.
of course i'm not okay.
I know I should be brave.
but I think people forget
that i am twenty-three.
Refraining
I'm stealing some joy from the narrowing back of the river.
Take its ribcage deep into my eye,
sunken in sun...
Gifting me it's clumsy souvenir,
the ceaseless dance, an unrehearsed eternal choreography.
Around the muddy fingers of its bank,
despite the protests growing in its mouth from fallen trees.
I desire to describe the air between the captured images in words...its taste of me as it loses its name tangled in my tousled hair, its feel on me and its own feelings as it strikes and rushes past my cheek…
maneuvers around the corner of the groove above my lip- parted in syllables unborn and mysterious to me.
And I realize my flaws are perfectly refraining from a wish because they're flawless.
The Hope Trope
Pomes and prosecco
reflect the echo
and hollowness of a love-lorn heart
Strawberries and champagne
ignite a new flame
that promise a fresh lover's start
Berries and bubbles
eavesdrop drunken mumbles
slipping from the lips of the jilted
Fruits and flutes
court new recruits
to a future that's already wilted
First Day: That’s All Folks!
HR Manager During New Employee Orientation: Welcome to ACME Incorporated's state of the art factory! You should feel proud to work here because ACME is the exclusive supplier of coyotes, roosters that sound like Kentucky Colonels, hunters with speech impediments, narcissistic ducks, and two foot tall red haired bandits everywhere! It's a great place to work! Oh, now don't listen to the rumors about employee turnover. We value our employees at ACME and consider each of you as more than workers, we consider you family!
Let me assure you that the quality control workers at ACME are the foundation of the company and we pay you accordingly! What other employer offers its employees 100 paid days off, a company car, clothing allowance, and free chef currated meals and $10,000 an hour? Now, I can take a question or two from the new hires.
Cartoon Mouse: Do you offer health insurance?
HR Manager (sweating): No, but the pay alone makes health insurance a small consideration!
Cartoon Cat: I really like the life insurance policy, I mean $10,000,000 for accidental death or dismemberment, that's amazing.
HR Manager (with a smile): I told you that ACME takes care of it's workers.
Cartoon Cat: That's great, but when I went to fill in the spot for beneficiary, ACME Incorporated was already there.
HR Manager (taking the cat's life insurance application): Now, I thought those monkeys in clerical fixed this typo! I'm gonna get this fixed as soon as we're done here! Now, does anyone else have any questions?
Cartoon Dog: Yeah, the job discription's a bit vague. Exactly what'll we be doin' here at ACME?
HR Manager: GREAT QUESTION! Your job here is to test our products as they come off the assembly line to make sure that they work as designed and it doesn't take any special training. The process is simple. To test each finished item all ya gotta do is just tap each product on the detina.....er.......top with a wee hammer as it comes off the assembly line and answer one question on the form attached to your clipboard. Does it explode?
Pusherman, taps on the steering wheel, mountain justice, and a primitive gnaw.
In case anyone has a case of the Mondays, on the show today, in number 26, Curtis Mayfield sings us into three reads by three vastly different talents with one vast thing in common: Each one is their own creator with a style like no others. Top off your coffee, and sail away with us.
Here's the link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMz90tLIE5s
And here are the pieces featured within.
https://www.theprose.com/post/812076/memories https://www.theprose.com/post/811802/the-women-in-the-trees https://www.theprose.com/post/812519/the-line
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team