Alone, Together
It started with vodka and your aroma of fresh bread,
frozen stones of dirty streets melted in open pools.
I wanted, yes yearned, to pitch tents with you
in the blaze of midnight sun and the scent of rain.
I wanted you as my igniting spark with ember words.
I felt drawn and impassioned to give myself to you -
a drunken state with liquor bottles reflected on night stands,
breathing and moving together in well rehearsed symphony
as I waited for you to be close enough to stroke my hair,
a touch to reaffirm my existence and worth as a human being.
I felt sheltered in my naked skin as I let you come in
alone, together, promising only to be one night friends.
I begged you to be my shadow soul mate singing tipsy love songs.
The next morning, minus you, I remembered the drunken sex,
sweaty lust and wet passion engraved on shards of my mind -
the pieces left behind while I returned to my own bed alone,
awakening to begin my search, once again, for a heartbeat.
Entitled
I much rather remember my drunken gazelles. Yes, that's how I like them. And believe me, it's how they'd prefer to be when with me too.
Here's one now. I know what she wants. Coming into the bar wearing practically nothing. T n'A on display.
Under my breath I say to myself, "Fuck yeah, I'll keep buying you drinks, Whore. Cheaper than getting a call girl tonight".
Paradise Lost
She asked her not to wear those skimpy shorts
Or give that glance ,coquettish of sorts.
She warned her against trusting a stranger
Ohh! She got collywobbles raising a teenager.
A strict no to the late night bashes
A decree to minimize the mascara on those incipient lashes.
"Let me know if you had the hots for someone"
"Facts of life you should know from me, your mum".
She tied the lass to her apron strings
And kept a watchful eye over her growing wings.
But soon there was a drastic change in the little lady's form
Was it the silence before the storm.
The leaves of the young tree started withering in the wind
Nervous hands of clock ticked when she thought her daughter could have sinned.
As she dug deep to find the nugget of truth
Hot on the trail ,like a shrewd sleuth.
Unable to bear the pain her daughter confided in her
She stopped dead in tracks after learning the truth, one after another
No, it was neither the stranger
Nor the teenager from the adjoining manger
Facing the truth,her world came down to shambles
On learning both had lost their virginity to the same man with whom they lit the daily candles.
She was struck by a fate worse than death
Thinking of her husband who would father his own child's child,she fell short of breath.
"Is being molested loss of virginity?
"No", she said, "as my child has not yet lost her purity"
The Call of Crows
I have stopped listening
to our songs without truth
which hung for too long
on clothesline of despair
beyond my halting reach,
hidden among bruises
of empty promises.
Death rattle stilled
my faltering heart
in your barren place.
Penetrating dagger
slew my hollow chest
as I moaned and stared
at bottomless destiny.
I grabbed fistfuls of
my shattered pieces
and ran parallel
to your lightning strikes
out of your dark grasp.
I broke my silence
to be heard
above the call
of crows.
Tears glistened
on my stitched face
as I turned my back
on you, fleeing
toward the moon.
s e l f i s h
i am a woman of no religion, but i can remember begging and pleading that if there was a god, or a higher being, for it to kill me in my sleep.
i remember writing a suicide when i was eight...even back then, i already knew i was not fit for living.
maybe my bad genetics is at fault for why i'm like this, or maybe it was my bad luck that played a part, but i think i'm just making up excuses, denying who the real culprit is...myself.
i tried to get better, i really did try, but without fail, i always find myself back, my brain submerged into thoughts of self-loathing, guilt, and abhorrence.
this is my last selfish act.
i'm sorry.
Never perish without a light
There is an illness inside every cellular smile
A starved bird flying over your engraved stone, soon to be nearer
A shadow not yours, a shape so formless
A haunting reminder, you were never really in this
So short I shall stay, but do I linger like light forever thereafter?
In the mind, but nowhere in sight
Here I will miss, soaking in the tub of this warm womb water
Eat and sleep
Be overweight and underpaid-no surely not that!
Was I more than a lovesick lonely hider?
The faces will wash in as much as they will slide away
A watered down family tree
Another switch, another flame, more ashes to add to the urn
Too tired and drained
Enslaved
Why art thou not next to me?
Mercy for me when I fall to the frailest of condition
A secret of mine, held in a blood red ceramic dish
Implanted in the chest cavity
Please don't let me die without your company!
the secret girl
The very utterance of the word makes my heart patter like hunting dog on the trail, eager to find something and just slow down for once.
The words never left my mouth, no matter how many times they scraped up my throat and made residence in my bloated cheeks.
Would anyone believe me?
Who would care?
Everyone knows of the smiling girl. I see her in the mirror everyday. I like to believe she's me sometimes.
Because everyone else thinks she is.
But that girl in the mirror is the mask I put on, a reflection of what I'd like to be without this secret
But Secret Girl is me.
Secret Girl cannot get out of bed some days and has to frame a stomach bug instead of the war battling inside her head.
Secret Girl has many day dreams of taking pills or walking off a tall building, but feels more guilty for wasting thoughts on something she's too chicken to do than the actual nature of it.
Secret Girl doesn't realize that weird confidence boosts, unusual chatter, and reckless spending, all work out into a diagnosis that many have told her she doesn't have.
To test that theory could reveal her secret.
Bipolar Disorder.
The worst part is, there's a small chance she's just-
I'm just-
A little fucked up and there's nothing I can do about it.
The Visit
I'd made it through the year that had followed my mother's tragic suicide. The waves enveloped me, and I let them, my face kissed by the sun and soul feeling free. I heard whispers and glanced across the water; my mother was waving at me. Her essence left me breathless as I was swallowed by water. I screamed, and she reached for my hand, saving me.
I was astounded as she lifted me out.
My reflection on the surface was faceless.
Keep Listening
If the walls had ears, should they only listen for a day, they would hear insanity, if they listened a while longer, they may begin to see the shape of things.
A single day gives only a smattering of words. Partial sentences here and there, snippets of dialogue delivered in a single voice. The twitching, hushed murmurs of a mad woman set a sea in her own head. Questions to an empty room; answers given without prompting. It’s never a dry recital. The inflections expose real emotion, revealing the imaginary events were felt as honestly as real ones. An unfortunate state of affairs, but living elsewise has never been an option.
A more patient wall would start to see the negative space of all this talk. The shape of the words missing, creating a fuller picture. The image conjured is no longer of one tormented by thoughts not of their own, but of a lone child playing pretend. No friends to add to the scenario, not even a stuff animal surrogate to play a role. Still a sign of illness, but no longer akin to the schizophrenic, but rather being saddled with the emotional depth of a child, one that never quite fit in leaving them abandoned to inventing their own companionship. While most children shed their fantasies and practice lives, doing so was never an option. It fills the hours with giddy surprise, depth of emotion so great from these fictions it could elicit laughter and tears in equal measure, and creates entertainments in the silent and desperate moments of life. It’s debatable if development was truly retarded. The past was not held onto with claws and ferer. It just continues to be a part of the one’s psyche, while the similar fell from everyone else's.
A dedicated wall would be the one that would wait for all the words to crystalize in their owners head. It would be rewarded with the sharp sounds of a keyboard clicking.