i thought i liked you
but i can't; you don't like plath
it started with a rib.
peeking out of the skin
"let me out/
let the beauty of your bones be seen"
they tell me it was all in my head.
a little worm of sickness
hibernating inside since birth--
but i didn't feel any squirming
just a whole lot of
i sware i started
for that rib,
or maybe for the heart it was sheltering
or maybe because there's no point in skin and bones
when all they're holding up
is a whole lot of
your little limbs bend lightly over one another
and mine are spread apart messy
(like my mind)
but my hands rest tightly on the zipper of my jeans
(and it's just like me)
"deceivingly open, always partly hidden away"
suddenly i am a rag doll,
light and limp and leaning into you with gravity--no,
some strange unfelt force
pulling me apart from myself
and i am lifted up by your lips
weightless except for my tongue
i leave all of me
and i am alone with you.
3 32 pm,
i flip the light switch and its burnt out
the leaves have vanished for the seventeenth time
and i still can’t figure out where they all go
or why they have to hide and why they decide to return
no one else comes back once they’ve disappeared
The lunch lady is just preparing the coffee machine as I walk in. Usually it’s already steaming when I get there.
“My boss was late today with the key to the cafeteria,” She explains as I take a cup and pour in some sugar. I was going to be late to class, but I wasn’t in any rush.
“Oh, it’s fine, life happens.” I smile at her. Her face is wrinkled and her eyes look tired.
“That it does. Life is ever-changing, isn’t it?”
“All the time.”
The machine beeps and the coffee starts to drip into my cup. I smile at her again. She smiles back.
“That’s the most important thing in life, being able to accept change. If you can’t deal with change, you’re never going to get anywhere.”
My cup fills and she takes me over to the register. I hand her my money and she says thank you. I thank her back and all I can think about as I walk away is how many times i’ve bought my coffee and not said a word. God damn…
Forgive me, mr. poet,
but your sentences sound so damn sensual.
I'm a sucker for words,
a slut for that syntax,
lusting over your little literary lies.
open me up like those books you read
and let me be your muse
if only for a night
think of me when you write
the way i think of you
i sit cross-legged on the kitchen chair,
you knead the dough with your big hands,
not noticing the flour fall from the counter onto your pants,
so when i tell you to take a break and come kiss me
i lick my finger and rub the white spot just below your belt.
You tell me you didn't realize how dirty you were getting.
I tell you it's okay
because i'm dirty too.
my fingers feel
by the punctures
of love's thorns
they need to touch
just to feel
we only go out at night.
and even then,
we hide in between the flashing lights
exposing too much skin
and too little self.
...but it doesn't matter
we don't give a damn about our reputation
we only meet through shared perspiration
we prefer to speak in heart beats
falling in lust to the sound of those drums
we just came here to dance
i should slap myself
for looking at the curves of your lips
(those soft little mountains)
and thinking that they would fit perfectly with mine
but i love the sting of guilt i find
when i catch myself smiling
at the way your hair bounces
how the curls dance down your spine
somehow your forbidden beauty
we had been sitting in your car for five minutes--
just watching the smoke crawl out of our lips and into the air
settling into a cloudy mist all around us
neither of us said a word,
because the moment spoke for itself
we had lost ourselves inside some led zeppelin
when we heard the sirens behind us
i looked at you,
you looked at me,
and we both started to laugh
it doesn't matter what happened
how we were still laughing as we sat in the back of that cop car
we didn't need to be taught a lesson
because that day we figured it out ourselves:
never be afraid of losing control
we never really have any to begin with
if you're going to stab me in the back
do it with a real knife.
hit me with your sticks and stones,
let me feel the blood rush down from my nose
i'd rather hear the crunching of broken bones
than be subjected to this
i like the night noises
the loud sounds of the earth being silent
i can hear them through the muffle of my pillow
the song of the stars
the flautist called the wind
the lullaby of the clouds and the moon
reminding me to let everything go
let's inject this sunshine into our veins
sniff these newly sprouted daisies
feel ourselves float with every breath of fresh air
as we consume the early signs of spring
we've waited too long to let them go to waste.
doesn't help me
dry these tears from my eyes,
the tears that i cry because
never got me anywhere
but pushed up against a wall
and unclothed inside a bathroom stall
never gave me anything
but naked love bites
and lust fueled nights
and by the time the sun comes up
he is gone
and no matter how i look i am
fucking for temporary alleviation
i think we all need
feelings faded fast
like a burning cigarette:
glowing a few moments,
then crumbling into dust.
i'd do it all again
for that nicotine buzz
the 5:27 train home is crowded
with men loosening their ties
pulling bottles of beer from their briefcases
and drinking it all down.
you like to believe you're the next buddha
your feet dangle off the side of the chair,
swaying from side to side as you spew out some speech
about the sea
or the stars
or the sex you had last night
with some beautiful girl
who fell for your beautiful words
i can't believe that used to be me.