I keep it in my pocket
in case you lean in for a kiss.

You'll smell it
before you taste it
but you'll never forget it.

Maybe you'll crave it,
maybe you won't like it.

Either way it's on my lips.

A lady in blue.



In a purse

unzipped,

A coral pink lipstick

A rose blusher

A bronzed eyeshadow

A fuschia eyeshadow

A black eyeliner

A mascara

A compact powder

A lipgloss.



Strolling in a park,

The purse

clutched.



Poised.

Protected.

i picked up the small tube of lipgloss & headed toward the register. "will that be all for you, ma'am?" the woman working the cash register asked me. i nodded as she told me the price : a dollar & ninteen cents. i gave her the exact change & left the store. when she kissed me, i was going to taste like strawberries.

PINEAPPLE LIP GLOSS
By: RENE

Not long ago
I fell in love
With her beautiful lips

I will never forget how sweet

That lingering after taste
Stayed in mouth well after she walked away

And
When
She was almost out of my eye sight
It became real cerebral melancholy of a love affair
I had misplaced

It took from me something objective
Watching her leave of absence

And
From a distance
At that very precise moment
It became a sharp piercing pain in the center of my heart

But I remember
Oh how I remember
I remember
Her

(PINE APPLE LIP GLOSS)

The way we French kissed for long periods
When I held on tightly
Tightly til midnight

The memory of her legs in white embroidery stockings
How my fingers danced with excitement
Triggering investments traveling up down her highway

I was dizzy
While tickling the measurements of her
Inner thighs
I remember this

When I was
Creating
A representation
That was supposed to last forever

The further she walked the smaller she grew in my vision
My eyes became a small rain storm drenching screaming
Pulling me away from dreaming
Away from my world as I had become too know it

I
Didn’t know what to say now
Like words on a black board being erased
I was at a loss for words
So I held on to the memory
Of
Her

(PINE APPLE LIP GLOSS)

The way we French kissed for long periods
No air escaping
Imprisoning our tongs

My own
Perfect example I visualize an imagine
I create in my mind the ability to conceive my own embodiment

A pine apple salad with the juices flowing over
When we touched each other’s lips
Among other things!

nothing like going back
to the golden days
when getting up 20 minutes earlier
was a fun thing
to put on a bit of mascara
and lipgloss;
the blush was natural.
now 20 minutes of sleep
seems like a treasure,
worth everything
and never to be given up.
back when laughter was sunflower yellow,
music was neon blue,
and friends were a sweet purple,
their smiles like lavender
addicting and easy to find.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when choosing the font for a paper
was an hour long experience;
the funnest part of writing anything.
now no writing matters
to anyone
unless it's 12pt font,
Times New Roman,
double spaced,
and with a heading in the top left corner.
back when school was light,
homework was a breeze,
and the only thunderstorms
were those that involved
coffee shops, window seats,
and copious amounts of hot chocolate.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
filled with warmth
and honey
and a whole lot of butterflies.

Abigail slides the glass door shut.
As beads of water percolate off her body
and land on the faux stone tile,
the smell of chlorine from her swim
and the smell of coffee from my brewing *** blend.
My uncle, Abigail's father, and my mother
are seated at the sticky, spilt soda kitchen table beside me.
"Go get ready for dinner," my mother's brother says, sending
Abigail's bikini'd frame through doorway and around the bend.
The brew idles, and I'm all porcelain and sugar substitute for a moment,
then back by my uncle and mother.

"Abigail has gotten so thin," my mother says.

"Is she eating?" my mother asks.

"I know it's tough for girls her age. When they're looking to marry," my mother says.
I want to bash the smoking cup into her face.

My uncle says she's been training for a marathon.
My neurons get tidy and taper off.
So, it's out of the kitchen and into an empty living room
to park my *** on an empty piano bench.
I set the coffee on top, and press eight of my fingers down
on black keys.
I hear toes-to-heels, toes-to-heels.
I gaze over my shoulder.
Now, Abigail's in a black, black dress. Mid-thigh.
In her left hand,
red ****-me-shoes with a heel that could turn a curious man blind;
in her right hand,
black pantyhose and cherry lipgloss.
"You should have swam," Abigail delivers with hushed precision,
like she'd been reciting the line throughout the duration of her swim.

Abigail has long brunette hair,
and it's sticking to her neck.
Deep permanent dimples frame her lips.
She's a nurse in Waco.
Each time I see her, I think about
Bukowski's 103-pound "Texan".
It makes me rash, violent, a heady monstrosity,
and trembling sick.

"I forgot my trunks."

"That's no excuse."

I would respond, but she's sliding the hose up her leg.

In the living room.

While my uncle talks a second mortgage around the bend.

Her right leg crosses her left,
an overpass and an interstate.
My forehead overheats in a flash,
and I feel like she's staring back at me.
When my leering eyes shift from
her toes to her eyes, the pupils beckon:

"All roads lead to me."

It was like camp
But I spent the first night
On a thin plastic mattress with ****** sheets freezing
Instead of encircling a campfire
Singing cowboy songs of the West
And little dogs

My first activity was not making a bow and arrow or a target but instead I was
sitting after breakfast
on a concrete bench
in the Sun
Trying to fill myself with that allusive happiness.
That was my plan.

On the next occasion in the open
I did not get a compass
nor a map
but I sat with a table of girls
And spoke up without being asked
They started to show off their pale pinkish arms
I was at the cutters’ table
Smoker’s edition
Layers upon layers of
Rippling Scar tissue
at the elbows in particular
It is thick.
Bleeding and healing
To be sliced open again
For crusting over.
They were cheerful
Despite hallucinations and panic attacks,
Lost children or tomorrow
Scuttling along a murky seabed that did not want them but
Here’s a cigarette

I did not make a sundial or find my canoe
Or make shoes out of leaves
but let the morning sun stick around
while the smoke issuing from their chatty mouths pinched my nose
I would take their smoking breaks with them.
I claimed two for myself and once lit,
slyly handed them over
As I listened to the chatter and laughed
I feel a faint yellow heat
From up over there.

We didn’t at first hover around each other
Talking about nothing like high school
Girls with braces and dorky pajamas
Or bend over from the top bunk to say
one more thing before lights out
At first I never added more than a informed observation about lipgloss or
a roll over the eyes over the next dumbbell talking about nothing that existed
But I was tolerated
And as their numbers diminished
only to be refreshed again
my comfort grew
I made “friends”
We laughed and co-conspired
Over pills, soda and what’s that on your tray?

There were movies on the tv
But no westerns
With horses trekking through the tall grasses
Nor
Smoke arising in the distance
Imitating a life that we were imitating as well
Yes we were!
Just a slightly different tale about
Endless treks and wandering

On the weekends
The rules relaxed and the counselors,
Had there been any,
Would have been preoccupied with private intrigues and how to make pineapple cocktails
And we, left to our own devises,
Would saunter in and around each other
Braiding hair and reading magazines.

There was a telephone.

When it was time to get into the car to go back home by way of the freeway
I didn’t have a hat that I had painted myself with only three colors
Nor feathers
or a blue ribbon for starting fires
We all said our good-byes
Even the mean one called me by my name
And we shot off like the explosive plumes of fireworks
into a dimming sky.

‘You’re so wet for me baby’ they say
‘You’re not saying no’
Rinse repeat

It hurts I say
‘That’s normal ‘

It is what it is what it is what it is
My words stop

‘You’re so quiet’ they say

If I unzip my abused vocal chords I won’t be able to stop the noise
Keening screaming bursting like a dam

It’ll fill up my head
My ******* bone marrow
Where do I begin and where do you end flush against me

I am good at being quiet
I am good at being small
I am good at being needed
I am good at pleasing others
I am good at saying yes when I mean;
Stop
Get me out
You are choking me
I can’t breathe
There’s is blood on my teeth
On my hands

I held you after you assaulted me and you told me about what was plaguing your mind
So I comfort you
Rinse repeat
Tell you I’ve got you through gritted teeth

Is that so bad is that so bad I am needed so why is it so ******* bad

You fill my lungs acrid and burning
Inhale exhale
Inhale exhale
**** and ***** coat your lips like a gaudy lipgloss

Wash away the taste of you
Clean my teeth with dettol
Empty my veins clean the dirt out my veins
Trying to forget the way you coat my teeth

Your mouth is so good baby’ you say
It is bad honey and expired milk

It is not being touched since
It is not sleeping
It is wanting to be held but being terrified of the thought

Dina?
Deanna?
Deena?

What was her name?
A diminutive of something
Or a shortening.
And I don’t even think that I am close

I miss you.

a small concrete table
white
a group of girls
Smoking and smoking and smoking
Trading lipgloss
I don’t remember what we talked about

But I do remember that the meds made you so
Hungry
“Are you gonna eat that?”

That’s how it begins in such places
Passing off a cig
Or trading processed food
Or just giving it away.

Have a lie down
or hand over the pill stored in your cheek
for someone
needier.

You said after your second plateful of anything
Make sure you let me know if I start getting fat

I tried not to follow you around
We had breakfast
Cigarette breaks
lunch and dinner
I could have sat with you all day and night

But I let you roam like a yearling
talking too much to too many people
Spinning around in the hallways
The skinny girl
on the floor doing a striptease on her back
in the streaming sunlight
I could tell
That you got paid for this at some point
Even the imaginary boa scared these boys

You loved to talk about God
I, however, do not

You loved a ****** ******
They were your favorite
and would reminisce with the junkies
Always sitting close-by
You claimed that you could make a man cry
By what you could do to his body
I can only imagine
what you’ve done so far
At your age
and you have a kid

I know
that you’re frightened
to be alone
with your mother
She’s so small
You wouldn’t want to hurt her

And I see her
that one time
with candies and soda
that you made her bring from
the 99 cent store to share
with all these people that don’t like you
that she is
a tiny thing
Yes
anyone could crush her
I see your point.

Deena
Dina
Deana

I can’t remember your name

You’d wake me for breakfast
Or, I you
You said the voices never stop in your head
Not just voices but other strange noises too
You acted like it was
a drag
But in fact you were **** scared

I can hear sounds too I offered
Bells
And Strings
Faint Voices calling my name
Offering succinct advice
Can’t everyone?
Leaning against a wall
with you at my feet
I saw your head snap
To the right
I said
Don’t worry
I heard that too
And you were so relieved
You grasped my feet in gratitude

You said that you are three.
Dread is the bad one
a male
And another
a ****** female who’s name
I can’t remember either
I suggested that there were more
Perhaps.
I met the ***** and I did not like her
at all
In anger I returned your sweatshirt
And you said
You know she’s terrible
I told you that
Take back the shirt
It’s cold

The men here don’t understand
our
Relationship
They assume that it’s lovey
Their minds are blown by
Companionship in difficult circumstances
Holding hands might help you through
You never know until you try

You loved to have arguments over the Bible
I would make a lot of noise to shut it down
I cannot listen to that
You would talk on that phone on the wall
With the father of your child
About god
You missed your boy’s
first day
of kindergarten
You called him on that phone to make sure that he got the plastic truck
or some such toy in your absence

I wonder when you gave up your life
When an injection of Ativan in your ***
and a night
In an darkened empty room
Bound
became an ideal resolution.
You couldn’t figure out
why you had a lump on your head
And I explained that
it was the result of
banging it repeatedly
against the wall.
Side effects of Lorazepam include:
Little recall

You seemed to have a plan.
Visiting and writing up the coast
The Dean Moriarty of Hospitals
But what about your kid?
The doctors say you can’t leave until you’re well
I couldn’t even tell what’s wrong exactly
Or what he’s really trying to tell you
Other than too much too soon
But that’s every girl in LA
Isn’t it?
You said that
It
Emerged at age 24.

I think about your son.
I can’t believe that you have one.
And your mother
Who adopted you.
What did she in fact bring home?

Deanna.
Dina.

When they called to say that my car was here
That I could go
You covered my neck
With kisses
And said Thank You Thank You
I Don’t Know
What I Would Have Done Without You

What is your name?

Dee.
D.
Just the letter.
I remember
Thank you.

2003, where did you go?
My Scene dolls and All Time Low
Red Jeeps and glitter cheeks
Thirteen and hip hop beats
Tube tops, pop n lock
Don't forget your frosted lipgloss
Butterflies and Blink's First Date
"Forever Yours" on a silver keychain
Belly rings, snorting pills stings
Tiered skirts and ankle bling
TLR, Summerland
South of Nowhere, Degrassi: The Next Gen
Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton
Travis Barker and Ashlee Simpson
Fall Out Boy and Timbaland
Pete Wentz almost ended it
Promiscuous, Grand Theft Autumn
Jeans hung low, and girl you got em
I wanna live there over again
Everything was better then

-Sleeping with the lights on
-strawberry-flavored milk (because it tastes bad, but is so cute)
-naps
-being on the brink of sleep and having to pull yourself back
-you
-the smell of something smoky
-smoke getting in my eyes
-drooping eyelids
-hair in my eyes
-bad quality lipgloss
-sleeping with the lights off
-other people
---but mostly you

your lips are coated in poison
(full of death)
but mine are coated in lipgloss
(full of death).
He'd rather choose the poison
then fall prey to a girl
with cherry lipstick
and a pretty face
pulling him in and never
letting him
out.

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are stay-in-the-line

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are achieve-in-school

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are parrot-the-teacher

You’re an individual, so I know that you can do as well as them,
because you’re unique
You can be just like them
just as good as them

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are buy-these-too

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are create-your-self

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are mimicking-the-6-foot-model

You’re one of a million, so how about you pick one of these six lipgloss flavours,
because it’s you
You can pick one of these
support the institution with your you-ness

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are corporate-climber

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are defining-your-strengths

Be yourself
Be yourself
You are do-it-for-the-raise

You’re indispensable to this project, you as you as you as a subordinate
because you’re important
you can get where you want in life
if you smash a few heads as you climb

sun girls:
they’re all bright eyes and warm hands, they’ll kiss you on the cheek. beautiful freckles. glowing skin, sunflowers and paintbrushes gripped tightly in their hand.

moon girls:
dark clothes and a eyes-closed kind of grin, beat up sneakers and an arizona iced tea, hair that shines, they sparkle even in the dark. soft kisses that taste like spearmint.

mercury girls:
smooth talkers, could convince you to do anything. big eyes and round lips, hair ******* or tucked behind their ear. late night walks and quiet conversations.

venus girls:
lipgloss and breathless laughing, soft hands and tummy. kissing their girlfriend randomly. a voice like honey. hypnotizingly lovely. muffled music and strawberry lemonade.

mars girls:
quick winks and subtle smirks. would **** for you. a love deeper than the ocean, strong shoulders and collar bones. ****** knuckles healing over and tight hugs.

neptune girls:
dreamy girls, hazy around the edges. tilting their heads to the side and sleeping soundly. delicate hands and cherry chapstick. hot cups of tea served with knowing eyes.

saturn girls:
sharpened pencils tucked behind their ear. serious eyes with a hint of laughter. tapping their toes and paying attention. books piled high with the pages well loved.

jupiter girls:
moving their hips and applying lipstick. a smile that electrifies you and lips that entrance you. has a hundred admirers but loves the one girl she can’t have. red lights and excitement.

pluto girls:
confidence that carries through the air. tastes like energy drinks and lightning. crooked smile messy hair. continuous movement with no time to talk. gesturing hands and shuffling papers.

On Monday, November 14th
She wore her favorite dress.
Blue with grace.
Lace that covered her shoulders.
Lace that teased all the men that walked by.
Falling to her knees.
Barely brushing the scabs and scars that sat there.
Hugging her hips like the night hugs the moon.

On Monday, November 14th
She smiled.
Cherry lipgloss smeared quickly across her thin lips.
White teeth peaking out.
Her lips perfectly outlined.
The corners tucked up beautifully.

On Monday, November 14th,
She stood.
Pride in her perfect posture.
Proud of her lean body.
Her body perfectly aligned.
Not a flaw.

On Monday, November 14th
Her arms were pale.
A gold bracelet hugged her wrist.
You could see each blue stream, happily working.
Dusted with freckles.
Soft and pure.



On Tuesday, November 15th
She did not wear her favorite dress.
She wore a different one.
Black with sorrow.
No lace.
Falling to her ankles.
Encasing scabbed knees.
Hugging her in all the wrong places.

On Tuesday, November 15th
She frowned.
Blood red lipstick stained her thin lips.
Her teeth hid inside her blooded lips.
The corners fell, drooped.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
She sat.
Too exhausted to stand.
She let go of her posture.
She was cautious of her appearance.
Aware of her flaws.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
Her arms were whiter than before.
Each vein slashed.
Red.
The gold bracelet still hung there.
Her freckles throbbed with pain.
No longer soft, or pure.

On Tuesday, November 15th
He died.
Early in the morning.
With him, he took her strength, her smile, her pride.
He left her bare.

On Wednesday, November 16th
She missed him.
She missed him a little too much.
Her heart couldn't take it.
Her eyes red and swollen.
She was there, but gone.

On Thursday, November 17th
She joined him, quietly.

your kiss was as tasty
as strawberry sauce.
but was it your tongue
or just your lipgloss?

your hair smelled of wild flowers,
sickly sweet and divine.
your perfume was so rustic,
like a soft scented pine.

your eyes sparkled bright
like the overhead stars.
with you softly singing,
and me strumming guitar.

we danced until morning,
skinny dipped in the stream.
it all seemed so perfect,
could it be just a dream?

our nights that summer,
i won't soon forget
the memories we made
or the girl that i met.

Lipgloss dripping candy lacquer aquamarine
Wrought silk enfolding shadows of her shoulders obscene
Drugstore ribbon laced her feet just as in my dream
She reduces me to liquid in an urban machine
On the asphalt a virile shellac.
 
Power like a thousand ships of industry steel
Columns fall to soldiers at the clack of her heel
Sirens’ polished poisoned fruit that drives one to ****!
A Dahlia's vitality shunted and left to congeal
In that pool, then a wave of relief.

volume i
A Portrait of My Sixth-Grade Self
___________________­

Eleven-year-old fingers
swollen with baby fat
dig into the gaudy shimmer
of turquoise eyeshadow
encased in its shattered compact.

I apply the pigment,
erratic smudges extending
from my lash line
to just below my untamed brows.

The blue powder accentuates the swirls
of my fingerprints in dizzy figure eights.

But you can't quit your own skin
like you can quit ice skating lessons.

I am in the sixth grade
when the Popular Girls
in my class tell me that,
if I want to get a boy to like me,
I have to change the way I look.

I abide by the rules of the
Unofficial Mean Girl Doctrine:

{no. 1}

I mustn't wear sweat pants,
these sloppy Old Navy rags
that I have owned for three years.

See,
denim is superior to cotton
even though it leaves
cavernous indentations
on my stomach.

Sweat pants forgive
the extra swell of your waist line.

Denim punishes you
for what you don't have,
more specifically
for what you have too much of.

I ask my mom for skinny jeans
because perhaps if I can
shrink all that I am
into this blue, unyielding fabric
I will feel thinner than I actually am.

We buy the skinny jeans from Old Navy.

{no. 2}

My signature high pony tail is
unacceptable.

I should wear my hair down,
they profess.

I am not sure if this is
because of the tufts of frizz
that loom over my scalp
like wasted dandelion seeds

(I wish... I wish... I wish...)

or if this is just a necessary ritual
in the abandonment of my girlhood.  

After I unsheathe my curls
from their rubber-band Bastille,
their trial commences.

My ringlets slither
in hostile circulations,
executing frequent detours away
from anyone who might scoff
at their animalistic bedlam.

If only I could will
my spectators to stone.

Cuz no one ever dared
**** with Medusa
and her curls.

Instead,
I settle for a flat iron.

{no. 3}

Do everything in your power to be
Beautiful
including, but not limited to,
the laws indicated above.

Yet,
despite my grandest efforts,
it is never enough.

I am never enough.

I am the Walmart Edition
of what the Popular Girls
want me to be.

With my gaudy eyeshadow and the
cheap Dollar Store bracelets
that I wear around my wrists,
plastic flowers blooming
upon threaded stems
that nip at the hair on my arms.

One day on the bus ride home,
a boy from my class tells me
I am too hairy.

"Huh?" I ask,
pretending I haven't heard him.

"Nothing," he mumbles back to me.

See,
little girls are supposed to play with
jump ropes and Barbie Dolls.

They are not supposed to
play with razors as they strip away
every misplaced hair on their body
or consult Teen Vogue
for the latest beauty hacks
like they are Gospel.

This year of 2011/2012
has been engraved  into
the historical road map
of my every insecurity.
The legend of this map,
depicted in smeared globules
of sugar cookie lipgloss,
deliver me to my destination:

self hatred.

Mascara stains the
topography of my flesh
in inky, dotted lines

I follow.

I plummet
like the eternal run
in my stockings.

One way plane ride
non-stop
never to return
from this perception of ugliness
and then--

flight


down.

philosopher says when he sees v: aha! a future parabola theory given that the romans chiseled v when they meant u!
poet says when he sees v: veer from w into saggy "missing the horizon attachment origin" with a u, could have been a ***** of B... we're here to make sounds... we're not here to make words into poster boys girlies french braiding their hair into ideas and lipgloss.*

but you had to face the 110m hurdles,
i had to become a don quixote, fencing with shadows,
shadow boxing as if simply training,
you could run from dyslexia and the abuse hurled at you,
you had to face an external battle,
i’m facing an internal battle... phantoms and imagery...
you had the external ahead of you, with a wife to be listened to,
i have... no body!
myself and only myself,
of course i am like an elevation of rat... i’m a carnivore
that trips to the supermarket for a 70cl of whiskey
every night, hunting my way to a state of sedatives used,
i know no other drug with or without a prescription...
**** saturday night... it can go to hell...
yes i will get a council flat ahead of the scamming ******
that are like ant queens on the reproductive conveyor belt
(believe me... write like a homosexual to get the g-spots!
have homosexual misogyny in your underwear!)
that’s a muslim donning niqab curtains seller 1.7 (seven being the children),
curse of the economy! get them politicised, angry self-believers
only self-believing by faked passports and fake health-wise ills
from the natural contenders to wear the boxing gloves...
who said things like trevor mc lure: you might remember me
from such existential paradoxes as:
punch my cancer into a liver, punch my cancer up,
liver me up paddy, scots ahoy... ah... what a tagline trendy,
i could almost become an adidas’ stripes of america or malaysia...
so there’s me buying my usual buddy... ‘no coke today?’
‘no, spare coke left, i’ll have this pint of bach to share with the bottle
of whiskey... mind your inquisitive whiskers of the tongue...’
she pretended suicidal tendencies all along...
started cutting veins en route arteries for a fake sing-along cry-along...
made no sense, i slept with my clothes on...
women are crafty bishops... they don’t do communion
but get to craft a second birth certificate of confirmation,
the womb that turned into a cross... we were all squeezed out from
that geometric that said oh oh zero o hay ‘oo;
first spot the letter u... then w... then h... the third letter i’m not familiar with...
too many papyrus scripts burning... can’t spot the latinised version,
i think i’ll need to brew and thus ferment a pint of whiskey to get this one...
just to get 1, 2, 3, 4 up in scales, should have been written as
1cm and exasperation(noun).
i had something originally... but then i decided to digress...
it was like a full house poker sequence... but without cards
and more humans than could be required for believability...
it’s almost... it’s almost like i was jealous feeding the sight
of a man in mid-life looping the thought of cool with the thought
of being cool when adorned with childish ambition to have it
as a child having only bought it as a semi-wrinkled naiveness
that worked its solipsistic magic of: gone are the days
of ***** magnet... come the days of a badger ******* it;
give way... here comes oral *** mummified - mum’s the word
filing is the action... testosterone does not equate itself as ****** *****...
down below australia did a roulette action and decided to
geographically spread its legs for the sire of cocksure ***** india...
enter... the mongolian harmonica trick of the index and lip motorboat:
baba hamza baba hamza ali ali contra v.!
so? i sharpened my u into a v... are you sure you
don't understand the question: vat iz veh vay?

i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself

i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls

i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches

im a ******* soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes

deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair

pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life

i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after

let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me

Let me tell you who I am
I'm an American Born girl
Proud to be here
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else
I've enjoyed my freedom...still do, and you?

Used to love running through the Barns and playing in the hay
I wear a dog-eared well worn baseball cap
most days
Some kind of faded ol' denim jeans and a fun
t-shirt...
and if it isn't ***** I might even wear it to bed...
I use homemade oatmeal and lavender soap, a little pink shiny lipgloss, maybe espresso mascara...dark red chipped painted toenails in flip-flops or work boots
hair in hat...keys in hand
all kinds of weather, I'm prepared

Yes I've hunted for deer!
Skinned and gutted one for a high school paper...
quite a caper..

I can change my own oil  
or a dang flat tire
break into my Volvo with a piece of wire?
Did I say that?!
And...I can drive just about anything
including...so true,  backing up a trailer into a boat launch

Oh ..my redneck side?
Come on let's go for a ride...
I've ridden on four-wheelers and snowmobiles
out in the glorious midnight
freezing breath is close to heaven on those mountains

Spent summers at the camp
on the lake
Swimmin'
cookin'
swingin'  and singin'
off from the the bank
crystal clear blue waters run deep
flyin' from a rope
holdin' on to serious hope
not to be pushin' daises
we were a bunch of crazies !

Raisin' kids...
Some people think I'm a hippie chick
and that's true too
I eat mostly organic food
I love to cook my hopes and wishes
in amazing dishes...
and sharing that with good people

I like interior design
I drink a bit of wine
And I LOVE dessert...
We are just like a
Strawberry & Blueberry Shortcake
Fresh fluffy white whipped cream
and berries
Homemade biscuits...
like a flag waving

I love road trips...
    getting high
... watching the world go by....
it's so wonderful I could cry
and I went so fast on that crotch-rocket
of a motorcycle
I thought I could even fly!

Why I love every kind of music
hard to stop me from dancing
and prancing through life
singing...poetic songs.

I am probably one of the most genuine
and honest people you'll ever know
come along I'll show you...
I hope to be like the Salt of the Earth
like my Father...
He valued this place
and I have some of his face

It's not that I can't avert the truth...
I can
I'm just not capable of lying...
not being truly dishonest
I mean if you ask me something
straight out ...
look me right in my eyes
I would have to tell you honestly
that I feel this overwhelming love for everyone and everything...

You know that it troubles me
going to a landfill and seeing all the waste
left in carless choices and hurried haste
hello, the Ice Caps people!!!
Those poor Polar Bears...

I swear...
I've resorted to trash collecting
in my town
All that is going to be buried in the Earth!!!
What the heck was it even worth?
I recycle or compost almost
everything!

Well it makes me sick...
time is ticking....
now is definitely the time

People are dying....
why am I crying?
...over my broken heart?
No, I can't
because the more horrible events
and floods of  information I see
word *****
on the internet or the news
different views
as NPR is bleeding through the radio
about how bad this world has become ....

And so many people with it so much worse...
So...I have this curse anyway,
wanting change...
trying to create it,
just makes me wish
I could go somewhere else...
run away?
no.... I stay

I fight
do what is right
this is my land, your land...OUR land
take a frickin' stand
to fix this country!

We need real effort...
a movement
and I would like to do anything
to make it spread...
before I'm dead...
so...
what can I do? And you?

Some people say you can move mountains...help please?
The people like me...you see
they always say I'm a beautiful mess
those Sensitive Souls
we get wounded really easy
and I get kind of queasy
though I've learned to have a thick skin,
every time they take me down
I come back around again
it is still harder for me to come back up
time is always short...

My face is bearing more freckles
these days
and the suns rays see my hands
a bit more weathered
though I'm still tethered to you
I still feel young...
have to tap into that,
Put on my baseball cap
n-play...
carryin' a big stick walking softly

So my body does not feel old...
even when it is...very cold
I fight for my kids, and your family too
I look to the blue
the sky
tenderly asking why?
I can see the heavens
They are consoling my heart
I've been to the very...
very bottom
And I always got a new start
don't give up...
we still have work to do...
yes me ...
and you too

Hey, I still believe in fairy tales
and miracles
In shooting stars
healing scars
The butterflies in your stomach
on that very first kiss...
sent out on a wish

I still believe in love
and angels from above....
I have Faith
This world...the Earth can heal
I feel my heart,
well it will heal right too
I can feel
it ...so can't you?
Tell me then ...what I can do?

Don't know how many times
a heart can break
 but I will help you heal
so....do we got a deal?
cause this thing,  well it's for real

...just take my hand..
maybe if we plan
to take a stand
say our demands?
as one...they'll listen?

 We can do it together
regardless of the weather
jump in your truck
and my beliefs might be
different than yours
I might be much farther to the left
than you are
we all want the same things
to be happy and free
To be
Whoever we are
I'm still waiting for all these answers
and I hope I will still find my soul's mate too...tell me? What else can I do?

It's that smell of last
cigarette
on your clothes
the hole burned through your white cotton
tshirt, pink lipgloss on the cuff of your sleeve
where has she been kissing?
I shouldn't care.
You're sixteen, seventeen
eighteen?
You're too old, you're too young
i'm the little sister, aren't you suppose to be
worried
about me?

It's a lullaby now, a song of return a
scent i associate with family
smoke
sweat and
sugar.

You once asked me why I love you.

The mascara of curiosity outlined the questioning glare of your eyes, and your fruity scented lipgloss covered your worrisome words with a hint of doubt – and  strawberries.

And just as I was about to pluck the ripest answer from the back of my mind you interrupted me and planted seeds of insecurity you so desperately try to force under the earth – away from the eyes of those who live above it.

You remind me of the way you push me away whenever the going gets tough, even though together we're tougher than anything rough, pushing back harder than any kind of force that you apply on me whenever I'd ask, "What's wrong?"

You remind me of the way you cling to me like magnets on a fridge,

of the way you can't hold much of a conversation because you're awfully shy,

Of the way your interests differ from mine,

Of the way your smile lacks luster compared to other girls' smiles.

So I remind you, that whenever you'd push me away I'd pull you in even closer,

that my hands cling on to your waist, like magnets on a fridge,
and that we'd stand there with me embracing you, and silence embracing us, because worrying about words to say would only get in the way of me appreciating what's in my arms,

I remind you that my interest in kissing you, differs in your interest in kissing me.
And that your interest in my smile differs from my interest in your smile, unique and perfect on you and simply only you,
Never will it fit better on anyone else.

So you ask, and I reply,

The answer is quite simple love,
My heart is forever yours, because all of the above.

I love how all the constellations are named after Greek heros. It reminds me that, even though mortals, they have vices too. I love around 5am when all the lights dim, after the **** ones have become middle aged, in their 12hour life spans. When the glitter fades and rests, more like sad stars and gold leaf.

I love naked white sheets, how they work like paint thinner to remove last nights fresco, how they dry you off after soaking in a tub of room temperature lovers. I love the cab rides you take back into yourself, away from the still beautiful people who are all elsewhere doing impossibly beautiful things. When you arrive home, you will greet the mirror like a criminal in a line up, with premeditated sins armed with brass knuckles and all the good intentions buried far beneath the rap sheet.

I plan to be a sinner tonight. Could’ve been something else but looked way too good in my red dress to be anything Christian. I was talking to three different men in five different languages. I was twisting a blunt straw into page forty-seven of the coma sutra. I was dancing in an attempt to melt the belts off every man in the room, but I heard the truth that night. A Turk speaking Spanish, didn’t know me from Adam said;

“Tú creas en Dios pero tu haces malas cosas” You believe in God but you do bad things.

Suddenly I realized that I was in a place where all they play is house music, but can’t really say I felt at home in the barely audible, barely recognizable zone between having a good time and simply wasting it. I was a glutton with a grin, drinking warm gin, knowing no ones name but somehow I was everyones friend. I was standing in stilettos that made me 6ft tall but still felt small. I was messing up the shoes I paid too much for and still hurt to walk in and talk about conviction.

Truth is nobody believes me when I say I’m a ******. Truth is, the Bible didn’t see the inside of my face for a week while I was on vacation. Truth is, I’m not innocent, I’m just an abstinent fireplace that doesn’t wanna feel the fire kindle between her legs anymore. So don’t mind the ashes they’re just evidence of how brightly I can glow and I wanna glow hard like one dim star on an otherwise starless night that shines just to prove its fidelity and I know what you must think of me. “What hypocrisy!” but I don’t wanna enter prayer reeking of my addictions. Stinking of cologne. I don’t want God to smell another man on me, mistaking ménage á trois for the trinity.

So, so thank God! Thank God the stars don’t judge us for what we do beneath them. Thank God the stars don’t see the evil we commit under their names. Thank God for the silence, for the dimness, for nights spent alone. Thank God for friends who know more than just your bra strap. Thank god for cab rides home, cause tonight I’m gonna strip the spotlight. Tonight I’m gonna turn off Frank Ocean. Tonight I’m gonna take off the stilettos. I’m gonna take off the turquoise rings. I’m gonna take off the lipgloss and I’m gonna sleep naked, not trying to be ****, just trying to be me. A girl with a shaved head and with eyes deep enough to stand in, with convictions strong enough to stand on.

I’m finding the mercy of God right where I’m standing and its binding, it’s blinding, it’s forgiveness, most of all it’s mine. So, so tonight I’m gonna sit out on the fire escape eating an apple and I’m gonna nickname the view Eden and I’m gonna look up at those tragic stars and their pagan hearts full of mourning and I’m gonna say; What a fall, but what light, what impossible light.

Highheels and miniskirts
mascara and manicures
lotion and lipgloss
A girls world is a mist of all things non "boy"
and yet
it all sercretly revolves around boys
what he wants
what he likes
why are we trying so hard to impress them?

laying in bed with ephemeral kate:
her hands are
brazen, fingernails clenching upon
my hips beneath the sheets,
her grip barely elucidated beneath
buttercream bedsheets.
her pale pink *******
cast aside hours ago,
and now the sun slants
westward upon her bedroom walls.
I laid waste to her skin,
ravaging her with lips and tongue and teeth,
and I am
sated, if only for the moment,
scent of her skin upon my tongue and
her ****** a badge of honor upon my mouth.
her bedsheets are ruins,
UNESCO World Heritage Site
waiting to be uncovered and reclaimed;
if it wasn't oh so lovely,
laying languorous limbs
asprawl, your stomach pulsing beneath
my thigh, her chest
rising and falling, rising and falling,
beneath my head; I always boasted I was
cutest when sleepy, and she always
murmured assent with a halfsmile;
that ******* halfsmile, playing
around the corners of her
endlessly kissable mouth,
lips glistening with a mix of
lipgloss and ***.
the sun dips down towards the horizon,
a girl hurrying homeward a minute after curfew;
her nails traverse upwards,
scouring my spine; my mouth is
pressed against her neck, tentative
words and laps embossed upon
the hollow of her throat.
she laughs, she sighs,
endlessly inimitable kate.

Women should accommodate for men
Watch life through their lens
Follow the latest a trends
But most of all accommodate for your boyfriends

On men's magazines you see a body builder
A pillar, a vacuum, ******* in space
Toned and cloned
But women must have grace
On a women's magazine you see weight loss
Clearly we cannot be the boss
Go apply your lipgloss

My advice is reclaim your thrones and space
Apply your war paint
**** restraint
Do not let them encase you
In a glossy magazine
Do not let them erase your face
Climb up this staircase
Pick up your mace
Smash the glass ceiling

Do not accommodate for their feelings
Make them beg your forgiveness kneeling

Women should accommodate for their ego
Like a snake it wounds around your body
Tightening and restricting
Constricting your opinion
To give way for their dominion

**** them
**** all who stand in your way
Make them pay
For the way they made you purvey and obey
This is a new day
Today women should accommodate for the their own ******* selves
Not placed on bookshelves

Four years ago,

I never tell you about the stick of concealer I apply in public restrooms every time before we met up
Cheap lipgloss,
                    swallowed back.

When you tell me, no offense, but-
I laugh hard, like a punchline I should have seen coming
I know, I know, I know
                                   but sometimes it's nice to pretend.

The first time he tells me I am beautiful,
I smile with all teeth 
                                              and say I've got better things to offer.

Pressure to be pretty in the unearthly hours of the morning
Eyes pulled down by bags, bloated and yawning
Eyeliner and lipgloss and concealer thick and fast
Covering the callouses, praying it'll last

looking good and smelling good and in the peak of health
Its all an uphill struggle to better your fine self
Judged by a jury of unexperienced youths
Panicing at lunchtime, retouching in the loos.

Hair and eyes and lips and cheeks and clothing and skin
Bottle after bottle, empty in the bin
Scraping and slathering, plucking and plastering.
The never ending problem, thats actually, within.

I can feel a tsunami coming, it's on the horizon, begging to be set free
The dam is breaking; the desire to tear
And when I let it loose, let the demons run free,
Im going to drown in the blood pooling like a waterfall from my wrist

When I see the tide is high I will gently allow the water to break
I will stop the red pulse of shimmering lipgloss only when the floor cannot breathe from the sea of red, glazed over like a sheet
Let the salt from the red drip onto the floorboard like the baptism of a young child
Only there is no water and this is not a game suited for children

Some call it selfish, destructive
My doctor tells me I have a borderline personality
But me, the hazards from this game entice me as a lamp does a fly
I'm aware of the light, been close to it too many times
But never has the beast in me dared to touch

Someone pulls me back to darkness and intertwined shaking hands
Of yours they make me feel safe and less abused
We stitch the walls, we close the blinds
This isn't over yet; laceration comes too easily to ignore
But for this moment, glowing eyelids, I pray dear God, don't take me yet
His grip loosens, but I know, soon I'll be back for more

smudged ink and lipgloss. is this me?



what I wouldn't give to be that blue rubber band around your wrist



I wish I cold crawl into your skin and stay there. is this love?



id give anything for you to touch me. please, I'm asking nicely



when you touch me I swear my skin catches on fire and for you? Id burn if you asked me


an: again, if you like this style or my work please let me know! I want to actually publish

Blurring nights to be a teenage queen.
She's oh so sophisticated,
Mouth full of slurred words and red wine,
Lipgloss lined lips and
Eyes perfectly defined, winged,
lashes cloaked in black,
Mascara'd run if it weren't enclosed
In lash reformatory.

Her hair, to be described
Would take as long, as the length goes on.
She has an acquired taste,
Like a roasted Colombian mix, or a spice tea,
She
Is intriguing and alluring.

"hello" her voice sings
A familiar melody
That I can sing along to

A song of summer days
A dream of secrets
Falling from those lips
Where lust now lingers
The color of stolen wine
Sipped together in the shadows

My hands twist braids
From perfect silk
Let me be caught forever
In these fiery knots

I lie with her
In a bed of downy green
The sweetest home I have ever known

Her smell intoxicates me
Sweet-like cotton candy

God make me strong enough
To deprive this rose of sunlight
So maybe it will die
Before the whole world sees
And scorches it
With words of fire

maybe he will smother it
With his subtle demands
And glass kisses

Teenage curiosity carries him
Through my silence
As I dream of her pale eyes
Soft where he is hard

What would it be like to kiss
That pouting yielding mouth?

She calls my name
And talks of his hands
Covering her body
The finest Gown

Would that it be my hands
Would that it be my name
To make her come alive

With each word
A petal falls

I love her

She loves me not

I love her

She loves me not

I bet she tastes
Like her favorite
Strawberry lipgloss

pimples and mint life savers
flirting over text and pink lipgloss
crying in class and acting like you hate the world
traveling in groups, friendships you think will last a lifetime and homework you never do
you never thought you'd have to grow up, did you?
everything is temporary
lockers and passing notes
doing everything you can so the cute boy your mother likes will daydream about you, too
everyone in your first hour literature class won't remember your name in 15 years when we all have kids and we marry someone because you simply have no reason not to
colorful backpacks and varsity sports
thinking high school would be the best four years of your life
why would someone lie to you?
gossip and holding hands
you never realized the guy across the hall would break your heart and rip your new blouse, did you?

He walks on the streets, a lonesome figure,
looks around for that familiar face.
He had her close before, an arm's length touch,
her jolly-rancher lipgloss he could taste.
He couldn't get her attention, he looked elsewhere instead.
He'd lost track of the man he was with her, he made do with fake.
He asked to be out, to only wish she'd come forward.
She said otherwise, that going on would make things awkward.
He never wanted out, but this was his only way to be with her.
He knew it was only a matter of time,that it'll happen the way he'd fear.
She used to fight it out,saying they'll work this out,
but lately she'd told him otherwise.
She'd come to realise that this would suffice.
He knew things had change, it was the only thing that's constant.
He only needed the courage to face what he'd reluctant.
So he walks the streets, a lonesome figure,
still holding on to that familiar phase.
He only needs to know if it's worth feeling anymore,
or should he stop running this race.