Courtney (A Prose Poem)

You know that ridiculously ******* who knows she's hot?
You know that chick that all those dudes fawn over?
You know that chick that might be a poster for making guys in traffic pull over?
I call her Courtney.
That chick who might either be popular and/or a ****?
The chick that not-so-casually shows that thong as she struts?
I call her Courtney.
She doesn’t hang with losers.
But yet she doesn’t respond to cat callers.
You know her?
She makes girls mad.
She makes boys want to smack that ***.
And she likes it.
Her ***** trap drives boys’ brains to the fritz.
And she likes it.
Am I the only one that sees it?
Do I have the ability to see the future?
She might be peaking, her ******* sending boys into a stupor,
But baby girl... You’re going to have haters.
All the other girls are going to catch up sooner rather than later.  
In the meantime, Courtney, do you, boo-boo.
Keep showing off that body for them. I’m not gonna argue.
I’m just saying you are showing it off on a platter...
And somebody's going to take it...

Courtney’s old subaru stuttered and stalled as she sat at the red light. The large blue duffle bag sat ominously on the leather seat beside her. She couldn’t look at it.
God, Luci. Why did you get yourself into trouble? Courtney’s mind was racing. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. She ****** her head to look at the bag. It was bulging.
The bag was stained and dusty, ripped along the seams in some places. Courtney’s phone rang loudly. She jumped, and held onto the steering wheel with one hand and answered.
“Hello?”She was silent as the voice on the other end talked quickly. “No, I’m not there yet... yes, I’ve got it.. No, I haven’t touched it... Yes, sir. She’s very sorry... I know, sir. Yes I’’ll tell her.” She hung up. Her face was ghost white, her palms and forehead sweaty.
Many voices argued in her head. I shouldn’t be doing this for her. She broke the law. But Luci’s your sister! That doesn’t matter. She caused the whole family a lot of pain and money. And now I’M breaking the law. What the hell?!
She looked back over at the duffle bag. It sat staring at her accusingly. She turned away. Her car was getting awfully hot, so she rolled down the windows, letting air flow through. Checking her watch, she hiccuped with surprise. Her foot slammed down on the gas, her head pressed against her seat from the quick acceleration. Her car’s enging groaned with the speed, but she couldn’t slow down.
*******, Luci. I really hate you right now.
Suddenly, she saw flashing lights and heard a sharp wailing sound behind her. A police car pulled right up behind her, speeding along, signaling for her to pull over to the shoulder of the road. Courtney’s eyes were wide with fright, and her palms were sweating profusely, leaving stains on her steering wheel. Oh god oh god oh god oh god...Ohhhh my goddddd.
Courtney slammed on her breaks, pulling over. A man in uniform knocked on her window, and she rolled it down slowly. There was a loud noise from the passenger seat and Coutney’s world slowed as she saw the duffle bag fall to the floor of the car, the zipper breaking and the contents spilling onto the carpeted floor.
The policeman’s face was horrorstruck.
“Ma’am...” He stuttered. “I’m going to have to ask you to...step out of the car and put..put your hands on your head.”

Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
her face must be
cracking to
***-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
***-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.

She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.

You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.

No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.

You will never understand
My understanding.

And that's okay.

A field of yellow roses
All with their own magical aspects
A lone red rose exactly thirteen feet from the forest edge
Different than the rest
It’s our imperfections that make us graceful

She opened her eyes and realized the day is here. Some light glowing through her tiny basement window, we're lucky to just have some glow. That's the Pacific Northwest alright. Seasonal depression is a trend, you know? She knew she had an obligation today and she had to at least somewhat prepare for whats to come. She didn't want to get ready, she wanted to lay in bed with her kitten and imagine life without rules and regulations, bills and break ups, roommates that make too much noise and the dripping furnace in her room. She noticed she wore her red robe to bed and had total bed head (she always had a mirror right next to her bed, secretly to check up on any imperfections to avoid for the day). She got up, dragging her slippers on the floor and hardly dealing with the sun in her eyes. She went for her fridge hoping there was something to eat in it, gave up and sipped some orange juice (it's been days since she has...). She returned to her cave of a room and grabbed her raggedy make up bag. She hated this process, this wasn't her. It was uncomfortable to wear eyeliner, getting into her eyeballs, it's just not natural! Sliding pale pink lipstick across her lips and puckering up into the mirror with only a somewhat decent effort. Yes, she's crazy, I'm not sure Courtney Love status crazy, though. She put her hand on her neck and remembered last night. Full of regret even though nothing happened. She looked at her neck through the mirror trying to find evidence of her lover. Nothing was there, not even the feeling of soreness. But why? All the sudden she feels it come on. Get ready, it's time for a panic attack! It first starts with a tightness in the chest, heart pounding and you feel it in your head, trying to breathe and realizing this *****, and then the wake up call that something is wrong, closing in on the throat and the feeling that this will never end. She goes to her medication bottle and realize there's only 4 left. Knowing this tragic news, she questioned whether or not this is a big enough crisis. She felt like a fiend anytime she took them, or needed them because that's what her twisted psychiatrist put in her head.
She takes the pill, downing old water from the night before. She sits down on her bed and turns her computer on. Fidgeting and fill of worry. Sigh. I don't want this day to begin, if yesterday wasn't over. Let's avoid the mellow dramatic and move on to what I have to do. She then goes for her underwear drawer and picks out the pinkest, frilliest piece of underwear she could find and of course, all the rest of her body was bare. She never liked wearing them, let alone clothing. They were uncomfortable and it wasn't that desirable to wear it all for other peoples eyes. She wants to stay in her male boxer shorts that are a little too big for her. She then slid everything on so fast. Look at the time 2:09 PM, just a few more minutes until it starts. She logs in automatically and sits down, adjusts the lights and makes sure the camera is working. She prepares herself.

Later on she now is under the blankets trying to forget what she did today. The aching pain never going away and it is constantly in her mind on how she is alone, with no one cradling her or telling her its okay. She knows that she needs to make the money, in order to live, but if this is living, what is life? It's okay though, she made 1,800 gold coins today and that covers rent. Rent, credit card bills, always checking her balance freaking out that she doesn't even have bus fair to get food or go on interviews.

This is a sob story, about someone who is ultimately ridiculous and very very very determined.

My name is Courtney. My favorite colors are black and white because that's how I see everything. I'm usually loud in places I should be quiet and quiet in places I should be loud. I usually laugh too much, and smile when I don't want to. I like to meet new people but I don't like having super close friendships.
I like being left alone, most days I never leave my room.
I'm a scorpio but to be honest I have no idea what that means.
I have an odd fascination with things like the ocean and lights and coffee.
I like temporary things and that's why I tend to love people who could never love me back.
Its safer that way. Relationships only remind me that I'm not afraid of spiders or heights or rollercoasters but I'm terrified of everything that can be felt but not seen.
I have a purple heart. I got it because I'm constantly beating myself up about things and people I can't fix or make better.
I always try to swallow my pride but I choke on the words I can't say and my self esteem drowns out anything and everything that could be good or right in my life. My self esteem hates anything that could ever get close enough to hear me breathe. My self esteem is so scared of anyone that could ever hurt me like when I was 8 years old living through world war 3 in the place I called home.
I never sleep in complete darkness because that forces my eyes to see nothing but only feel what I'm afraid of.
I can't read letters without them being proof read first. I'm always so afraid that it'll blood stained by someone I love saying goodbye.
I hate goodbyes. I hate leaving doors open because open doors eventually get shut and that closed door stings more than any tear that ever rolled down my cheek.
This sounds so weird, but I wonder what my demons say about me when I'm not around. I wonder if they laugh at my weakness. I wonder if they were there when my friend heard me throwing up my pain into the toilet in my school's bathroom. I wonder if they saw me try to rip out the happiness of every picture I saw the boy I loved and his new girl in.
I don't allow myself to cry as often as I need to. I don't let myself grieve. I don't allow anyone to know anything about the first 13 years of my life. Because I know once I open that door, they will be scared of such a damaged me, that they will close it before I finish the story.
I do believe in God. I believe he didn't save me. I believe I've had to save myself all these years until I let him save me.
I'm Courtney. Nice to meet you.

Holden Caulfield
2. That movie that I saw last weekend that I thought you would like
3. The mix tapes you made me. I still listen to them in my car
4. The way I dance and wondering if you would like it if you saw me.
5. The Kooks and how you hate them.
6. Hospice
7. Late nights sleeping alone and knowing you're awake, but oh so silent.
8. Wondering if you're thinking about me too
9. The poems you wrote me. Your handwriting is classy.
10. The picture of Hilary Duff on my desk reminding me to be good
11. My bed and how you used to be there.
12. My friends and how you used to be one of them
13. Uptown
14. My ticklish spots that no longer get touched
15. My cat... he misses you.
16. Speaking Spanish and how you used to correct it, and sometimes be impressed
17. Wearing bows in my hair. How you used to love them.
18. The clothes I bought at that thrift store yesterday. I wonder if you'd like them.
19. Mehermahermahermaherm
20. Listening to Bright Eyes.
21. Listening to the sound of loneliness.
22. Coffee and how you say "Americano" with a roll of the tongue.
23. The last bit in my tea and how it's "too sweet to swallow."
24. Sitting close on the couch. Your hand stroking mine. Sneaking a kiss on the cheek.
25. Missing busses and missing you.
26. How I used to cheer you up.
27. The stars and sheep and roses.
28. Seth Rogan
29. Meditating and how I can't do it with you constantly clogging up my brain.
30. Laughing
31. I never learned to salsa dance with you and your brutally honest hips.
32. Carrot Creme Brulee
33. Hand dance duets
34. The empty spaces between my fingers
35. Your grey corduroy pants are my favorite.
36. When you called me your coriño.
37. How you would have scoffed at me copying and pasting an "ñ".
38. Attempting to show you music you would like.
39. Failing at showing you music you like.
40. Sending you hearts.
41. Arching my back.
42. Eating ice cream and how I'm better when it's here.
43. How I'm better when you're here.
44. How Cory is better when Topanga is there.
45. Italian Night Clubs
46. You and Me and Everyone We Know
47. Tyronne Street
48. Ice Land
49. Getting lost.
50. Drunken parties and thrashing fists.
51. Second chances
52. Being half of something.
53. Wearing your cardigan
54. Long embraces and never wanting to move.
55. Doing my homework with you sitting next to me. Not letting you read over my shoulder
56. Teaching you about the body.
57. Your smile, and how you give a little chuckle every time I see it.
58. How we used to laugh about nothing.
59. Really bad cookies.
60. Butter face.
61. Jealousy
62. Hating modernized Shakespeare
63. Confessions
64. Embarrassed faces buried in pillows
65. Incredulous about me hating Elvis
66. Miles ******* Davis
67. Singing softly to the radio
68. Playing the piano. Singing for you when you're not around.
69. Wondering if you're reading this right now.
70. Hoping that you've gotten this far down the list.
71. Be the Pitta to my Vata
72. Kate Upton has saggy *****.
73. I just want to make spaghetti with you.
74. How you hate ellipsis
75. Wondering whether or not I spelled that correctly because I know you would judge.
77. Leaving tearful voice-mails
78. John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Rolling Stone cover
79. Looking at art, wishing I was Monet.
80. My sundress on the floor.
81. Not seeing that new movie in theaters (the one that won all those Oscars) because I only want to see it with you.
82. Getting angry when Kacie B. didn't get the rose on the Bachelor and knowing you're angry too because Courtney ***** as a person.
83. I'm an ugly crier.
84. Hitting bread pans
85. Your green plaid jacket
86. Vulgarity
87. Insecurity
88. "Back and forth. Forever."
89. How that one song reminds you of me and I still don't know why.
90. How you deserve the best
91. It makes me sad that I'm at number 91 and you're still nowhere to be found.
92. Going to ballet class with the anticipation of seeing you afterward.
93. You asking me how ballet was, whether you were interested or not.
94. whispers "Let me be your hero."
95. Never seeing your fur vest.
96. Holding hands when we shouldn't have.
97. Velvet leggings
98. The last wonder of the world.
99. I fear that I will forget what your face looks like.
100. Reaching one-hundred with so much more to say.

Courtney,
The name
doesn’t seem like enough
to describe the wondrous hope
stirred in cold coals
of fire long since burned.
You were gliding
off the storm that tossed you
and shaped you.
You smelled singed
by the clashes of shock
in the maelstrom.
You were sodden with the sub-lucid fumes
of unfettered pleasure,
and thus you plunged
out of the vortex
into my cold hearth.
Since I breathed
that first wisp of you
into me,
I am
forever changed.
  My smothering black skin bleeds
away into the sky,
chased into the night
by the dance of stars’
returned to this world of men.

Black swirls cut
like sprites
away from the breath upon me,
and the forgotten embers
presumed quenched
smolder with orange joy and pure white,
yawning broad with warmth
from beneath their dark slumbers.
They stretch
and nuzzle
across their thawing bodies,
and ever more rouse
to the touch of life
and breath of love.
The chuckling of
irony driven clear
accompanies the roar
of renewed life
as these embers within
smile and lick
into the air
and shine
out into the world.
I offer the
warmth you have returned to me
as the uplifting voice you need
to climb into the sky where you belong.
To hold you aloft
(so the world may see
the love you kindled
in my now burning heart,
so that our love shines
into the dark and the cold)
is the deepest wish
of the man’s heart
whence you have become part.
Yet sated not,
To be left aloft
you fan the fervor
that draws my crackling soul
upward with you.
The dance of roaring flame and reviving wind,
so soon began,
now feeds us both
in endless burning harmony.

I’m at that point where
chopping my face off with an axe would be nice

I’m uncomfortable
not like pins and needles no
more like i’ve been standing in line
too long
needing to change my ******
wet socks in dry shoes
uncomfortable

I can’t believe the ******* ****
that comes from lips
and my face
my laughter is all wrong
all the things i say
all wrong like
a failed test i studied so hard for

I’m at that point where i’m ready to
unzip
myself from head to toe to brain
make me new in every way, every hair
change my name
change my voice

the narrator of my thoughts
make her real
make her out of silicone
pour her over me and let her harden

this body i’m in
this person talking out loud is not me
she’s
NOT
ME
SHE IS NOT ME
SHE IS NOT ME SHE IS NOT ME SHE IS NOT ME SHE IS NOT ME

take me out WITH A BAT
and then take me out

in your car

[Intro: Jhene Aiko]
What's up?
Been a minute since we kicked it, you've been caught up
With them *******, I don't get it, you're a star love
You shouldn't have to deal with that
I'd never make you feel like that
Cause...

[Hook: Jhene Aiko]
I love me, I love me enough for the both of us
That's why you trust me, I know you been through more than most of us
So what are you? What are you, what are you so afraid of?
Darling you, you give but you cannot take love

[Verse 1: Drake]
I needed to hear that ****, I hate when you're submissive
Passive aggressive when we're textin', I feel the distance
I look around the peers that surround me, these ****** trippin'
I like when money makes a difference but don't make you different
Started realizin' a couple places I could take it
I want to get back to when I was that kid in the basement
I want to take it deeper than money, *****, vacation
And influence a generation that's lackin' in patience
I've been dealing with my dad, speakin' of lack of patience
Just me and my old man gettin' back to basics
We've been talkin' 'bout the future and time that we wasted
When he put that bottle down, girl that *****'s amazin'
Well, **** it, we had a couple Coronas
We might have rolled a white paper, just somethin' to hold us
We even talked about you and our couple of moments
He said we should hash it out like a couple of grown ups
You a flower child, beautiful child, I'm in your zone
Lookin' like you came from the 70's on your own
My mother is 66 and her favorite line to hit me with is
Who the **** wants to be 70 and alone?
You don't even know what you want from love anymore
I search for somethin' I'm missing and disappear when I'm bored
But girl, what qualities was I lookin' for before?
Who you settlin' for? Who better for you than the boy, huh?

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Drake]
Thinkin' 'bout Texas, back when Porscha used to work at Treasures
Or further back than that, before I had the Houston leverage
When I got Summer a Michael Kors with my momma's debit
A weak attempt at flexin', I'll never forget it
Cause that night I played her three songs
Then we got to talkin' 'bout something we disagreed on
Then she start tellin' me how I'll never be as big as Trey Songz
Boy was she wrong, that was just negative energy for me to feed off
Now it's therapeutic blowin' money in the Galleria
Or Beverly Center Macy's where I discovered Bria
Landmarks of the muses that inspired the music
When I could tell it was sincere without tryin' to prove it
The one that I needed was Courtney from ******* on Peachtree
I've always been feelin' like she was the piece to complete me
Now she engaged to be married, what's the rush on commitment?
Know we were goin' through some ****, name a couple that isn’t
Remember our talk in the parking lot at the Ritz
Girl I felt like we had it all planned out, I guess I ****** up the vision
Learnin' the true consequences of my selfish decisions
When you find out how I’m livin' I just hope I’m forgiven
It seem like you don’t want this love anymore
I’m actin' out in the open, it’s hard for you to ignore
But girl, what qualities was I lookin' for before?
Who you settlin' for, who better for you than the boy, huh?

[Hook]

[Outro: Baka]
"Been Baka aka Not Nice from time, G. Been a East Side ting. Scarborough ting from time, G, been have up di ting dem from time, G. So I don't know what's wrong with these little wasteman out here eh? Y'all need to know yourself."

with apologies to Aaron Sorkin*

The atheist starts off with,
“this is silly.” I think I see
him sense the abrupt change
of atmosphere walking through
the threshold into a chapel like
plunging into lake water naked.
When the actress kneels, the atheist explains
how God shouldn’t be so vain, I think of
the actress and whether or not, with her real
kneeling in the fake chapel, she actually prays.
She says, “You don’t kneel for Him; you kneel for you.”
The atheist storms out saying that “This just doesn’t
feel right,” The atheist is outraged that a mother is bleeding
to death, her baby may have no father, and someone’s
little brother is being held hostage by Islamic fundamentalists.
I remember two conversations:
Courtney telling me that God wasn’t saving me
when my brake lines rusted out in the TGI Fridays
parking lot instead of on the 74 bridge.
River telling me that she feels blessed that God has watched
over all the people in her life who have attempted
suicide, because they failed. She hastily tries to add
that God was also watching over Jenny, but is too
worried that she hurt me. Right before the scene switches
The actress looks upand tells God
that the atheist “made some good points.”

Our friendship is more than love.
Unbreakable even by distance,
Like a gold and diamond chain.
It is forever changing it is the earth
Yet always strong it is a mountain.
A mountain covering the clouds,
And soon to reach the stars.
It is constantly growing.
Never shaking like an earthquake
Or twisting like a hurricane
It is me and you it is strong.

Do you
Kurt Cobain
take Courtney Michelle Love
to be your lawful shredded wife?

I imagine her sitting across from him
Her lips stained a violent red
Smiling
She'd say what I say now
It didn't have to be this way

That's what's funny to me
Even afterwards she was composed
And maybe,
I don't know,
Maybe she was too full of ******* and hatred to really grasp it

But think of it this way:
Would anyone be capable of shooting up
and then shooting themselves?
Doubtfully

Do you
Kurt Cobain
take Courtney Michelle Love
to be your lawful shredded wife?

February 20, 1967
When Aberdeen, Washington became home to a legend
Throwing pebbles at cops
and falling in love with Punk Rock
1985 is when it all fell apart
The divorce shattered his poor, frail heart
Then along came Krist, Pat, and Dave
Who made his life worth the wait
"I Rather Be Hated For Who I Am Than Loved For Who I Am Not."
Against judgement, racists, and sexualists he fought.
He's an inspiration to few
because of what he chose to do.

April 5, 1994
Down he feel with the gun in his hand on the floor.
"Peace, Love, and Empathy." was left on the letter
A Document that Courtney and Frances struggled to read later.
Fans left with faithful lyrics and sorrow
He always said they weren't promised tomorrow.
Rumors of conspiracies and ****** spread
Courtney finally announced that he wanted to be dead.
"It's Better To Burn Out Than To Fade Away."
and just like that Kurt Cobain had changed  my life in every way.

Lips like bloodlines,
Carmilla kisses her mirror
and calls herself dangerous

Naming myself for dead things,
for ruinous things;
fire,
the ash that drank Pompei,
the ivy that made your walls cave,

Was Lady Macbeth sweeping her hair in braids
to nest her crown?
Or Nefertiti painted gold to reclaim God?

I’m asking for the lavender girls
See, we do these things to be holy
to be myths in our skin

Tying feathers to our shoulders
and glitter to our tongues,
thinking
I can be gold if I want to
I can be thorn-tipped ugly

In pink fur, black lace, we kiss the toes
of Courtney Love and Venus in one breath

Cut back
to my blood-laced lips on the mirror
as though saying Narcissus is my idol
my skin placed above heaven
and I wish to love myself so much
I’d choke for it

I don't want to know,
how it feels to lose my Kurt.
Every day you pull away,
and it takes years to find you;
To find yourself.
She's so sick in her body,
so sick in her soul.
I'll save you.
Just hold on to me.

When it grows dark and cold,
I'll be there,
and we'll get old.
Together.
Not alone.
Just hold on to me.

They left you,
with no words, not enough,
for you.
They left you;
I could never do.
If you think you're drowning, baby
I could always swim.
*Just hold on to me.

An official looking notice said he had passed away
A service for his tortured soul was being held today,
I plan to get there early, to get a front row seat
I've always loved to people watch -
Who knows who one may meet
Everybodys' whis-pering, they wonder how he died
Though nothing is official -  they're betting suicide

Courtney stands alone in a two piece textured suit,
MJ leans against the wall in high heeled leather boots
A familiar face is walking in - he must have taken leave
Wraps the mother in a hug, her hand upon his sleeve
I've never seen his brothers' in a jacket or a tie
They look so tall and handsome, as usual side by side
Nick and Faith walk in together, she wears a floppy hat
Stands next to Portland hipsters - all buckles, leather straps
Sean engages Stefan, Lisa holds the arm of Vince
He really hasn't aged a day, I haven't seen him since
we double-dated sisters', we bought a birthday card
Tried to get to second base, they smiled and hit us hard.

All heads turn in unison they see you walking in
Lips stained a dark bur-gun-dy, defiance to your chin,
Lowered eyes survey the crowd resigned to this days fate
You wish it hadn't come to this, the switch from love to hate
Your dress is black, above the knee, the bodice spotted lace
A pillbox hat perched on your head, the veil to hide your face
I knew you'd wear your purple heels, they make your legs look long, but underneath the prim facade,
Pink bra and matching thong
I'm enjoying your discomfort as you pause inside the gate
You'd loathe to be too early, and you wouldn't dare be late
You fumble with the clasp of an expensive looking tote
Pull a lighter from its depths- I've never seen you smoke
That pretty auburn haired girl whose name I can't recall
Tells a story of him to muffled laughter and applause
Is that the music starting? We'd better go inside
Someone holds the door for you, you smile, but not to wide

I'm bounding up the staircase - no one appears to see
The view is priceless- truely - front row of balcony
His mother's gently weeping, his father's looking grim
My eyes are one direction on your pale and perfect skin
Mira dabs at her nose, her handkerchief trimmed with lace
Why my wife do tears not run down your exquisite face
Your hand gently fondles a golden chain with hanging heart
But I am focused on your thighs - the ones I used to part
You steal a glance at your watch, you have to be discreet
Think of your waiting lover, parked in a nearby street

I remember that I couldn't sleep, so put on Leonard Cohen
I don't know how he did it - he just had a way of knowin'
Sheets were turning crimson as the blood began to seep
That's all that I remember - I just drifted off to sleep
I dreamed you'd sent hydrangeas, a bright and brilliant blue
Could you not think of something else than what I'd give to you,
Lilies, peonys, tulips, lilac or a rose
I'd buy you blue hydrangeas when you didn't like your nose
Soaring Hallelujah chorus fills my darkened room
From my bed I see the clock, it's time to get up soon
I pad into the kitchen to get my dog a treat
Make a mental note to apologize to my neighbours when we meet,
In the hallway, or the lobby, or the park across the street
" I'm sorry man, the other night, I guess you couldn't sleep "
Turned off my record player that was programmed to repeat

I'd buy you blue hydrangeas - you didn't like your nose
I noticed that you'd changed your hair and you had on new clothes

Polly

Polly she was a psych major,
But minds she couldn't read. Page
her instead
with words in your stead.
And her beauty you'll get engage(r).


Courtney

Courtney and whiskey and game of thrones,
Tyrion's wisdom satsifies jones,
The dragon so epic,
But White Walker get it,
While visually feasting on bones.


Georgia

Georgia a mess,
White hair from the stress
Her beauty sublime
Pausing time no contest.


Rachel

Rachel abate chu,
you know that I couldn't
For weirdness is awesomeness; serene.
Now who wouldn't appreciate
deviate from our normality
Plus gin is for winning
a truth known unanimously.


Wilhelmine

Wilhelmine sublime in her majesty,
At the helm for intersectionality
Butler'd be proud
Preferred pronouns abound,
(And **** what kind of band are you rad in b?)


Selene

Selene full of sugar,
What music dya cover?
(I mean if it ain't free form jazz,
It can't lack razzmatazz)


Nassem

Nassem with beret and flowers,
Entrancing, enchanting for hours,
The men did all swoon
For no finer a tune,
Their blakcouts a sign of her powers.


Tanya

Tanya does shine,
and **** ya so fine,
Entwine our being
in blissful combine?


Denise

Denise pretty sweet ****** her thumb
the saliva like juices of plum
She'd still **** it now
If she'd stuck with the how
Instead all her coolness undone.


Kate

Kate so great,
And gin drink elate,
Dya wonder bowt cool stuff?
Or leave it to fate...


Felicia

Felicia appresh ur adventure (I do)
A coolness some people should start to accrue
It feels your speal will carry enjoyment
What spoils you foiled like Gandalf's endorsement?


Rachel

Rachel is boring?
A fact left adorning,
Conversations a **** up
For ****** who are stuck,
I'm sure you're a truth worth adoring


Ilydia

Ilydia sublime in all of her glory
But without a bio, she's lacking a story


Caoimhe

Caoimhe relieve ya with tales of Kirk
But Picard is the ****** she'd rather you ****,
A sailor mouthed hoodlum
beguiling with *****
that'd harbour a vegan inert ;) ;)


Annabel

Annabel, man her well
into her *******?
Sneaking round farmer's fields
down for some... snogging...


Kathrin

Kathrin, laughin with wind in her face,
Riding her gas powerer car every place,
Her lectures a feature of questions renowned,
Or else you can find her with face fraught (not sound!)


Gabby

Gabby her sense of humour is dark,
A chicken who's picking the losers apart,
Some rabbits who slumber by her majesty,
With floppy ears, carrots, and cuddles of glee....

i am nobody’s son

love without love
is a sin

and mostly sin
is a little thing

that grows
and procreates
and separates
like cells

like infected cells
spreading through
generations

she chews gravel

so every sound
aches for
absolution

and when I hear her

i want to
feel my
deepest aches

i want to
feel my hardest
separations

i want to be
disconnected
from everything

i am doll parts

bent arms
bent legs
tangled hair

a plastic smile
painted in
pretty pink

to create
full luscious lips

I am love without love

i am an
interchangeable
sexless torso

i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
          **** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water  and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton  and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor