blackenedfigs - Hello Poetry

I think sometimes about the thing lost inside that bar bathroom stall And about the blood that had flowed effortlessly in brilliant, shiny-red globs. I said goodbye then— to the accident I never wanted or even knew existed.

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Feb 9, 2021

Feb 9, 2021 at 1:00 AM UTC

Accident

I think sometimes about the thing lost inside that bar bathroom stall And about the blood that had flowed effortlessly in brilliant, shiny-red globs. I said goodbye then— to the accident I never wanted or even knew existed.

9

Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door, yet again.

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Dec 12, 2020

Dec 12, 2020 at 1:06 AM UTC

For Aubrey

Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door, yet again.

2

It is fascinating to listen to the world wake up in the morning. It’s as though everything is still and frozen in time that even the birds are hesitant to start their morning songs. But then suddenly, as the first stretch of daylight crawls across the lines and rows of rooftop houses, you can hear the whole Earth start up in stages. First the signaling of the distant trains, their own morning song in a way I suppose. Then the rest of the neighborhood follows suit in a chorus. Car engines rattle on to melt the ice off their windshields and they too, groan and moan not yet ready for the daily grind. I picture people sipping their coffee while their kids quickly and hastily brush their teeth to make it to school on time. The buses stagger in lines to greet them at their doorsteps. One by one the birds unruffle their feathers in the treetops and begin to rise in song. The streets that just lay undisturbed moments ago, pristine with a thin layer of 4AM dew, are now bustling with car exhaust and scurrying street cats who are simply trying to get out of the way. And you in the midst of your tossing and turning murmur something in your sleep and I wish I could lie here forever.

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Dec 6, 2020

Dec 6, 2020 at 7:45 PM UTC

Mesa Morning Song

It is fascinating to listen to the world wake up in the morning. It’s as though everything is still and frozen in time that even the birds are hesitant to start their morning songs. But then suddenly, as the first stretch of daylight crawls across the lines and rows of rooftop houses, you can hear the whole Earth start up in stages. First the signaling of the distant trains, their own morning song in a way I suppose. Then the rest of the neighborhood follows suit in a chorus. Car engines rattle on to melt the ice off their windshields and they too, groan and moan not yet ready for the daily grind. I picture people sipping their coffee while their kids quickly and hastily brush their teeth to make it to school on time. The buses stagger in lines to greet them at their doorsteps. One by one the birds unruffle their feathers in the treetops and begin to rise in song. The streets that just lay undisturbed moments ago, pristine with a thin layer of 4AM dew, are now bustling with car exhaust and scurrying street cats who are simply trying to get out of the way. And you in the midst of your tossing and turning murmur something in your sleep and I wish I could lie here forever.

1

The local convenience store dealers lean on glass windows with ****** pupils scanning the parking lot for any takers. I pump my gas on station four and spy from afar. Don’t make eye contact or that means you’re interested. No buyers yet. What do you suppose is on the menu for today? Judging from the amount of zombies I’ve seen pushing stolen shopping carts a block away from here, I’d say smack. Tar. Black. ****** Whatever they call it where you’re from. Welfare bodies withered down to just flesh hanging from bone, wandering around aimlessly for their next fix. I’ve only ever tried it once; I was curious and sad and it was there—in Violet’s hand and then in my lungs. Do you think my mother would cry out in those disgusting sobs of snot and heaves of not-being-able-to-breathe-tears if she knew? Do you think my sister would look at me with that glare of judgmental disapproval because yet again, here’s an example of why I’m the family ****** Do you think my father would smack me upside the head and call me a dumb *** Probably. And do you think my third and sixth grade teachers who told me I should one day do something with my writing would be gasping in disappointment? Definitely. The gas pump clicks off. A potential customer staggers across asphalt to meet his makers and I am no better than he is at this very moment.

0

Dec 1, 2020

Dec 1, 2020 at 3:17 AM UTC

Drugstore Cowboys

The local convenience store dealers lean on glass windows with ****** pupils scanning the parking lot for any takers. I pump my gas on station four and spy from afar. Don’t make eye contact or that means you’re interested. No buyers yet. What do you suppose is on the menu for today? Judging from the amount of zombies I’ve seen pushing stolen shopping carts a block away from here, I’d say smack. Tar. Black. ****** Whatever they call it where you’re from. Welfare bodies withered down to just flesh hanging from bone, wandering around aimlessly for their next fix. I’ve only ever tried it once; I was curious and sad and it was there—in Violet’s hand and then in my lungs. Do you think my mother would cry out in those disgusting sobs of snot and heaves of not-being-able-to-breathe-tears if she knew? Do you think my sister would look at me with that glare of judgmental disapproval because yet again, here’s an example of why I’m the family ****** Do you think my father would smack me upside the head and call me a dumb *** Probably. And do you think my third and sixth grade teachers who told me I should one day do something with my writing would be gasping in disappointment? Definitely. The gas pump clicks off. A potential customer staggers across asphalt to meet his makers and I am no better than he is at this very moment.

1

A drug An inhale, exhale I bend, you press We hold and we lean Through sweat and salty skin His energy pulses through me In momentous bursts Of pain and pleasure Uncertainty and unrequited love Dance inside my womb And flutter their wings to make their exit, With the fragile whimpers of my breath In a final act of exertion And a careful execution of timing Our performance comes to a euphoric end And I fold back into myself, Hoping to take a fragment of him with me.

0

Jul 26, 2020

Jul 26, 2020 at 3:02 AM UTC

M.

A drug An inhale, exhale I bend, you press We hold and we lean Through sweat and salty skin His energy pulses through me In momentous bursts Of pain and pleasure Uncertainty and unrequited love Dance inside my womb And flutter their wings to make their exit, With the fragile whimpers of my breath In a final act of exertion And a careful execution of timing Our performance comes to a euphoric end And I fold back into myself, Hoping to take a fragment of him with me.

18

We embrace; I ask myself if I’m making a mistake How can everything fit together so perfectly Yet keep coming apart at the seams simultaneously? You want me So just say it. This dance of “what if’s” that we keep practicing Is not making either of us Any better at our footwork.

0

Jul 26, 2020

Jul 26, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC

I wanted to learn how to two-step.

We embrace; I ask myself if I’m making a mistake How can everything fit together so perfectly Yet keep coming apart at the seams simultaneously? You want me So just say it. This dance of “what if’s” that we keep practicing Is not making either of us Any better at our footwork.

9

It is so strange to see someone else reliving one of your past lives, spitting out the same words you once spoke.

0

May 24, 2020

May 24, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC

Her.

It is so strange to see someone else reliving one of your past lives, spitting out the same words you once spoke.

5

I think of all the different lives I have lived over the years And I mourn the losses of all the personalities friendships memories that I will never get back. Time is cruel like that; it just comes barreling through and takes takes takes. But I suppose what comes along with the taking, is also the giving of new faces new blood new love new heartache. I cannot say that I wouldn’t have it any other way, For I think we can all agree that we aren’t given much of a choice, otherwise.

0

May 24, 2020

May 24, 2020 at 3:54 AM UTC

5/23/20

I think of all the different lives I have lived over the years And I mourn the losses of all the personalities friendships memories that I will never get back. Time is cruel like that; it just comes barreling through and takes takes takes. But I suppose what comes along with the taking, is also the giving of new faces new blood new love new heartache. I cannot say that I wouldn’t have it any other way, For I think we can all agree that we aren’t given much of a choice, otherwise.

22

I catch myself looking at him and wondering if there is still a glimmer of hope for us in his eyes. It is your birthday and my heart hurts, I want to kiss you but I know it’s forbidden now. When I was a girl I would always go for the most marvelous flowers at the local garden to bring home, And my mother would say to me: “No, those won’t last. You must get the ones that have yet to bloom, in time they will become even more beautiful.” I believe this could have been a metaphor, for us If only you’d have let it. I can’t do this; Exist with you, not existing with me. Stay. Stay. Stay.

0

May 24, 2020

May 24, 2020 at 3:49 AM UTC

5/23/19

I catch myself looking at him and wondering if there is still a glimmer of hope for us in his eyes. It is your birthday and my heart hurts, I want to kiss you but I know it’s forbidden now. When I was a girl I would always go for the most marvelous flowers at the local garden to bring home, And my mother would say to me: “No, those won’t last. You must get the ones that have yet to bloom, in time they will become even more beautiful.” I believe this could have been a metaphor, for us If only you’d have let it. I can’t do this; Exist with you, not existing with me. Stay. Stay. Stay.

20

Golden Strands of hair glisten like honey Soft, solace scent of an old home Goose feather pillows Blue veins disguised inside cautious hands Embrace me, radiate warmth And with the utmost careful placement of glasses on her nightstand once again.

0

May 10, 2020

May 10, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC

Mother

Golden Strands of hair glisten like honey Soft, solace scent of an old home Goose feather pillows Blue veins disguised inside cautious hands Embrace me, radiate warmth And with the utmost careful placement of glasses on her nightstand once again.

12