josie-patterson
Canadian
/i find expression is a funny thing, to open yourself up to be picked apart / art is just another way of telling a story / the stitching together of words / Frankensteining a part of your soul into something others can understand / and then leaving your infant in the woods until the wolves find it
eyelids coated in glitter
you dont see the world like we do
upper lip, flowers sprouting
to cover the rot
earbuds playing melodies in the key of C
playlist of wonder
i see why you do the things you do
cover the stained bedsheets with cotton blankets
remain
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
pull me close son of god
let me emulate your perfection
in the similar direction skewed by human perception
what is perfect god?
are you?
though since you create creatures with fallibility
you must know so yourself
you must realize the nature of mistakes in order to make them
when you breathe forests grow and seeds are sewn
you tiptoe through the seas and make your mark on the continents
platypodes? the most useless creature
but beautiful
with the combined features of simpler folk
duck
******
but then god
you created me
or did you?
did i sprout from my mothers ****** because nature made me that way
or did the universe align to spew me onto the world because it needed my difference
i dont think you had anything to do with it
i think the world was born, as was all life after it
by the scientific methods so many have studied
but i do not disbelieve you could be out there
necessarily
but for that matter i also do not think you are omniscient
i dont think you control the stars
i think you live in a collective consciousness of the witness-less humans
with little to believe in
i think through the millions beliefs that you exist
you have come to be
and you give us someone to blame
to thank
when inexplainable circumstance haunts our present
you exist because we do
not the other way around
we have created you
we have put you into the sky through prayer
and shaped your vision with our verse
humans are clever with our big brains and big brawn
but we are not so wise to realize how much power we manifest collectively
we have created mass fear through words
through stories
we have created global hope through the telling of tales
we are individually weak
holding little power
but as a whole
humanity holds the might to shake the very foundations of the earth
we create beings larger than ourselves so we have a way to feel humble
because without the fear of restitution
our constitution weakens
and we either wilt
or grow too large for our britches resulting in catastrophe
though some use the belief in god to justify their hate
but they have created a personal god
one who is not a part of the greater spirit
a god toxic in nature
and small and weak
so atheists are not the righteous and true
but neither are those who believe in a higher power
neither am i
or you
we are all cells in the lining of the galaxies ******
and if you add fear into our equation
we hold the power to create new beings
no matter how imaginary
so god exists if you want to believe in it
but the disbelief is also valid
because god does not exist to you
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
I’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “im sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because i couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the Josie, pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
im tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of travelling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtlty of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled
into his monthly issue of mens rights magazine
she tore down the even minuscule belief he could have had that he had the right to comment on her body
in three seconds his pride, and entitlement
shifted into shame
and embarrassment
and i envy these women
because the only time i can take back my power
is when i am standing in front of a room
speaking rhymes and metaphors preaching independence and strength
to a group of people who now think i am a hero
i am not a hero
i put my shoes on one foot at a time
and i still manage to forget a couple days of birth control here and there
and i cant stand up for myself
in the moments after an attack i retreat into my latte and pray today will not be the day the male dominated society takes my power away
because i am small
and though i am growing every day
i still can only pray
that one way or another
i will be able to be as strong a woman as my sisters
my mother
and take back my power
and speak not with the beauty of a flower
but with the sharpness of a bumblebees sting
and one more thing
your compliments
are not complimentary
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
i am captivated
by the fluidity of your text message
you claim you arent a poet
but wow
how you can use 140 characters
to put words out of my mouth
evolving silence from stunned emotions
fantasies flit and twitter
sparked by your wit
the eminent feeling of loss when they fade
out of the temporary reality of my neocortex
and my thalimus
away into the sharpening atmosphere
my discombobulated desires
each begging for my undivided attention
in this sleepy realm of imagination
i contemplate your construction
a worthy demonstration of your capacity to hold
my mind
my eyes
my body
you are great, large, spirited
and your spirit consumes and overflows
my selfish desire to swallow you whole
until you spill out of my ears like maple syrup
sweet and sticky
and then i can have you all to myself
but that isnt fair
to the world
and the good you do it
you have taught me restraint
in my inability to think of anything but you
coupled with my inability to be with you
you manage to intrude into my every thought
conversation
my very being
with magic
your resplendent mind staining my arms
the overly colourful shadow that creeps along my spine
i feel a spectrum of colour
flickering along my horizon
crawling down my thigh like a silk scarf
i am consumed
by your light
crackling and growing
sparking and fizzling
fuelled by my tinder
my eyes swivel and squint
trying to see you through the bright mass you are surrounded by
and i catch a sigh
escape my lips
falling to you
from this new plane of existence you lifted me to
and here there is a woodstove
and a mass of cotton blankets
with a divot in the middle
begging to be filled
and you are there
my hand eases my descent into your warm chest
feet lifted
head filling the gap between your shoulder and your neck
and i rest my hand on yours
you gently sweep your fingertips along the top of my thigh
and you hold my other hand
in life there are times and places
abundant
that we find ourselves falling into
relationships
feelings
people
and so rarely
do we feel like we are made to be there
but here
darling
is where i am supposed to be
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
switchback racecars and
ham sandwitches on soggy bread
dull knives
and aching backs
and two sets of morning kisses
alike in warmth
differing in nature
but the fern petals curl away from the stem
as they mature
and maybe i am immature then
because all i want to do is curl into your spine
but who are you
which of the two i need make the vertebrae of the one i want?
are you the man who can turn over my garden bed
and tuck it in to sleep at night
or are you the man who pours fertile soil
over the dying weeds
because any life is beautiful?
am i beautiful to you
because though you say it
over and over
and though you have no hesitation when it comes the time
to roll around the cotton fields
does he?
maybe
but after the cotton is picked
and the fields are dry and ravaged
you are the one to run your fingers over the fence lining
the edges
but he isnt
he kisses me like fire
but you are embers
glowing
and remaining
and who is he
who am i
to doubt you
but lengths of sand
seperate our teacups
and it makes this hard
you dont want me
you dont want it to be difficult
but im not sleeping in the beds of other gardens
im not spilling my milky flesh over the moss of any tender forest but yours
im celibate to the moon
and sprouted from the earth
and whatever we have is what it is
and im so happy
but im tearing apart
thinking about a party
where another feather flits across my thigh
and where alcohol and others fill my pre frontal cortex
and for just long enough
i have no reason to not smell the earth of his bed
or his chest
and i dont know if i would feel guilty
we are not us
we are two seperate wholes
but we are us
we are something
and im ******* confused
and worried about hurting you
but i dont know what that means
or what that would entail
i just cant figure out
how to read the words you write
when all we know is morse code
and your hands shake worse than the earths breastplates
so are we anything
labels dont need to be pressed in with superglue
but they can help us sort through canned emotions
and reactions to situations
without worry of what is and isnt appropriate
because that way
when a feather tickles my thigh
i can sigh
push it away
and float to a place in my mind
where you are
without question
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
I will wear the cotton in your voice
Like a satin waistcoat
Hearing you call through splintered walls
And the wind blows as easily as the rain falls
Slowly
I feel as though I am a drop
Hurtling through the sky
Towards the moss covered earth at a shattering pace
Barely making a dent
On the sliver of the place you are
The other side of the door
Just a track away
And though I do not see you I hear your sway
Creating balance in the things you say
And we will walk forever
Though we do not move from the warmth
Of your iron cage
With boiling over foreigners begging for attention
My eyes cannot be drawn away
And ill stand in a field
And the corn will have no names and you will be
Flying like a bird without a cage
A slave without binding
A stitch without thread
And we will sprint like two parallel lines
Always similar but never touching
Infinite in ourselves
But finite with each other
Our paths never cross
Though we move side by side
Lost in the people we want to be with
balancing on a fence post we dont know is stable
With chipping paint
And white lines
Moving forever through a blind eye
You’ve found the pair to your pair of die
But where were you when I hadn’t
When my tissue box was a house for elves
And my sandbox was not a place for creation
Where memories went to sleep
And marbles were lost
I slipped in the downpour
And my shirt ripped
And my shorts tore
And I am sobbing alone
Optical spillage with small oceans removing themselves
Left drowning on my own
But though your seams are now sewn
Mine remain alone
And I stand now
Like a house without a home
Im sitting like a rock at the bottom of the sea
And I feel the pressure though it has never touched me
Fizzling inside my ears like static during a phone call
With you on the other line
Your hearing fine
Mine not at all
Your white noise is blinding but you never hear it
Sending me message after message
But my ears refuse to be near it
Like a microphone and a speaker
Your feedback is heavy
and when you are with her
Your white noise goes away
Your equally quiet souls both speak loud
And neither one overpowers the other
And I know you will not have me
For I am a force of nature
I swing like the light on the top of a lighthouse
And warn sailors of the danger on my shores
Because though you do not want me when I am yours I am yours
I am in the world for a long haul
And I hope your course changes
I hope your white noise dulls
I hope she can hear you when you whisper like sirens
And I hope if your voice reaches
Or hers falls
I hope you find comfort in the ***** of her sanity
because every other set of lines, meet once
and then drift apart forever
parallel lines are infinitely similar
but will never meet
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
flashing blue lights
stop lights
car lights
the light in your eyes
opening me to the night
a glowing spark sending
fear far from you and I
in a world where all we need is ourselves
we forget to live with each other
around the fears and doubts
that no doubt
are here
i hear you now
i look in your eyes
not letting myself fear the contact anymore
connection is intimidation
it has been for years
the closer you look at someone
the more flaws you see
so we live saying
look at me
but not closely
i cant let you see me for me
like keys on a keyboard
you press into me
embrace
my forehead pressed against your chest
feeling the pulse of your heart
like a tapping foot
restless heart syndrome
the words from your breast speak louder
than word of mouth
or words from mouth
and i love you
i love you i love you i love you
i really do
and i feel cheesy as all hell writing this down
but holy **** do i love you
and you are far away
and i cant handle that very well right now
i need you
i just need to be held
and hear your voice
and kiss your stupid face
because i ******* love you
and i cant think of any other way of putting that right now
im creatively drained
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
your face is like marble
perfectly contoured to reflect your state
an evershifting masterpiece
like sand flowing through an hourglass
time slipped away
and your hair like a beach on a crisp day
your voice like a warm stream
my limbs long to intertwine themselves with yours
like the twisting knarls of an overgrown cedar
growing into one another
and though grainy through pixelated screens
you are beauty
in unconventional ways
the words i use to describe you are mundane
and unsuited to yourself
though the english language could not have the capacity
to encapsulate your beauty in any words
and you are
beautiful i mean
i see you
and i cant believe that i am the one to give you butterflies
when tones buzz
and miniscule letters are recieved
i physically cannot contain my feelings
i do a lap
jump up and down
run anywhere
to try and come to grips with you
and how you feel about me
because the butterflies that i feel when i even think about you
fill me to the brim
and burst out in a sigh
or a squeal
some physical reminder of the way you make me feel
like a young mountain range
we are still shifting
and evolving around one another
your magnificent peaks shadow my jagged cliffs
and our plates push up against one another
creating friction
in the best of ways
but the best of days
are made even better
by simply reminding myself that you are a wireless connection away
an entity to feel emotions towards
because your beauty
will always be real to me
and if i ever forget to tell you
please read this poem
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
As far as I know you are still there
Sitting
Waiting for a peace that will never arrive
Waiting for me
You patiently sink
Away into the splintered wood beneath you
Softly your lips brush your fingertips
A breath with the power of a butterfly
The claws of steam grasping the clouds
Floating far above
You
Blindsided by guilt
A murky puddle of fate surrounds your boots
Tendrils of anger escape through flared nostrils
Still
Sitting
Waiting
For a man that will never arrive
Wind is flowing past your hair like a stream
As fragile as the china in your shop
And I suppose
I am the bull now
Tearing through your armour as if it was tissue
You sit still
Waiting
for a love that will never arrive
Waiting
for a peace that will never find you
Waiting
for a woman that will never come
Waiting
silently
for me
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC