the-dirty-vanilla - Hello Poetry

I could fall in love with her. She promises everything and anything. No She promises nothing She merely alludes to every intangible dream, good or bad, that I've ever had. She demands commitment She rewards dogged repetitive tenacity to to the point of suffering. Then again, sometimes she gifts things for no reason. It's odd but the harder I look at her, the more I study her for understanding, the more vague she becomes. She threatens me sometimes, maybe a lot, and occasionally she springs nasty surprises. In spite of her meanness, I imagine giving her some part of myself but she's fickle about gifts and completely ungracious when she refuses them. Still, you've always got a chance with her. At least until you don't. I would. I would make her mine. But Yesterday, that ***** just won't leave me the **** alone.

0

Jul 17, 2020

Jul 17, 2020 at 4:51 PM UTC

Tomorrow Dressed Up like God

I could fall in love with her. She promises everything and anything. No She promises nothing She merely alludes to every intangible dream, good or bad, that I've ever had. She demands commitment She rewards dogged repetitive tenacity to to the point of suffering. Then again, sometimes she gifts things for no reason. It's odd but the harder I look at her, the more I study her for understanding, the more vague she becomes. She threatens me sometimes, maybe a lot, and occasionally she springs nasty surprises. In spite of her meanness, I imagine giving her some part of myself but she's fickle about gifts and completely ungracious when she refuses them. Still, you've always got a chance with her. At least until you don't. I would. I would make her mine. But Yesterday, that ***** just won't leave me the **** alone.

34

"You've a large malignant mass," the Dr told her. She appeared gaunt in the feeble glow of x-rays despite being more than a little over-weight. She was full of words, good words, too but she said nothing at the news biting hard on her lower lip. She paid for the visit with a nearly maxed-out credit card. She had never been sick like this before but she had to admit, at least to herself, that she always seemed a little broke. She lived well, she thought, at least relatively. But she'd been increasingly more self-conflicted lately and the sensation was that of a gaping and festering wound. A part of her seemed panicked and another part didn't care at all and, more strange, from the recesses of her bowls, inflamed and angry, came an obscene and lustfully sneering cheer. Her stomach was queasy. She wanted Jesus Chicken anyway. She pulled into the drive-thru, not for convenience but for anonymity. She ordered the #1, add cheese, with waffle-fries. She also requested several packets of mayonnaise. She ate greedily thru the traffic with her middle finger ready. She thought, thank God for speaker phone, and called a dude that tried to **** her at a party once because she knew he sold coke. She'd had gotten his number from one of the guys he'd been with that night. She nearly screamed when he suggested that maybe they could work out a deal. She heard herself say, "I'll be right over." She pulled out a pack of unfiltered Pall Mall 100's, lit one, inhaling deeply, then choke-laughed unexpectedly when the DJ said, "this just in folks, Democracy...., she's dead."

0

Jun 5, 2019

Jun 5, 2019 at 10:46 AM UTC

Lady Liberty

"You've a large malignant mass," the Dr told her. She appeared gaunt in the feeble glow of x-rays despite being more than a little over-weight. She was full of words, good words, too but she said nothing at the news biting hard on her lower lip. She paid for the visit with a nearly maxed-out credit card. She had never been sick like this before but she had to admit, at least to herself, that she always seemed a little broke. She lived well, she thought, at least relatively. But she'd been increasingly more self-conflicted lately and the sensation was that of a gaping and festering wound. A part of her seemed panicked and another part didn't care at all and, more strange, from the recesses of her bowls, inflamed and angry, came an obscene and lustfully sneering cheer. Her stomach was queasy. She wanted Jesus Chicken anyway. She pulled into the drive-thru, not for convenience but for anonymity. She ordered the #1, add cheese, with waffle-fries. She also requested several packets of mayonnaise. She ate greedily thru the traffic with her middle finger ready. She thought, thank God for speaker phone, and called a dude that tried to **** her at a party once because she knew he sold coke. She'd had gotten his number from one of the guys he'd been with that night. She nearly screamed when he suggested that maybe they could work out a deal. She heard herself say, "I'll be right over." She pulled out a pack of unfiltered Pall Mall 100's, lit one, inhaling deeply, then choke-laughed unexpectedly when the DJ said, "this just in folks, Democracy...., she's dead."

14

Monsters, they're real but not what was expected. You thought they'd be green instead of orange. You pictured fangs, not porcelain. You expected a lot more blood and gore where there's this methodical, languishing torture. It's eating babies right now and people call it politics.

0

Mar 20, 2019

Mar 20, 2019 at 7:50 PM UTC

Run

Monsters, they're real but not what was expected. You thought they'd be green instead of orange. You pictured fangs, not porcelain. You expected a lot more blood and gore where there's this methodical, languishing torture. It's eating babies right now and people call it politics.

4

It just doesn't work like that. Like a big switch in my head, (grubby and greasy with finger prints), buzzing and humming when turned on. Actually, maybe it's just like that but... the thing is, if I were to ramble 'bout all the ways you are just so god ****** well, that's the kind of **** that makes people want to throw up. So if you could somehow just take my word for it that you are... that poster that hung on my wall when I was twelve, a wholesome dream as much as a pornographic one, ****** decadence all mixed up with kittens and puppy dogs, well then we could keep on loving and living well and forget about things as pretentious, narcissistic and nauseating as a poem.

0

Jul 18, 2016

Jul 18, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC

Unforced

It just doesn't work like that. Like a big switch in my head, (grubby and greasy with finger prints), buzzing and humming when turned on. Actually, maybe it's just like that but... the thing is, if I were to ramble 'bout all the ways you are just so god ****** well, that's the kind of **** that makes people want to throw up. So if you could somehow just take my word for it that you are... that poster that hung on my wall when I was twelve, a wholesome dream as much as a pornographic one, ****** decadence all mixed up with kittens and puppy dogs, well then we could keep on loving and living well and forget about things as pretentious, narcissistic and nauseating as a poem.

10

I didn't have the right shirt on so she sent me home to change into something more appropriate because the people throwing the party were a little bit more than just well-to-do and I did because I generally don't like to argue but my second choice was no better than the first so I left again and then once more until she was exasperated enough to let my apparel go even though I was still less than presentable and I followed her through room after cavernous room adorned with Botticelli and Goncharova, way too expensive furniture, cutting edge electronics wired to speakers that screamed "nah nah na nah nah to ground trembling base until finally we emptied out into acres and acres of back yard where there were scores of people milling about and a pet killer whale swimming around that would occasionally rise up out of the water to splash guests to their amusement, sometimes grabbing one of them by the leg or arm and gently pulling them down to the bottom before releasing them and back up they would come to break the water gasping and giggling which tickled those wandering about but I didn't get what was so funny at all so my face was that of consternation which in hindsight might have been that last straw because she was looking at me, not with the smile she once had of someone completely enamored and enthralled but instead, her countenance was that of someone entirely perturbed and she certainly was with my piss-poor etiquette, lack of insight and my rather limited wardrobe and it was just then that that whale rose up and crashed down again sending a massive wave that totally enveloped us making me realize in an instant that she might have been right about my shirt, for mine was made of silk and certainly it would have been better to be sporting nylon or rayon or, at least, something as wrinkle resistant as polyester for she still looked quite perfect smiling back plastic at the raucousness of those watching and I knew then that I wouldn't be seeing these people at the next big party which weighed on me more heavy than that wet shirt and the loss of her crushed me more than if that mighty mammal had landed on my chest but, oddly enough, when I awoke from that dream, it was with a lightness of relief finding myself lucid again in a world for which I am far better suited.

0

Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC

The Weight of my Shirt and a Killer Whale

I didn't have the right shirt on so she sent me home to change into something more appropriate because the people throwing the party were a little bit more than just well-to-do and I did because I generally don't like to argue but my second choice was no better than the first so I left again and then once more until she was exasperated enough to let my apparel go even though I was still less than presentable and I followed her through room after cavernous room adorned with Botticelli and Goncharova, way too expensive furniture, cutting edge electronics wired to speakers that screamed "nah nah na nah nah to ground trembling base until finally we emptied out into acres and acres of back yard where there were scores of people milling about and a pet killer whale swimming around that would occasionally rise up out of the water to splash guests to their amusement, sometimes grabbing one of them by the leg or arm and gently pulling them down to the bottom before releasing them and back up they would come to break the water gasping and giggling which tickled those wandering about but I didn't get what was so funny at all so my face was that of consternation which in hindsight might have been that last straw because she was looking at me, not with the smile she once had of someone completely enamored and enthralled but instead, her countenance was that of someone entirely perturbed and she certainly was with my piss-poor etiquette, lack of insight and my rather limited wardrobe and it was just then that that whale rose up and crashed down again sending a massive wave that totally enveloped us making me realize in an instant that she might have been right about my shirt, for mine was made of silk and certainly it would have been better to be sporting nylon or rayon or, at least, something as wrinkle resistant as polyester for she still looked quite perfect smiling back plastic at the raucousness of those watching and I knew then that I wouldn't be seeing these people at the next big party which weighed on me more heavy than that wet shirt and the loss of her crushed me more than if that mighty mammal had landed on my chest but, oddly enough, when I awoke from that dream, it was with a lightness of relief finding myself lucid again in a world for which I am far better suited.

1

They recall far too well They keep count of the exact amount of milk and sugar in her Earl Grey tea. They take note of how she won’t allow bar fruit to swim in her drink. They catalog the precise shades of white, pink and red. They never forget a body or face. They were unobservable last night at dinner with so much light mirroring the windows Completely unnoticed while we staggered between the bums and youth of downtown. When we danced, when she laughed, with her cool fingers slick on my skull, when the downstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling when she said that I was…, I was alone with her. But this morning, too many hours after cocktails, with her skin fuzzy bright all the sun leaking in, I could feel the metallic glint of their stares. Close but not too close. not close enough to hold on to but close. When they took the air, I could feel black feathers beating my ribs. The crows, they know and always remember. We eat breakfast at the diner two blocks up the street I shew shewed them away while she was distracted reading the menu but I saved the crust of my toast to feed them later.

0

Oct 30, 2015

Oct 30, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC

Symbiotic of a ******

They recall far too well They keep count of the exact amount of milk and sugar in her Earl Grey tea. They take note of how she won’t allow bar fruit to swim in her drink. They catalog the precise shades of white, pink and red. They never forget a body or face. They were unobservable last night at dinner with so much light mirroring the windows Completely unnoticed while we staggered between the bums and youth of downtown. When we danced, when she laughed, with her cool fingers slick on my skull, when the downstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling when she said that I was…, I was alone with her. But this morning, too many hours after cocktails, with her skin fuzzy bright all the sun leaking in, I could feel the metallic glint of their stares. Close but not too close. not close enough to hold on to but close. When they took the air, I could feel black feathers beating my ribs. The crows, they know and always remember. We eat breakfast at the diner two blocks up the street I shew shewed them away while she was distracted reading the menu but I saved the crust of my toast to feed them later.

49

Dolly Madison kisses me back sweet-like outside of Ruby’s where we sip elixirs and giggle at the sidewalk staggers of late night downtown. “I don’t want someone directing me,” She says, unexpectedly (and it comes out like a question), “but I don’t want to tell someone else what to do, either.” “Oh oh,” I say “Like two mustangs.” And she says, “what?” “Two mustangs,” I reiterate. Not a rider and a horse or a horse and a rider, with the digging of spurs and the crack of crops, but two steeds, side by side, running for all they’re worth. Dolly’s eyes stare before they roll up and to her left. I make my hands move forward up and down and side to side, together. She lights with a slow smile and says, “yeah” and kisses me harder. In my mind the mustangs sweat.

0

Oct 2, 2015

Oct 2, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC

On Hooves

Dolly Madison kisses me back sweet-like outside of Ruby’s where we sip elixirs and giggle at the sidewalk staggers of late night downtown. “I don’t want someone directing me,” She says, unexpectedly (and it comes out like a question), “but I don’t want to tell someone else what to do, either.” “Oh oh,” I say “Like two mustangs.” And she says, “what?” “Two mustangs,” I reiterate. Not a rider and a horse or a horse and a rider, with the digging of spurs and the crack of crops, but two steeds, side by side, running for all they’re worth. Dolly’s eyes stare before they roll up and to her left. I make my hands move forward up and down and side to side, together. She lights with a slow smile and says, “yeah” and kisses me harder. In my mind the mustangs sweat.

31

Karma was a dancer at the Déjà Vu, trading fantasies a few days a week for ***** crumpled bills and then living the dream on her days off. That was before I knew her. Before she faded just a little. Which is not to say that she was no longer beautiful with her mermaid hair, the color somewhere between phosphorescent amber and burning chestnut brown, down to her *** and falling all around her painfully sensuous curves. The faint pucker lines 'round her mouth, that liver spot, a slight, barely discernable paunch, I could see such things, too but they only endeared me to the façade of some silly notion a kin to forever. We would stay up late, even on the weeknights, wine silly and **** chatty. She would dance and I would tell her ****** poems in exchange. It seemed like a good trade to me but the truth is, she was being shorted in the deal. We said, I love you but I’m not sure we knew that we didn’t really have that to offer one another. Both of us had sold more than we had ever bargained for long before we met. When money ran thin and times grew hard she split. Hope still stops by on occasion. (She was a dancer, too). But it seems a bit easier to distinguish differences between the faux and the genuine these days. She doesn’t stay long. I like to blame it all on Karma despite knowing that I was just never quite frugal or savvy enough to afford more than a few perfume-drenched moments at the foot of the stage.

0

Sep 7, 2015

Sep 7, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC

For Less than a Dollar

Karma was a dancer at the Déjà Vu, trading fantasies a few days a week for ***** crumpled bills and then living the dream on her days off. That was before I knew her. Before she faded just a little. Which is not to say that she was no longer beautiful with her mermaid hair, the color somewhere between phosphorescent amber and burning chestnut brown, down to her *** and falling all around her painfully sensuous curves. The faint pucker lines 'round her mouth, that liver spot, a slight, barely discernable paunch, I could see such things, too but they only endeared me to the façade of some silly notion a kin to forever. We would stay up late, even on the weeknights, wine silly and **** chatty. She would dance and I would tell her ****** poems in exchange. It seemed like a good trade to me but the truth is, she was being shorted in the deal. We said, I love you but I’m not sure we knew that we didn’t really have that to offer one another. Both of us had sold more than we had ever bargained for long before we met. When money ran thin and times grew hard she split. Hope still stops by on occasion. (She was a dancer, too). But it seems a bit easier to distinguish differences between the faux and the genuine these days. She doesn’t stay long. I like to blame it all on Karma despite knowing that I was just never quite frugal or savvy enough to afford more than a few perfume-drenched moments at the foot of the stage.

52

There is this girl cat lanky long hair geometric and black love right angular There is this girl moonlight faint baby talking the plants and they die There is this girl a burning in the throat the sensation of something coming up Acid reflux There is this girl who came back and then left There is this girl twitching wet and frayed on the sheets smoldering electric breaker trip Coughing There is this girl licentiously staring at me over the steering wheel through the windshield across the hood racing the engine black, black tire smoke smiling There is this girl here on a holliday a week long, all inclusive get away There is this ******* girl wavy and swirling through the tears, still There is this dog two cats no three a lot of **** cats there are these other dogs There is this house that felt like home just once There was this lady who forgot her name and got lost in the bathroom I’m the man not enough

0

Jul 4, 2015

Jul 4, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC

Flux

There is this girl cat lanky long hair geometric and black love right angular There is this girl moonlight faint baby talking the plants and they die There is this girl a burning in the throat the sensation of something coming up Acid reflux There is this girl who came back and then left There is this girl twitching wet and frayed on the sheets smoldering electric breaker trip Coughing There is this girl licentiously staring at me over the steering wheel through the windshield across the hood racing the engine black, black tire smoke smiling There is this girl here on a holliday a week long, all inclusive get away There is this ******* girl wavy and swirling through the tears, still There is this dog two cats no three a lot of **** cats there are these other dogs There is this house that felt like home just once There was this lady who forgot her name and got lost in the bathroom I’m the man not enough

46

You watch a ****** movie and it rates 1.3 stars higher because you watched it with her.

0

Mar 6, 2015

Mar 6, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC

You Know She's Good When...

You watch a ****** movie and it rates 1.3 stars higher because you watched it with her.

3