So, this is the poem that I will end up writing
when no other poem is willing to do the work.

This is the poem I write when I'm past not
being able to sleep and I'm beyond
even trying. This is born of body burnout.

This unfolds as I unpack myself from
bags beneath by eyes.This is an ugly poem
unfolding from ugliness.

In this poem, I'll make an ambiguous allusion
to someone who is missing. The kitchen
feels suddenly too small.

This may be one of a few kinds of resentful:
parental, psychosocial, rebel-without-a-cause sentimental
but the poem blames something for what it is.

This poem is to say I am not a talented poet.
I'm a poet with a stammer, a non-poet, speech impaired,
a poet with neither the rage nor the riot.

So this poem may even plagiarise, for
not even poets have measured how much
the heart can hold. -Zelda Fitzgerald.
This poem throws itself down the stairs.
It burns down the asylum with stolen words inside.

How do I urge this poem to do better?
I can't, I can only keep writing it.
Writing out my resentment, my restlessness.
Wretchedness, Wanting. I can even break
linguistic, grammatical and syntactical
regulations By capitalising some arbitra-
ry Words and messing with enjambewhatnow.

This poem has found a neologism.

In this poem I CAN RAISE MY VOICE
for my wanting, and then in the same poem
shut my voice into a music box
to leave on your nightstand.

This poem has managed a neat trick. Illusion?
Some rhetoric magic. Some see a rabbit appear from
nowhere. Others see a girl being sawed in half.
.
The best (- though, at what?) could see both
but know it's not really about that.
They know it's about appearing as something
that are you not and that's a craft in itself.

As I or this poem already told you,
I am  not a talented poet. I am just a girl
masquerading as someone she's not,
because she doesn't know what she is yet
or wants to be or could be, yet.

She and this poem may seem to have more
to them, to be even interesting,
but both are waiting for you to grow bored.
"

She purrs on my couch,
     But she’s not my cat.
     She’s simply –
         Waiting; and
          a’Happy barbed anxious,
          Come the , “tap-tap-tap,”
          Of this something-sort-of
          “Poetry.”

She scratches her ankle,
     For even the mosquitos admire her.
     She’s entirely –
          And perfect;
          Ivory a’constellation freckles,
          Come the, “tap-tap-tap,”
          Persistent, patient in the face of
          this something-sort-of “Poetry.”

She smiles seconds and seconds again later,
     For the music, the words and I.
     She’s the one –
          The One;
          That makes me whole,
          That mothers our son,
          And is the sun, the star atop my
          “tap-tap-tap;”

She’s Poetry.

A basket case
I have become
My lips tingle
My legs go numb
I want a man
To overcome
With me the past
Of times lost
Not won.
So now my era
Comes and goes
I want a friend
And a man who knows
My touch is sweet
The sheets moan
For someone
Real
For someone
To be
My home.

"Wow youre so lucky"
I wish that were true
"He's smart and attractive"
I wish i we we through
"Aww he's so sweet"
If only you knew
"He's so strong"
You have no clue

Behind closed doors
You'll nver have to see
Those strong hands choking me
Beneath the makeup
Plum stained cheeks
That rest on my face
Such sweet memories

The spots of poison
that surround my body
Ache at your touch
Hearing the pointless sorries
I tried to go,
to turn the other way
But that charming smile
Told me stay
To wait it out
It was just one time
Until came tomorrow
The unfortunate lie

The Wanting


The way she smiles, and lights up his face
is something that i keep on my list
The way they close the gap in between
is something that i keep on my list
The way she breathes, while he takes it all in
is something that i keep on my list

Sometimes, i hear them yelling
on the other side of the wall
Shattering pictures and slamming doors,
that were only to be left open at night
for him to apoligize
Try to make things right
Let out his cries
Begging for her forgiveness
While the time goes by

My list is now full
I want to make him laugh
I want to kiss him crazy
I want to breathe in the air he breathes
I want the fighting and crying
and that feeling of dying, yearning for him
I want that forever, soul mate,
definite whatever you wanna call him
I.want.love.....and then some