Before you fall in love,
you think you want it
and you let that want
put you to sleep at night
like a lullaby.
When you're in love,
you think you understand it,
bathing in the dangerous comfort
that keeps you up at night
like a fast-paced song
or an off-colour thought.
But when you've let love run its course,
no remorse,
low pain, high tolerance
and closure
that settles into your skull
like fine, wise dust-
then, you actually understand love,
you get it now,
and the colours painting the world around you
move in different strokes,
some cynical, but now you know
that nothing will ever be as clear, or
as clean
as that first time,
and that some bittersweet
is okay when it comes to memory-
you're done with clean, now it's time
for gloriously, beautifully *****.

I kept hearing poetry today,
and like a true critic
I skimmed the cream off the milk
and saved the best bits for later,
dismissing the rest as trivial, general
life.
I edited, cut, nip-and-tuck jobs
to the words that I found on the road,
and the ones left lying under my chair
I straightened out, ironed
until they were good as new.
I took glue to my wanton collection,
pasted together each part of each story
and tried to make the edges fit.
I kept hearing poetry today,
and this is what I made of it:

it's not so bad out there today
sit down, girl, you're gonna fall
he's wrong again, i'm tired of this
i agree with you, go for it
sometimes it's good to talk about it
well, that's messed up
here, let me help you with that
you're beautiful
a compliment always does the trick
are you ready yet?
the day is finally over, thank god

That last one was me
as the door slammed shut
and the wild poetry was left outside
to consort with the wind
and bother somebody else.

I was hell bent on being sad
Making desperate decisions
To push away the past
Thought I lost all that I had
It all started with my dad
I used to think my rebellious ways drove him to drink
Until I learned about his eleventh chromosome
It was then I knew why the sight of alcohol made his mouth foam
He’d raise his voice
Then his fist without a conscious choice
The next morning he’d be sorry
Kiss my bruises if he could
But I’d already be gone
We all knew I would
I’d be gone before he woke
With ****** friends looking for anything to smoke
Now I only smoke the ashes of my pride and the fresh potpourri of my regret
There’s a few things like this I’ll never forget
Here’s to my mother
She could never understand
Why I changed so drastically by the unwanted touch of a man
It tore us apart the way she just couldn’t see
How that man could ever take so much from me
My little sister would worry when I didn’t come home
She’d be scared each time was real
That each time I’d finally leave her alone
But what she doesn’t know is why I’d always return
I came home to see my baby sister
Because a baby is how my eyes will always see her
My sister put a smile on even when home was hell’s prison
Somehow she always felt she had to hide what’s arisen
She was always good that way
Through every heartache she’s been the strongest of four
She’s the reason why I don’t run anymore
Now and then I reminisce back to when she was three
It took so long for ignorance to pass
Took me a while to see
How I need her curious eyes to forever look up to me
Some days I lose my calm thinking whether or not she always will
As long as she does, I’ve not lost it all
In my baby sister’s eyes, I’ve got everything still

I bet her name is Lola.
After all, she fits the part,
all little girl, sweetheart,
bow in hair and storybook ringlets,
bouncing down the halls
on pretty shoes
that I would never wear.
I bet she places her small hand
on your arm when she flirts,
eyelashes ablaze
and head tilted,
inadvertently charming her way
into adulthood.
I bet her voice is sweet,
crackling with forced sexuality
as she melds childhood innocence
with the politics of growing up,
trying to get the best of both worlds
and almost succeeding.
I bet her wide smile falters
when she walks away,
as she realizes the impression she has made
and, too proud to turn back,
continues down the hall
feeling tall
and yet invisibly small,
little girl, sweetheart
in search of rebellion.
I watch her, and
I wonder what
her problem is.
I bet her name is Lola.

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.

YOUR LIFE IS JUST ONE BIG JOKE,

AND YOU KNOW WHAT?





My heart was the punchline.