Black and Blue

Feb 2015

blankpoems

I have voices in my head.
sometimes they are mine and sometimes they are that girl walking down the street without a hat or a home address and I know this because I know things without knowing them.
there is hurt here, in this car full of silver and new and no smoking or I'll rip your fingers off.
my mother knows how to say amen like she's still dedicated to the Catholic Church I tell her, you should have given that up the day they refused to baptize me.
everyone sees dark in me where there is none.
I was a baby and I was a baby and I'm still a baby, or I wish I was.
I'm a baby who cries and says good morning every day even if it's not.
I say good morning when I wake up after missing dinner
I refuse to touch China now
my hands don't listen to the voices in my head all they think is break break break and the break break break sounds itself like cracking open and I need to lobotomize the dishes in here before she gets sentimental about handing them down to me when I finally find someone who isn't scared of waking up beside me to find my throat slashed
here it is. truth, because there is no right or wrong there is truth.
and truth sets you free.
it sets you free and it has you without a hat or a home address and you still wonder why nobody sends you letters back.
you say they forget your name. Or your middle name but it doesn't matter.
I only answer to "baby girl, do you want me to call the doctor for you?"

Feb 2015

blankpoems

wishing, well

when someone thanks me for writing the things they wish they could say out loud I apologize for hours until they stop wishing and ask me why. I usually tell them the same thing
"do you know when you're driving alone and that one song comes on, you know that one. that one song with a million different memories dripping off the tongue of that one man who sings like he never got on that airplane and so he didn't not make it back to the ground? and you're thinking about crashing and when you're thinking about crashing you almost do crash, because you were distracted about crashing and you get scared and realize that you just want to not want to crash? well that's how I feel all the time. Even when I'm completely still. Or when you're in the bath and you see faces in the ceiling and you wonder if the faces you're seeing are significant? like maybe you're seeing their face because they never meant to hurt you or maybe you took an extra 20 milligrams today and you're just a little out of sorts."
I'm not done explaining why I'm sorry, but this is usually around the time they interrupt, all "no, I apologize" all "I shouldn't have asked"

Oct 2014

Moon Humor

S.A.D

Scorched pavement would hold on to day
light. The concrete,
still warm, would kiss my barefoot feet.

Until dark I
would roam on summer nights, tasting
freedom in my

midnight curfew. When autumn came,
dancing in like
blown leaves skinned off weary trees, the

sumac flushed red
as cardinals wings blanketing
the landscape and

reminding me that winter comes
with a heavy
hand. Bitter green apples fall from

the backyard tree,
does and fawns passing through to eat
the fallen fruit

are startled by me and dart back
to the swamp where
the fog rises up every night.

Poplar trees stood tall while their leaves
made the final
kamikaze plunging fall. New

Converse shoes made
their debut on the way to school,
briefly, happy.

Winter brought isolation and
dreams of still warm
city streets under wandering

feet. Holding out
through cold purple glow, I wait for
spring’s warmer air.

Seasonal Affective Disorder

#poetry #sad #nature #seasons #choka #syllables

Oct 2014

blankpoems

thank you

Sometimes I catch myself thinkin’ about you with my fingers crossed.
And my eyes closed, like I’m wishing for something.
This is funny to me, because I learned recently
that my brain does this weird thing where it’s incapable of feeling superstitious.
I have always wanted a black cat.
You have always been a wishing well begging for the famished to come and dip their hands.
You wear a sign that says
“Take something, or leave something, doesn’t matter, just leave feeling won”
Leave feeling like you won.
This is how you will leave me.
When my fingers are crossed. Because then the promises don’t matter.
When my eyes are closed. Because it will hurt more to watch you leave
than to wonder if you crawled or if you ran.
When my teeth hurt, from all the chatter, from all the shake, from all the wisdom they extracted.
You know I’ve been leaving bite marks in the crust of the earth,
trying to find a wormhole that will take me to the moment you thought,
“hey, this girl’s gonna write poems about me every Friday” and
“hey, she won’t win me, but maybe she’ll win something”.
I'm the award winning heartache, I'm the pain they thought would last forever.
I'm my grandmother's years of Elvis & Jack Daniel's coming to the surface
and passing themselves off as vertigo.
You're the sum of the times you and the earth were in disagreement over your leaving.
You're the only thing that will shine when the sun dies.
We are Samson and Delilah. You are so sunshine.
I am grateful to the doctors that gave me second chances, I am grateful for the opportunity
that someday is engraved with.
This is how you will leave me.
I pray with my fingers crossed.
and my eyes closed, like I'm wishing for something.
I don't say Amen. I say thank you.
Thank you.

Oct 2014

Emily Dickinson

A precious—mouldering pleasure

371

A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—

His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—

His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—

What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—

When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before

He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—

His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—

Black and Blue Sep 2014

Sticks and Stones

I sometimes stumble on words,
And I know they hurt
But I sometimes cannot say
what I mean to say,
and the words just get jumbled against my teeth.

Sometimes my thoughts just won't settle for weeks,
And I never know if it's my temporary insanity
or my perpetual restlessness,
That keeps tears streaming down my cheeks.
Even in the most inappropriate of times
I'm seen biting my lip and purging my mind,
And praying to every god in existence,
that my words will
For once, just come out right.

Words are such hurtful creatures
That never fail to reach us
where it really stings,
Deep in the pit of our stomachs
where our nerves sing
And where the words they live,
and fight to be kind.
But let's face it, our words never come out right.

And all I can taste is the regret in my mouth
and the blood on my tongue
And we're both far too young
to feel as if our world is already over when it's only begun.

And we're just beginning to breathe
and walk and arrange our talk,
In ways we simply hope can be beneficial to good communication.
Because what else exists in our day
other than misconstrued words and broken phrases.

I sometimes stumble on words
And they try to be kind,
but sometimes they just aren't quite right.

Kind of similar to my mind, and how it runs in circles
For words that are worthless at the end of the day,
when actions in fact speak louder than hurtful words.

Isn't that what our mother's teach us,
when we're so offended to learn
that light up sneakers
are not what they used to be and suddenly we aren't cool anymore.

Sticks and stones may break our bones,
But words will forever break us.

#words #sticksandstones

Black and Blue Sep 2014

Untitled

"In our culture people tend to over-personalize"

I don't understand that statement, Professor.
In fact, I think it's a paradox;
I think our culture tends to under-personalize.
Women are just **** and men are just dollar signs.
We make generalizations to degrade those around us, whether the generalizations are true or not.

Our culture supports independence
and opinions and freedom,
yet we label everyone with their own box
of stereotypes: gender, race, ****** preference,
appearance, religion, and intelligence.

Our culture de-personalizes individuals:
While us youngsters sit and exploit our lack of work ethic,
demoralize ourselves, smoke our cigarettes,
and play with technology,
laying waste to our mental health.

Our culture promotes individuality:
While the children of this era,
the poor, blessed children
are spoiled rotten,
and pitied for the mess they will have to clean up
when the young
adults of today become
the dead of tomorrow.

However, we do over personalize in the way that everyone is so self-centered in today's world. Many will not stop to lend pennies to a homeless man for fear of needing that money or that time themselves.
We are a paradoxical human existence, aren't we?

#stereotypes #feminism #youth #culture #today #individuality #personalization #generalizations #equalitarianism