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brooke Dec 2013
it's nice to have
made amends but
i still turned up my
stereo and laid on
the floor of my shower
till the water went
cold.
(c) Brooke Otto 2013
brooke Jul 2017
most of these things
still feel pretty empty--
Miss Rebecca prayed
for me today, got all
misty-eyed when I
started to get choked
up, sweet-girlin me
and letting me play
with her grandson's
hair, he's so soft
and new like
babies are, with
them big watery
eyes the color
of pond algae
so little and
alive, and I
sorta don't
hear what
she's asking
God, i'm too
busy rubbing
his back--
thinking about
all the parts of
me i'm gettin'
back, and every
time I turn around
and go home instead
of runnin' his way.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
brooke Nov 2012
Wave dimpled, salt crested
riding a dry wind, smells a
bit like cinnamon but I will
not complain, I enjoy things
that remind me of places
I used to call

home
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke May 2013
in the past
i've thought
I was doing
people favors.
as it turns out
I was giving
them open
access to
scald
me.
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Jan 2013
I would burst for you
effloresce on the spot
a kingfisher at heart
honest as the morning
pick any tree for me
I will be that sunbeam
phenomena in between
the pistachio branches
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Aug 2012
You thought things were conveyed wrong?
You mean, openly admitting that you could
never be with someone without expecting them
to have *** with you?
Or that I was a
typical crazy girl
when all I wanted was for you
to come get your **** because I
didn't want it in my house anymore
You thought things were conveyed wrong?
Honey.
Babe,
Darling,
There was nothing that could have been more clear,
I don't want your grimy apologies
brooke May 2013
the parts in me
they click and
surge, tick like
clocks and twist
like giant stone
cogs
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Dec 2012
I wish I were a mountain--
forced up into something
great, first greeting to the
snow, met the air once or
twice...the grass feels a bit
entranced by my presence
should I grow some more?
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Oct 2014
oh but I'm
searching for
Cat down the
street alleys
without a
Paul Varjak to
tell me I am my
own cage, *Cat?
Cat. Cat!
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

a longer poem condensed.
brooke Feb 2018
i am sure she is
just as radiant in
the sunlight, without
trying, as herself
and you in the doorway
with a mouthful of her
name, light and lovely--

*new.
(c) brooke otto 2018
brooke Feb 2017
i gave him a key to
more than just
more than just the -
the key, with a little
green stopper, with
his soap in the shower,
the drawer at the bottom
of my dresser, and the bed
because he took it all up and
I didn't mind, so the house
and the key, and his boots
in the corner, morning light
all over his back in iambic
pentameter i'm tracing
I love you down his
spine, where everything
started-- because back
in September when I
asked him to kiss me
I didn't think i'd fall
in, in, i  n, lo--              
  the
key, the one that he
has, with the green
stopper to more than
more than, more than
just the house.
based on how I always stutter.
brooke Jul 2017
there are eggs on the stove.


and the house is clean, been
gettin' enough sleep, a little
bit free when you drop some
constraints, put up a little
gate--
and the right people like
to come as they please,
the wrong just sorta
skim the outskirts
pace the edge of
town and find
themselves wet
rags to peel out
of bed, but I am

rising
to meet
the day.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
brooke Jun 2012
I had a dream
I awoke to my own
I made it out of a never-ending hallway where
truckers bore down on my back, I
saw the morning through a crack in the woodwork
I could breathe the air,
lay out over the trees below me
if so tangible, vivid, how not was it real?
who is to say these illusions aren't physically palpable
a photo etched over in pencil, grainy
my hands were soft and drawn
but when you wake up in a place where you sleep
you open your eyes
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Nov 2012
I am desperate to be clean
yearning to be a kind of remarkable
that never goes unnoticed
frequently reminding myself
that I am no different kind of special
but these lights in my room
say other things, there is a
decorated grace I hope
to find in my fingers,
a warmth I want someone else to see
laying across my shoulder
to touch my neck and tell
me things about myself
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Apr 2013
why do people
write on them-
selves? do you
have to cut your
skin to show you

care?
would
not words
spoken do that


better?
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Nov 2014
telling you I loved you
was with each hair on
my head, one at a time
when your hands picked
them up on edge with all
of your static electricity
and saying it sounded
like a rush of water from
the creeks below Snoqualmie
or the heavy winds through
the pines, so I traced the
sounds out on your
shoulders and ate
each letter so I
could press them
to your ears, spelled
out the shapes and made
a home for you in between
my collar bones, a cabin on
top of my lungs with the
lights always on, from
out on the plains you
could see it, the books
on the shelves read


I love you.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Jun 2014
that kid phil wouldn't shut up about **** and
acid, downing a can of pabst blue ribbon, the logs
snapped and I let the moths drown him out, because
the stars are so much louder (my silence is so much
louder than it used to be) have you ever wondered
why moths are such idiots?
he asks. I tell him they're
just looking for the moon and everyone goes quiet
because, what? They wanted to believe that moths
aren't just searching for the light too?
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Dec 2014
heads up in
the suburbs
we have the
winning sense
of self control
but get lost in
cups of dark
roast or tall
americanos
with drops
of smoke
and half
n' half
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Feb 2013
it may seem like
nothing, but the
boys used to call
me bush and this
girl named Sierra
would lie about
our friendship,
i've been ugly
more times than
I can count and
because I never
forgave them I
still spend every
day trying so
hard to be

loved
(c) Brooke Otto


something a little childish.
brooke Aug 2013
why does it hurt so
much to be the main
character of my own
story, I once was in
yours and while
hardly static,
I couldn't
seem to
remain
there
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Aug 2013
I have backlit photos of
you on the Seattle ferris
wheel, on the train tracks
on the beach, I always
caught you from behind
you were always
beautiful in the sunlight
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Dec 2013
last month i jumped
at the thought of wishing
you a happy thanksgiving
but until yesterday it didn't
occur to me that I should
wish you a merry christmas
and I like that, I really
like that.
(c) Brooke Otto 2013

it feels good.
brooke Feb 2015
i wish i could
bare my faith
like the weak
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
brooke Apr 2013
I cannot be your
tree stump, your
leaves, and the
ground you walk
on, or the air you
breathe, the long
walks beneath the
rain, i used to be
used to be
used to be
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke May 2014
in dreams people end up in
places, shrink down to sizes
aren't faces but bodies, aren't
lips, just statues, no legs, thick
torsos, you settle for old faces
call them out from behind doorways
make love to them in hallways
but they disintegrate beneath
your hands and you spend
the time waking up trying
to fall back, the lights
go off in your dream and the
people there fall asleep, you
probably saw satan once
and said he didn't belong
there, your prayers weren't
audible but drowned out his
voice, you said no, you aren't
allowed to be there, this is sullied
ground, this is hallowed ground
this is

sacred ground
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Nov 2013
are there
songs that
remind you so much of me that they will never be the
same
(c) Brooke Otto 2013

new stuff.
brooke Jan 2013
but it's alright
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke May 2014
before you came here and before I came here


he must have sat us down, two children, or two souls
two lights or two bodies and we looked down at winding
roads and our mothers or fathers and he probably said a lot
of things or a few, but in it he must have said we would meet
and part and we probably just smiled and said okay just


okay.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Aug 2012
Push my heart aside?
to be be anyone but  myself,
what soul would i want but my own
what body but this one
(c) Brooke Otto
n.
brooke Feb 2015
n.
he put himself there
because I let him and
left because he could
and the explanation
he forgot to give
has enough
salt unsaid.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
brooke Jul 2017
it has been storming so often

in the evenings he rolls over the city

so come down and meet me;
in the rain if you must--

I am too raw to do much else

most things ***** and push

but if this is the dust of your feet
then I'd lie in your wake
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
brooke Mar 2014
what if each
road were just
a foggy path
to heaven? I
was hoping
the fog would
play tricks and
get me lost, I
was hoping it
would let me
cross the border
and see God.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Feb 2014
shhh
I wish
I could
line my
heel up
with yours
one more
Time.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Jun 2012
I have to ask myself
am I
afraid
of
being
alone?
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Sep 2013
I always made it my
business to touch the
parts of you even you
neglected, the webbing
between your fingers,
your eyebrows. I was
fascinated by your
eyelashes, I always
wanted to show you
I would not hurt
your eyes.
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Apr 2013
at what point will
I stop knowing every
thing about you, at
what point will I
I say, yes, I
knew him
once.
(c) Brooke Otto


I write this now, but I think it has already come to pass.
brooke Jul 2012
Your voice was lovely, deep and
rich, the high notes you couldn't
meet were merely mountains too
great but I didn't care because each
note was a depth charge bubbling
to the surface, the buzz rumbling
through your skin, not enough to
shake me, but did you soft me?oh
you must have softed me, that
which couldn't be a word is the
only way to describe such things.
(Copyright) Brooke Otto
brooke Jun 2014
left you at the station
wrung out and dried
on a train to I-don't-
know-where, but I
bought the ticket
and I was ready
to lose you, I am
ready to lose you
I left you at the
station.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Apr 2017
I lost myself in march, in
the bar, in a tailspin that
looked like a two-step, like
a man, in myself at the edge
of the water with my toes
dug into the reef wondering
why the ocean seems so vast
because i've only ever swam in
ponds--

and I cut my lifelines because I
still believe that i won't find myself
in the arms of someone else, but I
still feel the pinch of every rock
and string that snaps, and I love
a boy who can't love me back
broke his heart and he's back
to his old plays, the ones
he executes on his own
and I can't run the ball
as fast as he can--
I've noticed the trend
the way I take a heart and knead
but men aren't things to bend and need

every turn I take is a 360, standing
where I was before, and I don't know
how to move, how to take the first step
how to have the faith in faith, how to believe
in the immaterial

We stood in my front door and he said
she's still in there, you wouldn't be
crying if she wasn't.
the last sober
thing you said to me out of love
in a voice I won't forget because
you haven't used it since,
and If I ruin good things
then i ruin good things
and if I ruin good things
then I ruin good things

well i've had my toes dug
into the edge of the reef
and I guess I just needed
a good cry, the ol' one-two
to the gut, I've been tryin'
to be perfect for the sake
of everyone else's fairy tales
holdin' on to the tailgate of
your truck because you're
the first person to care
in a longwhile, that's a
longwhile, but you don't
care no more,
he don't, no more.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017

if i told you what song I wrote this to you guys would laugh.
brooke Nov 2012
The best kind of art isn't stolen
there is nothing new under the
sun anyway, except for people
people will always be untrodden
in the simple way that they

exist
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Jan 2014
I was kind of hoping you'd forget
I was kind of hoping you'd remember
I asked stephanie to double check your
birthday so I wouldn't forget, but yesterday
came and went without a single word from
you. It was only then that I realized I still
have a finger's hold on your shirt, a tiny
grasp on your pant leg, but to be sure,
this morning,
I didn't
anymore.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Jul 2013
heart flare,
wind burn
when I hear
about Albuquerque
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Mar 2013
There are certain things
I should not feel betrayed
over because the hurt that
I feel originated here as well.
I found out yesterday that I
am the crux of my all my
problems, I am at fault
for the squashed trust
the expectations that
no one could ever
meet, the anger
the went out
inside, it's
just


me.
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Nov 2016
i always fall for boys with broken trucks


who track sod into the living room
and smell like cattle and cologne
with knotches in their hips from
tying dollars 'round their waists
strung from welding rigs and pipelines
bad backs, torn hands and ripped
ligaments scarred over and healed
with whiskey--

those men that cause a raucous
but attend the song of every whippoorwill
who take peace with them down in the
holler and carry sunlight on their backs
they've got bones so cold you'd think they'd
crack but they've been bucked by bulls and
motorcycle seats, and are quieted by the sounds
of a woman breathing--

softly, slowly, in and out
softly, slowly, in and out.


how do you not fall for the broken?


softly, slowly, in and out.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016


I have writer's block.
Nm.
brooke Aug 2013
Nm.
I still
look at the
moon and wonder
if you are looking
too
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Feb 2014
I did something
you never do, I
told him to play
the song only
you have played
for me, but it
doesn't matter
because your
voice always
replaces Jeff
Magnum.
even when
i try not to
hear it.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
brooke Apr 2013
something strange and deep
hurts beneath my ribs, hardly
a flesh wound, but it exists without
a doubt. And because I can't get to it
I can't solve it. I hate math, but my entire
existence is an equation without a formula.
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Mar 2013
I don't mind the cold
mornings or the piano
music that plays in the
shower, it's okay here
with the sweaters on
the floor and the
candles that do
not burn
anymore
because at
night my feet
are warm as I learn how
to be on my own and the
piano music plays, drops
the piano music plays
when I cover my face
with wet hair and
ask questions
in front of
the tile
like

hello
hello
are you
there?
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Nov 2015
my inner thighs are
sewn with phosphorous
and I jump for men
I don't know.
I have things to say but I have writer's block.
brooke Jun 2017
you tell yourself to
get out, just go
buy a beer, walk
around, but these
people still look
lifeless and you
end up having to
chaperone a field
trip to the local
dance bar,
corralling drunk
adults into corners
realizing that these
people have no
agenda other than
to touch you or
fight, what a
silly notion
to believe that
it would be any other
way--worst of all,
April is there,
probably March,
June and July, too.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017


these are not good people anymore and there's a good chance they never were.
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