I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.

It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,  
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.

Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?

That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.

There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?

I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.

"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.

fear
that is not dealt with
but pushed aside
shoved down
buckled into a suitcase
still existing
just out of sight
is fear that will return
fear that will
conquer
fear that is waiting
for the most opportune moment
to spring its jail
and defeat
you
because you never
thought about it
until it was
too late
littleredwritinghood,
you are
in trouble
you can hold that fear under the surface
all you want
but it will not drown
fear has enough faces
to replace
any one that manages to fade
fear is
your mother's
face

the first night we've known each other
and you're already apologizing
for showing me your ****
i really actually can't tell
if you're drunk
or just some crazy *******
with a white as **** ***
...this is going to be interesting

Should i come upon an enchanting
Popsy who by my own reckoning
And sight investigation --      
Whether she is ebony or brunette --
Is beautiful in my estimation:
Of a jolly heart and steady soul,

One that's lovelier than Venus--
I will not my wits abandon,
Nor give my eyes a pardon;

I mean,

One that smells better than rose--
Straightway will I close,
To not perceive her scent, my nose;

I say,

Of such that tastes sweeter than nectar--
I shall seek nay to procure her taste,
Lest my substance and time I waste;

wait,

Whose skin is softer than butter--
I will not even at all bother
To have a touch of her.

Am I silly to administer
Such injury upon a charming Sis?
For I will forsake apace all business
At hand, and make a beeline for her!

finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses

arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers

stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts

school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers

limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity

it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners

our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are

Tomorrow morning they are going to take them,
what am I going to do?
He says it doesn’t matter to him, because I have a pretty face.
In all the years we've been married, he’s never told me I had a pretty face.
I don’t think he’s going to be able to handle this.
Hell, I don’t think I'm going to be able to handle this.
God ******, I am going to loose my hair,
I am gonna loose my beautiful ******* hair, then everyone will know.
People will put sanitizer on their hands after they shake mine.
All my friends and family will treat me differently.
They’ll feel sorry for me, they won’t know what to say.
And then there’ll be those who will say too much, or the wrong thing.
"I’ll pray for you", some will say,
But I know what they are thinking, they think....
"that is what she gets for drinking her martinis and smoking her ***".
Some will even say it is God’s will.
**** God!
He is stealing my beauty,
my wonderfully gorgeous ****, my hair.
They are a part of me.
I don’t give a **** what a man thinks about my *******,
that they are **** or voluptuous,
they are a part of me.
And now, like a side of beef,
they are going to section me up and take them from me.
What will they do with them?
I mean after they biopsy.
Can I have them to bury?
Sorry, I know that wasn't necessary, but I am mad.
I am mad and afraid, I am so afraid.
I know my husband, he will never be the same.
He doesn’t **** me with his eyes closed, my **** turn him on.
But then any woman’s **** turn him on.
When he reaches to touch them, there’ll be nothing there.
I’ll look like a little boy, nothing.
Maybe I have identified with them too much,
I have made them a big part of my personality.
I've fed my children with them, my boyfriends fought over them,
they have got me into and out of trouble more than once.
****, I am going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.
And now, in the morning
they are going to cut them off of me
and put them in a stainless steel operating room bowl.
Like chicken fat.
Why do I feel like this,
I didn’t cry when the dentist pulled my wisdom teeth?
What if he told me I had to or else I would die, I’d pulled them myself?
I trim my nails, and get my hair cut and dyed.
I exfoliate my skin.
I lost 10lbs last year and I didn’t shed one tear,
my ******* will weigh more than that.
But I am loosing something else,
I am loosing normal.
I'll have to find a new normal.
I am loosing myself
and replacing it with a different person.
I’ll be one of them,
I’ll be a survivor,
a hero.
I'll hold hands with other survivors and walk 10 miles
and wear a **** load of pink.
Hey, but I don't look too bad in pink.

*later this week a friend is going to have a double mastectomy.  These are just a few of the words I have collected from other breast cancer survivors. I had to do something for her. My hope is that we become more aware of the fear and pain that breast cancer victims go through.

It seems today is not quite here
Well it wasn’t when I looked last year!
And if it’s not here you cannot see
How outrageous I can sometimes be

I’ll run naked through the park and city
But to be ignored seems such a pity!
Or kiss that lady on the Tube
Invisibly? – far too subdued
Dance in the street with one I adore?
****! – I’ve done that one before

So perhaps I should refrain from play
And look before I leap today!

Metaphors like similes
Alluring alliteration
Onomatopoeic sounds
Swish swash through its creation
Full of figurative constructions
To skyscrapers of the soul
That rise to a crescendo
Then with bathos quickly fall
So what is it I have written?
Just a stream of consciousness?

For if I claim a classic poem
Then you’d be right to take the …. :)

It’s unnerving how after all this time
Even with clarity of experience
Of the conflagration and how
that burning pain eased so slow, then subsided to a dull ache
and finally to acceptance
How after all that seeming resolution
You are still a pretty moth with slightly singed wings
who appears to see a light in me
And I am still fuel to your particular spark.