Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2013 chess mess
marina b
no matter what you say about the rain,
i can tell you've been crying.
 Jun 2013 chess mess
Deana Luna
Am I selfish if you are all I seem to write about?
Always on my mind. Am I good at nothing else? Is that it?
Are you easy to write about? No. Yes. Who knows.
I know you are easier to write about than I am. That's why I don't write about myself.
Because what could I say?
I have nowhere to begin.

I am entrapped. Embodied.
A cleansing experience and a curse.

What am I? Isn't that one of the unanswerable questions.
How was college?
Who is she?
What are you good at?
What are you good at?
getting overwhelmed at the sheer immensity of life.
How the **** does no one else feel it?
I ask too many questions.
Topic change.

I am the sea. I am tumultuous.
Never stop running form one corner of the world to the next.
Never stopping.

I write my poetry in paragraphs when it's written down and in short bites when it's typed.
I wonder why that is.

It's urgent. This is urgent!
Thoughts like to shoot and confuse. Be my muse. Too loud. Can't tide me over.

I think this Mary is laced cuz my heart is beating… how does that rap go?
Hmm, Tyler?

There is a picture in my head of a happy summer blonde with the perfect matte red lips. She is making fun of me. She stares at me and teases me into a pit of madness. She always watches over me. She is my heart and she wants to hurt me. Masochistic pig. Sadistic wolf. Pink is my favorite color. I try so hard to be pink. Pink tries so hard to be me.
A little disgusting ******.

Blackberry currant.
Pink *****.
Popping pink.
"ck" is my favorite sound.
****. ****.
Pretty little *****.
****. ****.
I want you to pound my pretty pink *****. pop.
That little **** is going to get ****** so hard tonight. Pound you with my ****.
Please?

Surprise me, baby. Don't be like the rest. Because I know too well what to expect.

How did I come from such a beautiful creature? How do any of us get here, and why must I suffer more than they?
Nothing has ever been simple with you. Everything has always been so hard.
Beat beat be still my
pounding head. Before the floodgates open. She can't see me weak.
No one can.
But I am selfish and I'll stay.
No more running away.
my heart unhinges, crackling
when midnight stares at me
bleak anticipation lingering
where nosiness of endless stars -
dusted over me not yet ablaze
was not enough;
even if they freckle my skin
and speckle my heart - but
i sleep next to creaking doors and
breathe in synch to planets dying -
i am not ready yet, dear, i won't yet go
i kiss the moon and stars goodnight;
when midnight stares at me, i stare right back.
I spit words

I do not mean to say that
in the street, beat, hip-hop sense
I do not mean that
I spit hot rhymes
I mean

I spit words

they explode from me
suddenly
violently
And they are painful

And I cannot control them
 Jun 2013 chess mess
Craig Verlin
I met a guy the other day
told me he used to be a writer
said he was pretty **** god
but he burnt out
couldn't do it
anymore
it was too boring and pretentious
he said
told me he went to
law school and
married a girl
from money instead
bought a nice house in the suburbs
him and his new wife did
said he's been oh so
much happier now

I wanted to tell him
he was full of ****
that if you used
to be a writer
than you are still a writer
or you never were
--unfortunately
our curse is of the sort
that carries no vaccine--
it bursts from you
one way or another
from the day you enter
this earth till the day
you leave it
some take full advantage
some pretend
and some never even realize
but it's there
all the same

I wanted to tell this
sorry sucker
how I really felt about his
law degree
and his talk on
this and that
wanted to crack
him across the jaw
you ain't no writer
never have been
you're a ******* fake
took a lot of
restraint not to hit him
but instead I shook his hand
said congratulations
smiled
and complimented him
on his new mercedes
 Jun 2013 chess mess
Craig Verlin
where did this come from
knew you were going to go
crazy eventually
but it seems like
that ship is long sailed
pressure builds from
all sides
family falling apart
thousand miles away
stuck in a place
you can't stand
four more years
it seems
if you can make it
--shut up
it's just youth
it's just growing up--
tell yourself these things
like your father would say
--don't be a *****
man up--
and you did
you never used to be so
**** crazy
but all dams break
eventually
so it seems
just unfortunately taking
it out on
all the wrong people

you spend your whole life
being the tough guy
holding that water back
but crack after crack
now it's an onslaught
of new problems and
old memories you thought
you'd forgotten
unfortunately taking it out on all
the wrong people
arguments and frustration
could really just use a
shoulder to lean on
you're getting older
and what can you show for it
a lot of words you cleverly
break up on the page
to assume some sort of plan
but there's no plan
there's only you
and apparently
you're going crazy
can't do things right
anymore
stuck questioning and
second guessing
who do you turn to?
you're new to this
you're trying to hold tight
but it still
manages to all **** up

it's driving you crazy
on some level
it's about control
and i'm sorry about that
insecurity
always is

You are the other half of me
as i am the other half of You
and so if there's something
about You
or something You do
that i do not understand
then i'm not understanding myself
i'm unsure of myself
i'm the definition of
insecure

the Thing
whatever it is
the particular Thing
that i have failed to understand
about You
about me
is completely
and absolutely
irrelevant
what matters
what's important
is that

I

Don't

Understand

everything else
is just window dressing  

i need to understand
in order to feel secure
in order to maintain the comfortable illusion
that i have some control over my life
over myself
that I have some understanding of
who i am
where i am
what i'm doing
what the **** is going on

so when i'm threatened
by my own confusion
i make inquiries
i ask questions
i try to understand
desperately
urgently
crucially
i have to try
i have to

and besides
there's no harm in asking
is there?
At first there are only the linens,
Soft as a breath.
I am lost in the snow,
In that gentle place on the edge of sleep,
Not knowing my own name.
And the moment lasts for hours

Until the first touch,
An explosion of light and heat.
We are two blind cave creatures
Feeling our way toward each other,
Moving under the covers
Like continental drift.
A surge of blood and memories
Drawing us together to discover
and remember ourselves.

As we become aware,
I clutch you close to me
And swear I'll never let you go,
Because I know what that will mean—

We'll climb out of bed, dress,
And open the blinds to let in the city
Before stepping into
Your parents' Fifth Avenue apartment
To eat like royalty at the round marble table
by the bay window
Where we look out at our subjects below.


Sometime after breakfast,
Reality slips in.
Your folks are on their way back
From some business trip or spa,
So I'll pull on my coat and scarf
Eager as a condemned man.
Rise and fall of the elevator, a guillotine.

You'll walk me out
Past whichever doorman is on duty
And on Fifth Avenue,
Under the shade of the scaffolding,
We'll kiss madly and hungrily and
Finally.

You return to Xanadu
While I take the train downtown,
Waking from a dream
To a life with no doormen,
No housekeepers,
Just cigarette butts
And bills to be paid.

Yes, I'll miss the bay window,
And its view of the city.
I'll miss the plush linens and all of the marble.
But it's not those things that I remember
In the cold quiet of my bed.
It's the warmth of your skin in the morning
And your smile as I open my eyes.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
"--you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create."
no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

— The End —