A little black kitten
Spawn of witchcraft and Satan
Watches flames flickering
In manmade wax.
He bats at fire
To see if he's invincible
To see if the sorcery protects him.
I can smell the burning wicks.

His whiskers are bent
And his claws are long
And sharpened to fight
Against those who enter his territory.

The witches will protect him
And Satan will welcome him
When he tires of this world.

"The only solution is to burn the body
And by doing so, burn your misdeeds.
Unless, of course, you LOVE him.
Do you LOVE him, Johnny?"

"I could never love any but you, Todd!
It was a moment of confusion!
You know how it is.
You toss the body onto the ground
To stuff and turn into a marionette...
The next thing you know you're
Playing hide-the-sausage with a corpse.

I regret my actions.
You and I are in LOVE."

"I'm so sorry.
I couldn't resist!
We were alone in the cellar...
Rigor mortis set in
And you know I like my men stiff."

"****** Johnny!
That was the one thing I asked you
Not to do.
I thought you were just
Going to add him to your puppet theater...
How can we come back from this?"

"Since you took care of
That filthy mess
What should I do with the body?"

"Do as you like, but remember.
We are in a monogamous relationship
And a corpse is still a person."

"We are in LOVE,
that's why.
Now hurry up.
The blood from the pick ax
Is dripping on the carpet
And I don't have time to steam clean today."

They scoot together slowly
Body language lubricated by *****.
They are still awkward...
He tries to win favors with alcohol
And laughter.
She just goes along with it
Happy for attention
And free drinks.
An interesting courtship
Monitored by Pastor Smirnoff.

Two insomniacs stirring in the night.
Eventually, one gives in
To the temptation of a dream.
The other cannot do so.
She stirs in bed, changing positions by the minute.
Her head won't shut up,
Full of abstract phrases
And pretty words.
If only she could do the same
While being unconscious.

My brain's going back to that dark place...
The corner filled with anger
About how he lives with his parents
And has no job
And claims to be more of an adult than I.
The corner where his extravagance
And lack of ambition make my soul boil.
The part where his religious beliefs fly in my face
And force me to look at how ridiculous they are.

The corner that I've tried so hard to stay out of.
I wish I could just erase it.

Don't get mad.
Don't get mad.
Don't get mad.
Immaturity knows not what it says.

It doesn't realize.
It doesn't realize the enormity of being a drain on society.
It doesn't realize the hypocrisy
In criticizing me.

I'm the one with a job.
I'm the one with a home.

I'm not the one who's willing to drop mad cash
For a cyber unreality, used as
Avoidance behavior
For two days
And then thrown away.

Immaturity needs to grow up
And learn from me.
Not the other way around.

Curly, blondish wild hair!
Crown upon my head!
Forever you will be there
Even when I'm dead.
My soul will leave my carcass
But you will still live on.
In the depths of San Marcos
You can weave my life a song.
You will be my jester
And my throne-side sword as well.
If I'm sent back to years of yester
Or if I'm in hell.

He contacts me
Once in a while.
When we're both too drunk to be afraid.
But mistakes change things...
Now he knows I won't speak when I drink.

He contacted me
The other day.
He's coming back
Back from the sea
And the land of the confederacy.
He says he's going to come see me...
That he'll get me to speak while we drink.

He will stop contacting me
One day.
When he understands
That I am not scared, but that I am not his.
That his hands can no longer fumble with my ties.
After he comes to see me...
I'll make him understand what I speak when we drink.

Claw pierces flesh
And rips through layers of fat and muscle.
Tears capillaries in twain
While absorbing my blood.
It drinks in my cells
While the liquid oxidizes for the few moments it feels the air.

Claw is cleaned
Blood mysteriously vanishing.
Muscle reconnects
Fat melts back together.
Capillaries clot and join
So as to spill no more pathogenic juice.

Where does the blood go?
Where does the air between my cells go?
How is the hole in my flesh refilled?

Silence is always the safest answer.
My dad used to get mad at me
For not participating in conversations.
I was just smart enough to know
That most of the time the response in my mind
Should not be voiced
In fear of judgement
Or anger
Or just plain discomfort.
It is a trait I have brought with me from childhood.

Often not responding is the best response of all.

A marvel of human engineering!
A cyborg of delicate mechanical balance
She swoops down
And conquers the world.
Her world-
Her section of the Earth, created for her.

Nothing left out of place
Nothing amiss.

She is the world's first crossbred perfectionist.

My hair is a jungle.
Wild and dangerous
The color of a palm tree's trunk.
It flows down like a waterfall
With wild rapids at the bottom.
The mysteries of the Amazon are in there
Along with the fire of secret indigenous tribes.
Layers of complex ecosystems
(similar to the various hormonal states of a young adult female)
Make it a treacherous place to venture
But some come out alive.
You cannot tame the wild jungle
Unless you cut it down.

Sleep always clears my head.
I wake up the next day
And realize
I do love him
Everything will work out.
Our happily ever after will be
As powerful as the amount of work we put in.

I know he loves me.
And I love him, as much as I can.
I just get so
Frustrated
Sometimes.

It's hard to love from far away
When there's problems up close.

I can't really talk to you right now.
I know you want to
But it's seriously not a good idea.

If I talk to you right now
I won't be able to hold in my resentment.
I will put you on the spot
Ask you cruel question about
Why won't you get a job
Why won't you get back in school
Why won't you move out of your parents house
And that interaction would have only a horrible outcome.

You claim to be an adult
An all-grown-up man
But I feel like I'm dating a child sometimes.
This is unacceptable.

[the thing is, I'll never break up with you.
i tried once, remember?
i can't hurt you like that again.
i just can't.]

So you have to get with the program
Before we have to have a confrontation.

I could fly away.
If I didn't have him
I could hop a plane
Going anywhere.
I have the means
And I have the attitude
The only thing holding me back
Is him.

(The only thing holding me here
In this plane of existence
Is him.)

(I should thank him.)

Dissatisfaction boils up in my gut.
Soon it will turn to anger
Which will turn to rage...
I wonder who I'll take it out on.

Surely it will be the wrong one.

But it's the fault of many
Not just one!
Though honestly it is just the fault of one
This one
Me.

I feel TRAPPED
By myself.
A hostage in a cave of my own making.
The only way to escape
Is to make a hostile exit!
But if I shoot the guard,
I will be dead too.
So really there's no point.

Maybe they'll let me out for exercise sometime.
This is prison, isn't it?

I don't understand people
Who don't value
INDEPENDENCE
As the highest good.
It is what I crave
It is what I work for
Constantly.

It's unfortunate that the man I will spend my life with
Doesn't seem to care for it at all.

My mind  feels like gravy
Slow-moving and liquid
With chunks of solid thought.
My body has melted
What was once a solid bar
Is now a pool of liquid.
My eyes sting
As if they are infested with jalapeño seeds.

I am a smörgåsbord.

Water bubbling merrily!
Pots filled with vegetables
All bright colors and anticipation
Waiting for the delicious nutrition soon to come.
Poppopbubblebubble!
I smell barbecue chicken in the oven too.

When all your sense know it's there
You know it's dinner time.

You wrote this
It says.
Written as a whisper.
You wrote this
It tells me.
It serves a reminder.
You wrote this. You did this. This is a product
Of your mind.
This is all yours.*

It is a sign to remind me
To be proud
To show myself respect
To be in awe
Of what can happen
When you let your insides out.

Words left me mouth
And fell down to the floor.
Giant magnetic letters
From off my fridgey door.

Colorful and bright
Who knows what they mean?
Once upon a time
They really said something.

They fall out of my mouth
I don't know when they got there.
The words I try to say
Leave my throat dry and bare.

Giant magnetic letters
All colors, no meaning.
You try to understand
But my thoughts, they are fleeting.

Scratch-scratch-scratch
You can hear my hand against my leg.
Scratch-scratch-scratch
Primal hair versus modern skin
Scratch-scratch-scratch
Soft versus rough
Smooth versus jagged
This will be a fight to the death!

She saw.
My world did not burst into flames
(the color of her hair, by the way)
My hair did not all fall out
(though i lost a significant amount in the shower)
My brain did not melt into lava.
All is still well
And I have not yet died.

I think that calls for a drink.

Three a.m. is my time.
Every night
No matter when I fell asleep
Or when I have to wake up
I will invariably be awake
At three a.m.

It's not on purpose.
My body just decides.
"Look at the time
Time to get up and wonder
Why they hell you're awake"

It makes for a sleepy Christine in the morning.

The feeling after you're done reading a book is so empty.
So final.
So quiet.
There's so much to wrap your head around
But there's nothing left.

I bet death is a lot like that.

Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.

-------------------------------

Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home

---------------------------------

Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla

-------------------------------

Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.

(I am now a spidercorn!)

---------------------------------

Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog

--------------------------------

Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.

---------------------------------

Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.

--------------------------------

Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.

-------------------------------

A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?

----------------------------------

I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.

---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-**** swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.

----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.

-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.

I am a ****** woman.
My every move is connected
To a ****** act
In my mind.
When I bend down to fold at work
I'm arching into you.
When I **** on an ice cube
It's you in my mouth.
Dancing is nothing but ***.

One of these days it might get me in trouble
But I don't think anyone notices.

I’m doing Important Business!
Do not distract me, world!
It must be done
And you cannot stop me!
So get your act together
And get out of my way.
Because this is Important Business
And will be done
Whether or not you live through it.

I've been held captive
By my own life
Which I sometimes think is all an imaginary cover-up
For something terrible.
It's held me inside
In the dark
In the cold
For days
On
End.
But today I will escape!
And be set free
By myself
By my captor.
I will no longer be a hostage!
As of today.
And it will be warm
And bright
And beautiful.

Everyone is stupid!
No one understands.
My brain works much faster
And their's are all bland.

No one ever gets me!
They don't understand.
No one ever lets me
Let my words be grand.

Everyone is stupid
And they don't understand.
My thought so far surpass them
That they look like grains of sand.

I read recently
That free verse is not poetry
Will never be poetry
Never was poetry.
Sometimes I question it myself.
But the writer made it sound so...
Indecent.
Now when I set down to write
If it has no specific rhyme and meter
Then I feel *****.
Like I'm the lewd young girl
Who's gone around the block a few too many times
And then gone straight to her grandma's house.

It makes it hard to enjoy  the trip.

I've felt discouraged recently.
I think I need to remind myself that I'm not a real poet.
I need to remind myself
That I just write what comes out of my fingers
Not any form of literary artwork.
I think that if I remember that
My words form more of a journal than anything,
Then I will be able to write again.
And maybe it will be something
I actually enjoy reading.

The scanner is my weapon
I wield it with authority
And power.
BAM!
$7.95
POW!
$20.65
ZAP!
Your entire soul!

They give me what I demand
And leave with
The tail end of the bargain.

I haven't written in three days.
I've been so exhausted
My body has been in
A constant state of achy misery
My mind a never-ending buzz
Of things I must get done.

Too many things.

I could get them  done
If my body's ache
Would
Just
Stop.

More *****
To make me more fun
And let me enjoy life more.

More gym
To let me be healthier
And have a more positive
Self-image.

More work
To let me enjoy the
More complex pleasures of life
And afford some luxuries.

More life
To live
And enjoy.

Maybe I should take up smoking.
If I smoked
I could have a reason to go outside
And escape
And sit in the warmth.
I would satisfy my oral fixation
I would satisfy my black-lung fixation.

You're an anomaly.
Your frizzy hair
And strange birthmarks
Give off a less than fantastic impression
To the shallow.
You are soft spoken
You are obsessed with fan fiction.

I hear that you write...

I know that you are
A home schooled super-christian.
Maybe that's part of the reason
For my lack of understanding.

You are an alien
In my socially awkward agnostic world.

They say this pill will help me sleep.
My soul it will let me keep.
Yet I toss and turn for hours on end
Trying my energy to spend.
I lay here in this soft warm bed
And try to empty out my head.
I thought these pills would help me sleep
Instead they only make me weep.

I feel empty.
Tired?
Something.
He just left
And it doesn’t matter.
It almost feels like
He’s always around
So when he leaves
It often feels like nothing.
My eyes stay half-open
My brain stays in static
She whistles
She talks
She reads fan fiction
I sit here
Waiting for my Internet connection to work
And waiting to return to existence.

"Hehehe, I'm a poet
And I didn't even know it!"
Haha, I'm a poet
And I'm gonna ******* you with a can of bugspray.

I like to read my own poems.

Not because they're particularly beautiful
I know better than to believe that
But because they remind that I'm human.
I have emotions
I have thoughts
I have fears.

They consume me
Because they let me know I'm real.
I do exist.

There's a shirt at the store.
A beautiful blue shirt
Cerulean, like his eyes.

It reminds me of him.

Everytime I see it
I fold it up
And try not to worry.

He's leaving this week.
To the desert,
Where there's danger
And guns
And war.

I know he stays on base.
I know he can handle himself.

But when I see that shirt
It reminds me of him
And it reminds me
That my brother is leaving again
And that I've never been as close to him
As I want to be
And that I've never seen eyes as blue as his
And that, again
He's going away.

Pop-reggae in my brain
Fan buzzing in my ear
Music down the hall...
Which should I focus on?

Nothing came to me today.
No phrase, no
Juxtaposition of words
Sat my mind
And made me pay attention.
Today is the first day I am meant to be an adult.
Now I have bills
And checks
And balances.
Why did none of it seem important?

It's your turn to work.
For a year
I have shuttled my life
Backandforth
Backandforth
For you.
To see you.
But now it's your turn.
You can come see me.
Use your gas
Use your time
I can't do all the work
All the time.

This is supposed to be equal.

Also, get a job
And get some independence.
It's time to be an adult.

I don't think that she believes she's beautiful.
I mentioned
Under the influence of alcohol
Under a flood of familial emotion
That she's always been the pretty one.
It wasn't meant as a compliment
Just something to cheer her up.
A reminder.
Facts are not compliments.
But her reaction astounds me
Confuses me.
How could she not know?
Every woman has doubts
Self esteem issues
Different thoughts on beauty
But I always thought she was the base
And therefore knew all.
But I guess she doesn't.

She's always been a beacon of normalcy
The lighthouse I aim for
When I try to socialize
When I try to look acceptable.
I know I can't reach her level
But she is what I aim for.
My petite
Thin
Blonde
Beautiful sister.
Funny
Intelligent
Easy going.
She's always had friends
And boys
And a life I never even thought I could achieve.
Not because it was particularly amazing
But because it was so beautifully normal.
She is what I've always tried to become
And always known that I could never measure up to.

What's this mean for me now?