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 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Cali
piss poor
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Cali
**** poor, dying for a dream,
or a drink, one more cigarette,
the landlord comes around, asking for rent
and the money is gone, it was never there,
so you smile and bat your eyes,
one more week, I promise

soon he'll be at your throat
with eviction notices that scream
louder than stereotypes of poverty
louder than your baby's growling stomach
louder than all of your meticulous schemes.
are you uncomfortable yet?
I've barely scratched the surface.

the stereotype that you fell into
doesn't suit you, single mother
wiping off tables and smiling your hardest
to make tips, bend a little further,
hike up your skirt, show some leg
some ***, let them see your ****,
generous patrons love that ****.

you go home and scream into empty spaces
and curl into cold corners thinking of
Bukowski in cockroach rooms
eating candy bars to survive
and dream of an end to a means.
you play some Tchaikovsky
and hold your own flesh and blood
close enough that they can't leave you,
drink White Russians until your hands melt
and write **** that nobody wants to read
about your struggles, knowing that
you will be gifted with rejection letters
and apologies.

**** poor, it is a way to live
but if you prefer sanity, not one
that I would suggest.
it will devour you
destroy you, upend your hopes
and shatter your dreams.
god will not help you,
nor the state or the politicians,
but if you make it out alive
you could be stronger than
diamonds, harder even than
your own resolve.
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Darbi Alise Howe
I washed your sheets on Mondays, a private liturgy
Their veracious nature spoke; my eyes sought not to see
I scrubbed those stains with child's hands
Until linen stripped and fell to strands
Those twisted ropes that once bound us
Turned silent traitors, servants of  lust
Denial is my cross to bear
And of the irony, I am aware
Yet do not dismiss my right to ache
My faith in you is your mistake
But know when thread unwinds to bone
You will lie prisoner on those sheets
Alone
The man I was with for a year proved unfaithful, and I found it ironic how I washed his sheets each week, oblivious.
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Ian Beckett
Giving
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Ian Beckett
Living
Is giving
All of you,
In lots of
Little pieces.

Until you feel
Empty – then,
Something
Happens.

You start
To feel,
Alive.
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Brandon Barnett
even with all the love letters that I've sent
I know I don't kneel low enough to really repent

all you ever ask of me
was to give myself unrestrained, completely
but so much of me lives in the past
always I'm the drifting ship without a mast
and you always knew it
but me leaving you proved it
now your anger is almost all I feel
seen in every passing glance I steal
and I can't blame you
for hating what is true

now I'm cashing in memories just to wear a smile
but the sore pangs of life's true cost come every new mile
and every thought of what's lost drives me into someone's arms
looking to find the same protection and charm
but stranger after stranger makes my life a little stranger
and where there could be new connections there is only mistrust and anger

and the ache of constant questioning drowns me in another drink
and I swallow the color from another glass till I'm back over the sink
facing that awful mirror that always tells the truth
that silently describes how the tears in these eyes are the proof
that I don't know how to love you more than I did
and I know it fell so short of everything you wanted
and now I know I regret it myself too
all the needed things I couldn't give you

but I don't know now who I am without you here
when I look backward to our past I see myself then so clear
all I can do now is give these apologies for all your realized fears
that I couldn't be the true love that you could always hold dear
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Brandon Barnett
walking out the door to score the first pour
or headed to the store to buy more, more, more
alcohol slides over my lips and burns my gums
look out depression because here I come
unforgivable and dumb
my decision in choosing again to succumb
to filling my throat with hateful *** just to go numb

unbelievable the cost of the lines I’ve crossed
the hours and days I've lost
the vicious shifting of minutes across
the abacus rods to the side of loss
the moments of my life I accost

my happy endings sent marching to their deaths
an insult to the true preciousness
of every one of life’s next breaths

I stop and think of all the terrible acts and hate crimes
that I've committed since the addiction in my lifetime
my steady, self inflicted decline
and the horrors that have come from my anebriated mind
the sickness embodied in drinking, thinking it’s not filth and grime

one of life's few real truths
is that we have so little of it in our youth
we have so little of it to define ourselves
it doesn’t halt, it doesn’t pause it can’t be contained or stored on shelves
it will never refrain from moving along
with or without your happiness time moves on

writing this down in sobriety now
or reading this later aloud
drunk and probably too loud
for a crowd of one person not proud
I’ll wonder how
how I do this to myself again and bow down
to a voluntary disease that only brings storm clouds

I've been taught better than this
I've been treated better than this
I've been shown and really seen clearly my life’s gifts
so why do my actions always need forgiveness

how is it I burn the pages of my own plans
how is my touch capable of the murders of a killers hands
I don’t know how an able body like mine can
refuse to stand up like a man

I’m dragging myself to an inevitable end
with every sip I take and every bar dollar I spend
and every gushing wound I refuse to mend
everytime I choose ***** over the company of a friend

i can put the vitamins back in my body
and pretend my ledger isn’t red it’s just a little spotty
and that I wasn’t that bad I was just a little naughty
and say that I make everyone laugh when I’m *****

but those rows of abacus beads on the wrong side that I tossed
tell a different story of a war fought and lost
and a power that remains with the victor unchanged
and a coward carrying a bottle like a cross

and every day there is a line drawn, and then right now is gone
with or without my happiness, time moves on
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Brandon Barnett
there’s a vacuum, a hole in my heart, a skip in it’s beat
the size of your shimmering glow
it's the width of your smile, the height of your laughter
it’s where my love gleans all that it wants to know

it’s an autumn untouched in a memory held fondly
watching the white shine of fresh fallen snow
it pulls like a tide and it howls like a gale
and it tugs at me to surrender to all it bestows

it prays with belief and sustains on it's faith
and it stands tallest on two bended knees
it's all ribbons and wrapper the thing I most wanted
and it fills my needs completely

you and I are the seed, the sprout, the tree, the fruit
the protection of deep binding roots
you and I
the journey along no destination’s route  
my wanting unwaning, your flirtatious glances
the wonderful unknowing pursuit
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Brooklyn
I claim to hate you.
Yet, I'm
             B R O K E N
                                   Without you.
I guess I'm just a masochistic fool,
That can't believe forever died.
 Dec 2012 Ingrid
Darbi Alise Howe
I’ve overslept
I’ve smoked too much
My house is unkept
And my body's wrecked
My heart's a mess
And my head is worse
The doctor said
I over think
So I sought a cure
In the form of drink
That didn’t help, so
I turned to men
They let me down
All of them
My daily pills
For various ills
Don’t work so well
I’m starting to believe
That life is hell
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