Lindsey Bartlett May 2015

I've handed you
every missed opportunity I have ever had with a beautiful,
intelligent man. You are now
the object of my affection, like
everyone who came before you wasn't real,
only practice, but the sting of their rejection
has lasted. It's still burned into my memory.
I am giving it all to you.
Please hold it, for a little while, don't let
my chaos burn your skin, juggle it
between fingers and let it wind around your arm
like a boa constrictor.
You have the weight of the world
on your shoulders, it's up to you to redeem
all mankind, in my mind.
Please, smoke out the bad memories
from the empty, needy cavern of my mind.
Please, replace them with good, with your
jokes, and smile, and kisses on the
small of my back.
Fucking Bukowski was right, you have
no knife, the knife is mine. But I gave
it to you. Sharp as hell.
Please, don't use it
yet.

A response to Raw With Love by Charles Bukowski
Lindsey Bartlett May 2015

She leads with sexuality.
She says "fuck me," instead of
hello.
If she says, "I love you already."
don't run away, don't
worry, it only means,
"How was your day?"

It means something
normal.

If she doesn't say it, still, she isn't
normal.

Her eyes begin every sentence with,
"Will you love me?
Will you fuck me?
Will you promise to never
leave me?"

And when you say, "Bend over,"
It will mean, "Love you, too."

You used to think sex was love, but
now you know, sex isn't love.
Sex is medicine for
sick people.

Your body, naked, shaking, is more of
a multivitamin for sociopaths,
than it is your body.

She leads with sexuality, but
how else should it be felt?
And no, your cock is not big enough
to fill the hole
in her heart.

Lindsey Bartlett Nov 2014

Because her heart broke
like the thin stem of a wine glass
6 years ago, and there was
no glue in sight.

Because mending is more
than glue, it's sand in the eyes and
metal wires in teeth.
It's drilling,
cutting of perfect skin.
Self-sabotage & destruction.

Because compassion is not
hunt for sport, you can't
prey on it.

It is so post-modern
to feel so disconnected
from other humans
that it makes you want to
take your life, take your beauty off
this earth. Makes you want to
make them miss you more
than anyone can miss
anything.

Love you more than anyone
can love anything.

Because if no one has
ever loved you in your lifetime,
it might sound nice. No one ever
loves you more than that moment
when they realize they lost
you to yourself.

Be tragic & reckless. Make them lose you
over and over again
like car keys.

When she is in it that deep,
she doesn't see consequences. She won't
be here to pick the mess up.

If emotion is weakness,
my body is a stitching together
of Achilles heels.

Because the reason girls say
they are "fine" when they are not fine,
is that you will call them crazy
at the first sign
& the slightest semblance of an
emotion.

Because she is not yours. She is
barely her own.

Let's raise girls who don't have
a childhood to recover from.
The sadness will
not last forever.

Because she needs to write
her way through it.

Because she never had
her mind, so she can't
lose it.

Lindsey Bartlett Sep 2014

We walked and smoked
an old, worn out joint
in between a school and church.
Inappropriately, how we did
most things.

We talked about life
and where we should be,
and why aren’t we there?
And why is there a chain
between us?

The wall is gone, but the chain?
It's strong, it weighed me down all day.
Running my hand along the metal
loops, my fingers dancing on our
disconnection.

Gliding over our separateness.

Back and forth we walked
chains and walls and years
separate us. We met in the
wrong lifetime.

We walked and smoked
the moment burnt and gone and the high, gone too.
And to him, I was one joint.
To me, he was a forest fire.

Lindsey Bartlett May 2014

We used to smoke, we used to spend time
like it was as precious as your last paycheck.

I loved you because
you were present, you got every joke
and heard every sigh. The few, small times
you were there, my god, were
you there.

Like a child, presence comes at a cost.
You broke everything.
Peter pan complex, your complexion
was dark and light
like your mood.

Love me like
I'm not crazy. Pretend I'm not sad
nor desperate.
My self esteem is as high
as we are.

I don't exist to be beautiful enough
for you.
I will never be beautiful enough
for you.

I gave you my time, the most
valuable thing I have. All I have to give.
Besides my body, but
that stopped counting
years ago.

Part of me knows
you cannot love another
living, breathing being. You
hate yourself.

So you smoke my weed
while I fall in love with you.

You could have had me
when you had me
but now it's too late.

There isn't enough alcohol in this
beautiful world to make me
fuck you again.

If you need me, I'll be here
enjoying the present, listening
to our favorite song, smoking
all our memories.

Lindsey Bartlett Jan 2014

No, you cannot heal
if healing means leaving me here
alone. I won't allow it.

Stay close to me, hold
chaos's hand. Tie your ship
to mine and
we'll both
go down
together.

No, please don't heal, don't
get better if better means
away from me. Don't do it,
you should stay
and play with
my fire.

I started to heal once,
rehab for ghost hearts and
fragile bones, I patched myself up
with forgiveness and rope.

It came lose over time and the knots
were all frayed and life
undid the healing
I worked so hard for.
Time opens
all wounds.

So it's better to not try,
accept there is no bandaid that will fix you, you like
your broken parts and
grinding gears, you can't be
held together with sutures
or forgiveness or rope.

Don't heal.
Don't leave me here, broken.
Don't fall in love
as I'm walking away.

Lindsey Bartlett Jan 2014

Don't tell me what the weather will be,
I want to experience life myself. I need
that unknowable moment
when you step outside and
it hits you like a train.

Let's stop talking about the snow
and start rolling in it.

I want to know even less
about the future. I crave
shock and awe and
jaw-dropping reality.
I don't want to see the sun on the television.
I want it to slap me in the face
in person.

I don't care about the predicted
animated snowflake.
Let it surprise me.
Seeing is not believing,
I need to feel it.
I want to taste that snowflake
so raw, so real, so humanely cold
that it will be grateful
it landed
on my skin.

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