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Lucanna Jan 2016
She dabs the ducts of each eye
with twirled tissue in hand
Sky blue eyes lost to oceans of tears
Angry waves never allowed to crash into cheeks
She swallows lump after lump
So that the black of lashes don't mix with blue
So that when she leaves my room it is as if there was not a drop of water
on this planet
in her body
You can see the longing within her gaze
when she feels the crisp cobalt threaten to release
Am I the gatekeeper?
To this tsunami of a girl
Tissue after tissue crumpled
smashed between cushions
Her soft small palms left to
catch raining tirade
Dabbing gently as to not expose a non-cover-girl-face
As to not expose the dark circling sharks under iris

100mph blinking
Tepees of tissues
blackened sleeves
Lashes sweeping lakes
of aches

You avoid eye contact
don't let me see the emerald
that creeps up with the hazel of your shattered sight

The divorcee sizes up my ringed left hand
The tormented parent sizes up my pristine smile
The assaulted lesbian sizes up my gender con-formative garb
The privileged heterosexual white male sizes up my rack
The elder sizes up my certificate

And that plush khaki couch of mine...
it's all that's left of me by the end of week
Stuffed with tears

Some of them shed
Clients and tears and ****** assault and feminism and **** this world
Lucanna Dec 2015
He steps outside
wading through snow, he exhales more
only to capture the white billowing cloud that forms
outside of open gape
His eyes are five year old wonders,
his hands fifty years old

The second the sole of his workman's shoe
crunches down on white carpet
The neighbors open heated entrances
To greet him

Embracing him warmly with conversation
Buzzing with words and news from the weekend missed
We arrive home to a repaired snow blower, steady and rumbling

The week before
The power lines got into a war with the wind
The neighbor I had rushed past weekly
offered
piles of stored wood, without a thought
keeping the both of us warm for days
in heart and in palms

His dimples are sacred accepting kindness
The words he shares so open and patient,
Curious and compassionate
Leaving our fences shared, not separated

Week to week I only
greet chamomile tea and scripted memoirs
Grateful to flee from humanity behind sacred front door.

Me: "How do you have time to talk to the neighbors?"
Him: "No one is ever truly busy."
Lucanna Nov 2015
The fire wreaks of crayons
Waxy surfaced juvenile spirit
And here I am bundled up like a burrito
In a tie blanket made for me in the 7th grade
And I keep on hearing the cracking and popping
The red and yellow licking up my yearning
The comfort of not having to respond to everything that was planned out for me
By only myself
I'm the only one to blame
I'm so grateful to have an environmental mediator
Get in the way of myself.
Lucanna Nov 2015
.
The main reason I've tried around five new recipes a week
and all of a sudden enjoy cooking
and the reason I've bitten my nails down to bone
and texted my good friends way too many times
fragmented and weeping with questions
and the reason I've listened to podcasts minute after minute
and audiobooks
and ******* Damien Rice's creepy voice saying the words *******
over and over again
and have a wishlist on every overpriced bohemian rag site
and entered multiple contests guessing Bon Jovi's lyrics
to win 50 dollars to Applebees
and the reason I drink red white and blue ****** can after can
after hours that end with "AM"
and the reason I don't feel like hearing my client's problems
and catch myself in fantasies about running away or climbing up into trees and staying there for months
and the reason I go to angry slam poetry events by myself
and watch Sarah Silverman crying on the television
and snorting coke
or scrub my gums until they bleed
to taste the iron with those perfectly prepared meals
I even thought about joining a meetup group
instead I just met up with my therapist and noticed she's wearing the same sweater I am
What the hell is she going to be able to do for me?
Take my seventy dollars and run
and I keep edibles harbored in the corner of my cheek
saving the ounces for the most destitute of moments
when I hear I have to eat lunch with my in-laws at Red Robin
and be blinded by their white supremacy
That's when I get ****** as ****
and find it all funny
and the reason I sprint into the woods at night and look up at the stars
sweaty and haunted
and the reason I keep "getting lost" on my way home from work
and stalk my ex-boyfriend's babies on Facebook
and wet the pages of Charles Bukowski
and then watch his documentary and scream at the TV in horror
and the reason I buy bags and bags of peanut butter stuffed pretzels
and my laugh sounds unnervingly different every day, as if my role keeps changing from **** to lesbian to raging feminist to kitschy wife lover to Eskimo to poet

is due to the fact that I am in a long distance relationship with my own life
my own soul
my screaming energy and robustness
my color
and craving.
Lucanna Oct 2015
Eurasian roller birds
exist in the ecosystem
just as
I do.

When approached by perceived danger
Fight or Flight is feigned
Only remaining--wreaking self-destruction
Our wild flighty friends
Literally ***** all over their beautiful shells
in order to save themselves from suffering

Half digested disgust exposed on wings
arrests their blue beaming light

Eight years ago you climbed up to my nest
and held out your incredible love
Regurgitation immediately followed
Along with green abusive fear
I clung to my cloak of worms and saliva
You just laid down beside me
in digested stench

Multiple times you cleaned me up
licked up the pain
Accepting the disgust,
Realizing quickly
You could not clean a lover who aches
to be bent over, pale skinned, and protected

I fled from nest
and you did too my dear
we couldn't sit with the offensive smell any longer
My wounds were too porous
my pain, invasive

The foul smell that the roller exerts
is also meant to alert the parents to flee back to nest
and protect their blue babe

When I cracked from shell and entered the world
with slit eyes
There were thousands and thousands of threats
and the excretion was not enough
I did not get eaten up by the masses
but I did allow myself to become what I had eaten
infantile self-protection morphed into
Pervasive self-destruction.

Our nest kept singing back to us,
Our love entwined and weaved in with twig
Like haunted batty lovers
Pulled back in to vile

Finally finally finally finally     fin a lly
I allowed the digestion
of your love
There were my bursting blue feathers
Sterile and glowing
Our nest safe from
my internal predator
And you, finally safe in my love.
Lucanna Oct 2015
You slap my own name across my face
underneath my chin is a definition
to provide clarity for the ones YOU love
that are forced around me
I become a walking advertisement
for a cliché of
comfort in chaos
a dysfunctional reckoning
a ****** up difficult high sequence of emotive *****
You try so hard to shield the world from my exacerbation

Is every strange individual a stranger?
The ones I come into contact with seem to be immediate family

I refuse to surround myself by anyone
who is not exotic,
painted black and blue
Their own clarification by society
Painted on forehead
Their metaphors dripping off tongue
and pain licking up their eyelids
I remain solo these days

But within my own mind...

I seem too close to you, strange dearest sad one
I feed off of the cursed white
of your marrow
Filling my mouth with ***** residue
I pain to **** the salt from your fingertips
My beach is your body
A fiend for the folds of your sheets
I remain insatiable
Lucanna Oct 2015
Within me is a house
There is a path with tangled lines of dahlias
they reach out, celebrating the company of my steps
The flesh and pits of plums litter my yard
The purple ripe sadness chips at the soft butter paint
only on the shadowed right side of the house (logic)
It is a consequence to bear fruit in domesticated quarters
The path leads to earth born steps
first step from tangential cursing
onto cerebral acceptance
They take me further and further up
Arriving at a silver steel opening
Only I have the ability to enter
My feet monogamous to creaking wood floors
Grains of chaos and contempt
pounded down by order
Pages of words unspoken litter the desperate corners
Where tainted wall kisses golden wood gloss
No furniture
only prints and fabrics and feather
to lay upon
Ceiling-less, crowned by
Colored glass
warmed by sunny soul
and I am alone at last
A home to combust and contort
and howl into
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