It cost her three and a half dollars to send me this white package filled with a bag of raisinets, a few cheap Valentine’s Day decorations, and a note saying “I’m proud of you”


It meant so much to me
She will really never know
I’m proud of her too

We teach our kids how to use keyboards
But we can’t make them want to write
Anything meaningful or important
Like (love or peace or hurt or hearts or good or bad or taste,sight,touch,smell
FEEL)


We teach them how to use computers
because we know that most of them
will sit behind a desk for the rest of their lives.
trying to pretend that they are satisfied with themselves
trying to ignore the fact that this paycheck is just a SLIP of FANCY PAPER with not enough numbers on it.
trying to forget that grey hair they found on their crown in the bathroom that morning,

They’ll sit at their mahogany desk in their black tassel shoes
and think “at least I got a job that I can use my degree for”

But when they went to college,
they always wanted to major in English

But they knew that they couldn’t get a job
With that degree
So they took the easy way out
And studied technology
And now,

They teach kids how to use keyboards on weekends

Déjenlas ir a sus casas
Sanas y salvas.
Paren la contaminación
En nuestras personas.
Nuestros niños están llorando
Pero hay silencio en los campos
Nuestras personas
Tienen hambre
Déjanlas comer
Nuestras personas
Tienen sed
Déjanlas beber
?Que están haciendo?
Ustedes beben con vasos de cristal
Pero nuestras personas
Beben con las latas sucias.
Nosotros estamos hacienda una función
Pero el público es ciego
Y algunas cierran los ojos
Abran los ojos
Las pesticidas están matándonos
Paren
Y no les importa
Tenemos el poder
De levantarnos.
Vamos a trabajar
Para nuestra libertad.
!Den la libertad!

We’re running out of time, wasting it
On *** and money and food and sleep.
And we sometimes forget to be happy.
We forget about important things
Like crowns made out of dandelions and kissing in the rain.
But I think I have figured it out.
I had to retrace my steps, start from the beginning

“When I was a kid I used to cut my wrists”

and if that’s not bad enough

I finally grasped that everyone else did too

And I can’t even remember why I wanted to die

But when YOUR daughter is found dead

pumped full of pills

and hate

How do you tell your wife?

do you even remember to cry?

Light up a cigarette

Pour yourself a drink

you try so hard to feel something so you won’t have to think

about the mortgage, the baby, the unemployment checks that stopped

coming last month.

And you’re bored.

But LIFE is not something that you watch.
I get confused when I hear complaints
about the kid next door
because he’s playing his guitar too loud

But his neighbors
never sit and enjoy the music.

There was a dark Friday
When eighteen thousand people were buried or never found in Japan,
and I heard people safe in America saying,
“well, the earth was really overpopulated.”
While I shed a tear for every single soul that would never get to go home again.
And it still didn’t feel like enough.

I’m still trying to figure it out but I know that
We’re just complex connections
of molecules and nerve endings
and blood cells, protons, neutrons.
And we’re NOT going to live forever.

And it’s not our fault that we can’t understand that there is no time to be worried

There is only feeling.
Scared feelings and blue feelings and numb feelings
and the blending of these things,
FEElings

finally create this thing we call love
and no, we don’t understand it.
all we know are
*** and money and food and sleep
and sometimes love gets lost in the days
and no, we don’t always remember that it’s there


I am forced to watch Hate being passed around the circle like a bottle of cheap wine
and everyone takes a sip, because it’s what you do.

And that’s when I plug my ears

contemplating why God didn’t give us instruction manuals

but I’ll try my best to figure it out

maybe we just got separated
we forgot how to be together
because when I was born you knew how to be my pops

remember when you would say
here
put this belt in each loop while I spin.

and then you would spin,
with your arms out
and I thought you might fly away



and then things got difficult
with me
and you couldn’t- -
wouldn’t figure it out

but thanks for trying now

The very second I placed the
tip of my pencil on this sheet
of paper,
      I ruined it.
This piece of paper could have been
used for so many things.

A legal document
a beautiful origami crane
or a fire to keep someone’s someone warm.

But it was inevitable that I
would be the one to ruin this
sheet of paper. To press hard
and make thick grey lines inbetween
theblueones. To run my hand
back and forth, smudging these
pointless ******* words
and here they are.

I had a dream
about a terrifying woman
that kidnapped children
and cut off their faces
and glued the faces onto dolls

she had an entire house full of rooms with half child half doll horrors

and she would lick their cheeks and eyelids
with a crazy look in her eye

And when I ask you,
“Can you hear me?”


I want you to say yes.

Yes, muy bueno
Yo puedo te ollo.

Yo quiero tu to say yes
But you never can
Because tu estas en el agua
Floating around
Like a little baby
Before it’s born
Except, that baby has ears
And it can hear me
It can listen
Probably
If I yell loud enough.
Pero, yo quiero
I want
I want you to hear me
To hear me
But you are in the water
Never listening
Except to the sounds
Of the waves
That don’t even exist
Except to you por que
No quieres escuchar a mi.
All you hear are
the whoosh of the air as you ride by on your bicycle
the crackling of the leaves as you jump into that dead pile, imagining that it is alive
the groaning of the door as you sneak out past three in the morning, unsure
but uncaring
and you can hear me
but I’m muffled by that ******* agua
que tu estas en,
aqui.

going to our favorite baseball field
in a car

I look out the windows
and see grass
like the stuff we used to lay in while

you played your guitar
and I hummed

I know you

more than I know myself
you are my home

I am home

you are the softness
and  spicy smells
and curly red hairs that I find on my coat

you are the song my dad used to play
before I grew up and lost him

and do you remember when we would bike down to that
gas station and buy iced teas
and cigars

how did I come to be so very far from you?

smoke fills my lungs
and fire burns my heart

but I know I’ll be back soon.

he lifts up my skirt
and says not to worry

but I do anyway

but I don’t tell him that
and he gazes into
my blossom

while I am cringing
because of the cold

but i don’t tell him that

and then it’s hurtinghurtinghurtinghurtinghurtinghurting

and then it’s over
and I feel the exact same as I did before
but I don’t tell him that

and I don’t think he proved his love to me
like he said he was going to
he didn’t make me feel good
like he said he was going to
and I still don’t love him

but I don’t tell him that

can’t get my mind off of
sexsexsex

lying eyes
fruitful decadent lips
sharp neck
shoulder
******
bellybutton
hips (round and hard like a rising cliff--
heaving and sliding)
and then
comes the places where I feel at home
where you like to burrow
make love to me

before the sun goes down again

When we were in fifth grade we used to pretend that you were the President.
We’d sit you up on your desk, located on the tallest slide and bow down to you,
And then you’d address the world.

And when I got bored, I’d go pinch the boy I liked
And when he ran away, I’d kick him

But I don’t think I ever kicked you

Because you never ran away


And when we were thirteen
You biked to my house in the rain

And I didn’t even offer you a towel

But you didn’t even kiss me.
So we both can have our regrets, I guess

But now
When we’re sitting in your car
With wind in our hair

We can feel our pasts
Meshing like
The way our lips do

When we sing together


You make my heart, skip

I am his soda; he drinks me in

caresses me with his hands

brushes lips against me

for the period of bliss, life is heaven

                                Pure Ecstasy

I am his soda
  
Until one day, unexpectedly

he drops me

on the pavement- Crunch! with his foot.

he tosses me carelessly  

into a bin. He threw me in.

He threw me away.


I am an empty, crushed soda can.

The recycling man soon arrives

melting me, molding me back into myself

He fills my soul with something
  
bubbly and sweet

So here I'll wait

for a boy who won't crush me up

But instead, pour more Love into his cup.

The way I felt when you came up to me
on the second day of school,
and I thought you were being nice,
but you only did it because the teacher told you to.

The way the sound of your laugh is deep and heartwarming
and how I hear it in my head when I take the dew covered back roads home
on my bicycle before 8 p.m.
because my mom will yell at me if I get home at 9,
and when she does yell
I just think of your laugh
and your face
and it’s better.

The way your cat tries to chase the light
reflected off of the face of your broken watch
and how you always put it on the ceiling
and drive him crazy.

The way I took a shower that night with all of my clothes on
and I couldn’t explain why

The way the water reaches out from under the wheels of your car
while the rain beats down on the hood, and I smell the dead worms from my window, wondering where you are going

The way I can’t sleep without noise in the background
because I used to live in the city
and you would always turn on a whirring whispering fan
so I could fall into dreaming with you next to me,
smelling the mildew and flour in the air
my mother calling and calling
but we would never answer the phone
because the ringing just made it easier to sleep

The way your hands knew exactly what to do
in the night
parting lips and hips and breath
when my mother went to her book club
and I snuck you through the back door
praying my neighbors wouldn’t tell

The way you looked at that building
in the middle of the dark damp city
and brick didn’t come to your mind.
But instead, you saw the single soul that designed that structure
that you could live in one day,
if the world blew up.

The way the sky is the ocean when I’m with you.
The way the ocean is the ground when I’m with you.
The way the ground is the sky when I’m with you.

The way we both knew that I wouldn’t know what to do here if you ever left,
and now I’m lost

The way I feel while I send you this letter.
The way the envelope tastes bittersweet
And the way I know you will never get it
because you live somewhere else now,
in a sad place where you can’t hear me anymore,
although I sing as loud as I can.

The way I think about you
while standing up on the roof of my house
shivering in the sleet
on a sad Thursday evening
my mother looking for me all over the house

The way you feel when you hear Bob Dylan,
and I just don’t get it.

The way I feel when I hear a baby crying,
and you just don’t get it.

The way sometimes I think maybe we’re not supposed to “get it”
but *******, I want to try like hell anyway.
And we can both understand that.

always be surprised
be cautious of words
and how you affect others
love him
cry when you are sad
never lose your sense of faith
love and forgive when you are wronged
touch baby animals and live your life
remember that you were small once
be grateful for your life and the opportunities given to you
go to school
don’t lie
be mindful of yourself
stay healthy and exercise to make yourself happy, not for others
cry when you are angry
compliment strangers
give small gifts to those who deserve them for no other reason but that.
swearing is a waste of a language
spend your time sleeping and you will wake up full of dreams
belch and ****, quietly.
apologize to enemies, move on.
drink tea
enjoy simple pleasures
don’t watch tv or read the newspaper
except the Sunday funnies.
smile at people when you pass them in hallways, make firm eye contact
have children and love them for who they are, no matter what
make a difference in the lives of people around you
giving is a bigger joy than receiving
flowers need appreciation as much, if not more than people
write poetry and live your life
don’t let people insult you.
stay safe
drink merlot because it tastes good, not to get drunk
offer help when someone looks as if they need it
don’t pass up chances to meet new people

*cry when your heart hurts from being too full of love

was all I could find
writing poems late at night
my cracking
popping
       joints are keeping me company in the screaming silent hissing of the heater
the snow melting against the windowsill.
words written in ****** red pen
mean much more or
much less
than they would in the daylight

hovering over a
puddle of you,
“are you okay”

I whisper

you have been asleep
a few moments too long

I worry.

he thinks about it minute by minute
month after month

and how sweetly he craves
ravenous for its wetness and **** taste

and sweat that will pour out of her
he wants that too

and he thinks “I would be gentle, tender, loving”

but he passes her--silently on the bus every morning
contemplating her ivory thighs
and sighs into a tissue when he gets home every night
and wishes for something more than his wife can give him

something new

but God made all vaginas alike

The worst thing to ever happen
Was you

When you kissed me that first time
I thought I was gonna have to pay you money for it

And when I first held your hand
I thought it was gonna feel like needles

The first time we had ***
I thought maybe
I would hate it
I thought it would scar me

I thought maybe you would be so bad for me

But the worst thing that happened
Was me

Being wrong
About you

don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s   o  f   t  e  r
t   h  o  u  g  h  t  s.

Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
    
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?

they’re uncomfortable

well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.

You don’t need your heart; I can feel.

I can feel for you.




So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?

right.

Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.

I can
Think For You.


Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****,
***,
*******,
legs,
don’t have brains.




Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.

That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******?
Shut up.

You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ******, with the
*******, with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.


Please      your     man

Make      the      food

wear      the      shoes

There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.

No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,

just ****, ***, *****, legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.

Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.

Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,

those   d e v i l      traps

eating your sweet feet.

all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****.
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, ****, ***.

You
Are
Nothing

Rainy days make me feel complete
I love the sound
Of pittering
Pit pit pit pit on sidewalks but mostly
On windows

Rainy days
Make me wish everyone else would just shut up

And listen to life growing

I might not always be ready
for something so new
and different from
what I was used to

but I like laying in your
warm nest of blankets
and lingering scents
of cigarettes

and smooth skin brushing for hours
because we can’t think of anything else to do

and I could spend the rest of my time asleep
with you

when your hip bones part my thighs
and we don’t know whose hair is whose

I want to cling to you

and listen to your heart
cry for something you’ve never felt

As I listened to the
WORDS
spewing from your ugly
drama filled tongue(you're addicted to saying the word **** and attaching people to it)

        I tried to stay happy
for as long as possible

I knew that "****" would sink in
and take away my
contentment. (i was just sitting there, eating my cold lasagna
when i heard you begin
your disgusting rant)

Your words
                       would make statements,
make music full of hate.
not music at all, really.

more like sounds. noisy WORD
sounds
angrily
the way a crow sounds
the way a baby cries
the sound of that pathetic boy
getting picked on
near the swingset
by two older kids because of his snowflake winter boots
but

YOU don’t feel
bad for him

you aren’t here
and you don’t know that i
love you countless ways

in a different way than how
we used to kiss in that tall tree of hope

I love your thing
your whiskers
your coarse black  hair in the
    nest of where I spend my nights(a slugabed)
your trunk, rooted deeply
in your strong muscular back
and I love your
feet.
your
wide
toenails

c o v e r i n g   t h e   e n t i r e t y   o f    t h e   t o p   o f   y o u r    t o e.
I love your words
and I know that they mean what they are
nothing more

and I love how I trust you
I trust you with the,
Frailty   of   my,   sickly body
and my cardiovascular device
and you hold it with those fingertips that
--so often hold me

mistakes are mended by your fingers
hands are held by your fingers
mysteries are managed by your hands and
each finger does its duty


and ever and again you don’t understand why I do things
why I push you away
like a baby that won't open its mouth for medicine
I cannot make sense of these things either
and I wish
(on every kiss, sweetness dear)
that I didn’t do them
but sometimes life makes
--you wonder what am I doing
driving on the left side of the road

Three weeks ago
I was so sad I thought I would die

And now
I’m not sad at all
So,
I am living proof that
Time goes on.

Quit whining

Black ruffled waves crossing,
sweeping over the crinkled eyes and the
mysteries that hide there
Childhood is remembered when one brings a comb
to the head of
this lovely excuse
for an animal
Describe it, disguise it, dye it different colors
simply to
feel
real
I spend my days dreaming of softly ruffling, slipping oily tips into the ocean of black waves
Your roots and ends are worth too much,
I should shave it all off while you sleep
and keep it in a bag to smell during days that you are absent.

And when your attic gets chilly and lonely,
I will glue it back on and we will rejoice,
won’t we?
We have no need for hats yet,
and we won’t until you are scared of dying
On sad days I want to run my hands through it
and live in your scalp
where everything
will be soft and sweet--sweat smelling
like in a cave that is never dark
or frightening

I opened my laptop
to write a poem about a windowsill

and I found one of your ***** hairs.
on the space bar
it was a happy moment.

men write poems about ******* women
and vaginas and ****
and glorious juices and getting drunk after

and I can’t
because I have a ******
and ****
and I get uncomfortable if they want to drink after.

and if I wanna write about how I really like it
when he climbs on top of me
and puts his **** into my warm hot love-cave,

it’s just ****** poetry.
by a woman
and it doesn’t mean anything
but if I was a “****”
a “*****”
and I said “no”
and wrote a poem about “****”
it would make women love me as a feminist

but I’m not a feminist
I just like it when he ***** me
and his chest hair falls out
and covers my ******* and goes into my bellybutton


I don’t mind having to
lint roll
the sheets

my breath
couldn’t keep up
with our rapid kissing

and I suffocated
right there
in your red arms

and when I died
you kept right on
*******