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 Nov 2014 Paul Cassano
Pea
12
 Nov 2014 Paul Cassano
Pea
12
I become afraid
of the sun -- I just wanted
love -- she burned me twice.
we had our passports out and the kits to fix 'em up with.
and the hurricane lamp cast our shadows on the ceiling.
i watched 'em box with one another like punch and judy.
it was dangerous and delightful.
it was that kind of feeling
when you said you were sure there was nothing standing in our way.
and the lie ran off and hid itself in the alleys all around  the bay.

i saw you knock the lamp over while reaching for the scissors
and i wondered how we'd ever get by without it.
and you fell into my arms, sweet and gentle.
poison in the water.
little doubt about it.
and you said that one of us would be all alone someday.
and the truth of it echoed inexhaustably all across the bay
you should’ve never unpacked your bags,
because it gave me this expectation that you were in this for the long run. i’m still running. i have swallowed so much blood that tastes like your regret from biting down my tongue to cage it behind my teeth from screaming about you to a world that wants my blood for ink.
i am more than a number, but 24 makes me feel better than 26, so i sit in jeans that leave red marks on my hips and make it hard to breathe, but see it’s two inches and
i am more than a number, but i know every test score i ever got and still remember fourth grade and question three and crying because suddenly my mistakes had weight and i couldn’t fix things by saying sorry and
i am more than a number, but i was always the middle child, always the not-quite one, not the best friend to anyone, just a girl with kind eyes and jeans that are a little bit too tight and
i am more than a number but to you i am seventeen, ten and three. and lets be clear; it’s the three that haunts me, because *** doesn’t matter and ‘girlfriend’ is just a label, but i wish i was the first girl you truly loved, and sometimes i still wish i was the last, but with you i fear i’ll forever be just another number.
i drove over 17 bridges the other day and next week i'll do it again and i think nobody gets what that means except maybe you.
i just tell them i love the scenery, that somebody must've made these trees blush just for me.
you know how i love to change the subject?
i bet they'd love the view. i bet you would too.
and all these metaphors for other things are beside the point.
this is a metaphor for why i don't wear my seatbelt, a metaphor for why whiskey knows me better than you could ever try to.
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars are doing that cliche thing where they talk quiet jet noise and some lumbering giant made everything shake.
not those hand metaphors, not another one of those & keep the sea to yourself,
i think it was a train, it's sound hugged the embankment for a moment and then trailed off into nowhere,
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue' close to my home and it's no coincidence that i've never been there.
i’m just flatlining now and hoping that you can look at the next girl the way i looked at you.
so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"


The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"
 Sep 2014 Paul Cassano
unwritten
don't dress like a *****,
                                            but remember: your success is based upon how much of your *** they see.

stand up for yourself,
                                            but remember: use the wrong tone, and your husband will beat you.

have fun,
                                            but remember: going out alone and drinking will only end up with you in a stranger's bed the next morning.

make sure you never have to rely on your man for money,
                                            but remember: someone will probably steal your purse while you're out alone.

"no" means "no,"
                                            but remember: you always have to give him what he wants.

**** isn't the victim's fault,
                                            but remember: you were asking for it.

it's your life. it's your body.
                                            but remember:
                                                      ­           it's not.


                                                        ­                                                               (a.m.)
Hi. Please be sure to read the poem in its entirety before commenting, thank you. And just so we're clear: this poem is not in any way meant to degrade women, but rather to point out how society often sends women and girls mixed messages. We tell them not to act like "*****" or "******," and yet everywhere you look there's another song or music video that sexualizes women, and then we blame the victims when **** occurs. We tell them to be independent and stand up for themselves, but then automatically assume they must have done something wrong if they get beaten by their spouses or significant others. We tell them to take control of their lives and bodies, and yet the very next moment, we tell them the exact opposite.

Every two minutes, an American is sexually assaulted. 1 in 4 women will experience domestic abuse in their lifetime.

It's 2014, and I am still a long way off from being a parent. But I wouldn't want my future daughter living in a world like this.

She shouldn't have to.
If you are going to shine in this world,
it is essential to know:

You will cast shadows.

People will hate you for
the darkness,
instead of praising you
for clarity.
Shine anyway.
 Jul 2014 Paul Cassano
17th
hate you
 Jul 2014 Paul Cassano
17th
I hate the way you grab your hair while you're doing everything
the way you make me feel guilty about things I haven't said
or haven't done
the way you make my headache turn into a psychosis
the way you turn a scratch to a cut
the way you look so familiar
but so unknown

I don't like the books you read
they seem useless
they're not even fun
they make me feel like I'm useless to you

your ******* games
they're ******* with my head
******* with my mind
*******

did this poem just lost it's beauty because I said "****"?
I hope not
What I would give
To wake up next to you
Bodies tangled vines
Legs wrapping around backbone
Skin stained from the previous night's hunger
From eager lips
What I would give
To have you run fingers down my xylophone ribs
Every morning
Play me into routine
Sing each note that leaves my lips
Each breathless hello
Each half whispered stay
Each please don't go
What I would give
To know the exact shape of your palms
Have them folded into memory
Making home in the dimples of my back
In the curve of my spine
Not allowing for goodbye
Reading only welcome
What I would give
To run hands through your hair
Through the saltwater aftermath
Through sand dusted in from the wind
From a day spent in beach sun
What I would give
To bury myself in the vacant parts of you
And never leave
What I would give
To fall asleep next to your mumbling
Next to your 3am curiosity
With your breath against my ear
And toes weaved together like the silk from our bedsheets
What I would give
Is not enough to shrink the space between us
Is not enough to turn distance into nonexistence
But boy,
What I would give
To have you next to me

I would give everything from the arch of my soles
To my abundance of freckles
To be with you

In order to be with you
I would give
All of me.
 Jul 2014 Paul Cassano
Satsuki
I could give you a list of hand written "I miss you's" that would stretch to the moon and back but it still wouldn't convey to you just how my heart aches when you're away.  I could bend and mold to your every whim, do every single thing your heart desires, but I don't think you'd pick up on the fact that I'd give anything to keep you happy. I could tell you that your eyes are green with grey and gold swirling through them without even looking at you and you probably still wouldn't notice how much I stare into them. I've seen you at your worst, and at your best, and been right here throughout it all and still you haven't caught on that I love you.
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