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Did you find a job today?

No but I wrote some poetry
WHAT THE ****?

It’s pretty good
WHAT?
It’s pretty good
**** **** ****!

Something will happen soon
I know it.
NO ******* WAY

Don’t get excited
TURN THE ******* TV OFF!
No I am watching Breaking Bad on Netflix
I finally caught up.

Don’t start with tears
I’m the one out of work
*******, YOU LAZY ***

Babe there is no food here
Can you go to the store?
WHAT THE ****, WHY AM I DOING EVERYTHING?

What happened to women’s lib?
I thought you can do anything a man can do
WE NEED TO TALK

About what?  
You’ve made it in a Man’s world.
You are doing better than I am.
I’m the one out of work.
As more women enter the work force
More men will be forced out.
I’m just one of the casualties.
YOU NEED TO GET A ******* JOB

I wish I could.
Do you want to hear one of my poems?
NO *******?

Who are you calling?
Are you calling your Mom?
Ask her how she is doing?
THE BEDROOM DOOR SLAMS SHUT
 Jan 2014 typhany
Amelia
burning up
 Jan 2014 typhany
Amelia
waking up from nightmares
of waking up in a morgue,
i question if i really want to die.
but then each word
i hear feels
like a hot needle against my skin
and i sleep for hours
hoping to wake up
on that cold
metal
slab.
i hate this one im sorry
2014 edit: i still hate this one ***
 Jan 2014 typhany
Vivian
the feeling of a fleeting summer
the anxiety of a loss
snow plows out at
2:30 am
and in my bed I toss

momma fell asleep at the wheel again
mommas on her meds like always
I took a few pills
from her purse for thrills
they end up tasting like empty hallways

poignant, pulsing, peppered pills
give me some water to drown it out
you know I've always hated the sound
of open doors closing

what a little girl
would give
to have
a mother back-
healthy
to have a mother back-
again
to have a mother that was present;
a mother that wouldn't resent
you for being part from him

Is the blanket blue or green?
Who's blind now?
 Jan 2014 typhany
Sari Sups
I’ve learned
to
Swallow
More than bitter wine
And the salt in my tears.
I’ve learned to swallow
Your lies.
 Jan 2014 typhany
Katarina Elaine
dear grandfather,

you left the television on
you left your flannel where you always put it
a bottle of your favorite soda still in the fridge
you also left your records here
but when i played them this time
the sound didn't hit me right
the crackling wasn't how i remembered it
as soon as the needle hit
the room grew colder
and a lot bigger

dear grandfather,

grandma doesn't sound the same anymore
she can only fake a smile
her humming has morphed into a sigh
the house is too quiet
i tried to play another record but
grandma said that some things should be left where they lay
i don't know what she's going to do with them
or your couch
or your flannel
or your soda
or the looming shadows in the corner of the family room where we used to gather

dear grandfather,

i'm quickly starting to settle into the fact that you're gone
forever

dear grandfather,

your records are still there
i haven't been able to gather the strength to play them
or even entertain the fact that they'll sound the same

dear grandpa,

this couch is too big
your flannel is growing thin
the soda is flat
the house is still cold

dear grandpa,

today i played some Elvis
and i swear that the crackling of the record synchronized with the cracking of my heart
and every bittersweet harmony coaxed the tears from my eyes

dear papa,
i swear i heard you humming along
 Jan 2014 typhany
Surrationality
She, consisting of
he and s as in **** and shine.  

She is love and hate and frustration,
she is aggravation
she is admiration.  Is
she the complete, meaning
he is waiting to be completed, or does
she need
he to be fully
she?  It must be both, because
he does not feel whole without
she, and
she is not all
she without
he.  

She is just s waiting for he.  
He is just there waiting for
she to take a part of and be a part of.  
She and he could go on, but shall we just see
she alone?  
She is a quiet one with the hush built in.  
She makes a pucker or a sucker, and a grimace or a grin.  
She is kind to the mouth and good on the ear, soft and warm and smooth.  

She is good whiskey.  
She can get he drunk like good whiskey.  Drunk on
she,
he will stumble around running into things,
he will fall down, and
he will need help up.  
She will always be there unlike the whiskey to pick
he up to carry
he home.  
He is nothing without
she.  
He is just he waiting to be within
she.  Of course.  

He is short and childish, blunt and stubby.  
She is long and elegant, sensual and curvy.  
She rolls out of the mouth with grace,
he is shoved out with a huff and a puff.  

She is the word that makes
he be.
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