I know what you’re all about because you’ve told me.
You’re against using medicine and chemicals.
Unless I put them in my body and they become the permission slip for you to *** inside me.
Somehow this feminism pill that is supposed to liberate me is really liberating your ****.
You’re against plastic surgery.
Until I need it to fix this unbroken vessel which you can’t help but make comments about while we stand naked and on exhibit in the shower.
You’re against hurting women.
Unless it involves “hog-tying me and carrying me around like a brief case.”
Then it’s just **** and what you’re into.
I guess I should work on finding the pleasure in that.
You’re against me using a ******* chef’s knife to cut pizza rather than a pizza cutter.
Until it becomes an opportunity to tell me I’m doing it wrong.
I’m going to dull the knife you are so cunningly waiting to shove in my back.
You’re against giving in to unhappiness.
Unless it’s an excuse for you to ignore me.
I forgot I already reached my frown quota and you were given the free infinity pass at birth.
You’re against eating meat.
Unless it’s human meat because you aren’t above cannibalism. How many of us have you chewed up and **** out, anyway? I am just one more unassuming girl to be preyed upon.
You’re against pessimism.
Until it’s your life, your opinion, your need to rain on everyone’s parade. You say I don’t see the silver lining in the clouds, but it’s because I’m consumed by your storm. The entire sky is overcast and I can’t, or won’t, be the rainbow every single time.
What is a rainbow anyway?
Depending upon which way you look, it vanishes into nothing. Beautiful, but transparent and fleeting. I give you pleasure for a moment and then I am forgotten.
I am a refraction.
A bending light.
Invisibility spreading it’s legs wide open to give you a smile in fabulous color.
You shout these qualities in your autobiography like I’m supposed to give you some type of award.
The reality is that being in a relationship with you means constantly teetering on the balancing beam of a double-edged sword.
The only thing you’re really against is me.
On day 1 you told me you were an *******.
And I thought you were just exaggerating.
I lace up my boots,
pull over my coffee sweater,
cuff my woolen socks,
and I think about how, finally
I am expressed.
my heart is spilling out
over knotted wooden tables.
It is nourished by turning pages
and cementing graphite scratches
onto Moleskin possibilities.
I look through soft river planes
and see familiarity.
Summer kisses my shoulder
and I accept. Willingly,
I give in to this wildness quaking inside.
This begging to be
free, alive, satisfied.
I'm in a relationship with the question
So do I really want an answer
Because breaking up with you
Is committing to my true lover
Running on "E"
And passing the exit
I don't know why
But right now
I'm drunk and high
And I miss you
When you finally exhaled,
you wondered why
you'd been holding
for so long.
a quiet mind.
A slice of space time
carved out, specifically mine.
I lost and found fullness in the void.
The promise of isolated existence,
of a transcendent world where I forget.
Of matter absorbing, swallowing, expanding and
delivering me the gift of nothing and something
together, motionless silenced in a simultaneous moment of
Still, the universe goes ever on and on.
There is power in the invisible.
The interlocking dualities of push and pull
only felt and shared, not seen.
There are forces binding us in the black abyss
which separate and join in tense dances
through made-up minutes which bend endlessly.
What is real?
Is a vacuum really empty?
I find comfort in the nothing,
that is also everything.
When you snap a dry twig
you'll find a star inside.
White within beige in brown bark.
No, really. Have you ever looked?
Helicopter seeds have waxed, peel-able layers.
Dandelions have bumps, fossa, tails.
Pick them. Find the white sap oozing out.
Did you ever roll a bug?
Did you ever see another's fluorescent glow?
Remove an acorn hat next fall.
Remember that creamy, perfect nugget and roll
it over in your fingers. Pretend you're a squirrel.
Examine butterfly dust under the microscope
of your spring season soul.
Fold a thick line of crab grass between two thumbs.
Listen to your music, composer.
Where do ants get their perfectly identical pebbles?
Stacked so professionally into tiny, *****, domes.
Have you ever looked?
I run to you
slow motion into
hoping against my fear
that maybe this time
my seeking has led me
I might get caught up in your mind
I might unwind my string
and outstretch my being
to float with you, to let you fill up
my paper wings, my origami heart
I might take flight and let you
fly this kite, if only
you pull me in easy, keep me steady
I might follow where you lead
if you give me the freedom I need
to be colored beautiful
against a high, blue sky
to be me, shaped perfectly for you to see
I did it for myself.
I shed you and a little bit extra.
Like a snake peeling back
layers of you and me.
Our crusted scales scattered
Is your newness raw?
Is it untouchable?
Stop looking at me
as if I’m some
to swallow up
or spit out.
A berry, black, swollen
ready to be chosen for your
consumption. I sour on your
tongue, assaulting your
taste buds because you
thought the only
that mattered was the purplish black,
the juice that produced for your
pleasure, my ripe, plump bumps,
my green hands
outstretched ready and there, for you?
Still you pluck and **** and stare
and **** me up with your
barren compliments stripping
my sweet substance
one by one
by one, you
extract it out
Pluck my legs off.
Ouch. Are you happy now?
Keep me helpless, wondering.
See my inner glow flying overhead
blinking for a new lover.
Capture me. Then smear my hope
across your sidewalk.
I’ll be the paint on your
narcissist, concrete canvas.
Maybe just keep me in a jar
******* that air hole. Tight and choking.
If I light up will you
Hold onto the side looking
through glass until I fade.
I remember what you said.
I didn’t want to live anyway.
— The End —