"courtney" poems
Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
*her face must be
cracking* to
ass-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
sex-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.
She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
with apologies to Aaron Sorkin
The atheist starts off with,
“this is silly.” I think I see
him sense the abrupt change
of atmosphere walking through
the threshold into a chapel like
plunging into lake water naked.
When the actress kneels, the atheist explains
how God shouldn’t be so vain, I think of
the actress and whether or not, with her real
kneeling in the fake chapel, she actually prays.
She says, “You don’t kneel for Him; you kneel for you.”
The atheist storms out saying that “This just doesn’t
feel right,” The atheist is outraged that a mother is bleeding
to death, her baby may have no father, and someone’s
little brother is being held hostage by Islamic fundamentalists.
I remember two conversations:
Courtney telling me that God wasn’t saving me
when my brake lines rusted out in the TGI Fridays
parking lot instead of on the 74 bridge.
River telling me that she feels blessed that God has watched
over all the people in her life who have attempted
suicide, because they failed. She hastily tries to add
that God was also watching over Jenny, but is too
worried that she hurt me. Right before the scene switches
The actress looks upand tells God
that the atheist “made some good points.”
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 5:22 PM UTC
You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.
No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.
You will never understand
My understanding.
And that's okay.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Lips like bloodlines,
Carmilla kisses her mirror
and calls herself dangerous
Naming myself for dead things,
for ruinous things;
fire,
the ash that drank Pompei,
the ivy that made your walls cave,
Was Lady Macbeth sweeping her hair in braids
to nest her crown?
Or Nefertiti painted gold to reclaim God?
I’m asking for the lavender girls
See, we do these things to be holy
to be myths in our skin
Tying feathers to our shoulders
and glitter to our tongues,
thinking
I can be gold if I want to
I can be thorn-tipped ugly
In pink fur, black lace, we kiss the toes
of Courtney Love and Venus in one breath
Cut back
to my blood-laced lips on the mirror
as though saying Narcissus is my idol
my skin placed above heaven
and I wish to love myself so much
I’d choke for it
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
My name is Courtney. My favorite colors are black and white because that's how I see everything. I'm usually loud in places I should be quiet and quiet in places I should be loud. I usually laugh too much, and smile when I don't want to. I like to meet new people but I don't like having super close friendships.
I like being left alone, most days I never leave my room.
I'm a scorpio but to be honest I have no idea what that means.
I have an odd fascination with things like the ocean and lights and coffee.
I like temporary things and that's why I tend to love people who could never love me back.
Its safer that way. Relationships only remind me that I'm not afraid of spiders or heights or rollercoasters but I'm terrified of everything that can be felt but not seen.
I have a purple heart. I got it because I'm constantly beating myself up about things and people I can't fix or make better.
I always try to swallow my pride but I choke on the words I can't say and my self esteem drowns out anything and everything that could be good or right in my life. My self esteem hates anything that could ever get close enough to hear me breathe. My self esteem is so scared of anyone that could ever hurt me like when I was 8 years old living through world war 3 in the place I called home.
I never sleep in complete darkness because that forces my eyes to see nothing but only feel what I'm afraid of.
I can't read letters without them being proof read first. I'm always so afraid that it'll blood stained by someone I love saying goodbye.
I hate goodbyes. I hate leaving doors open because open doors eventually get shut and that closed door stings more than any tear that ever rolled down my cheek.
This sounds so weird, but I wonder what my demons say about me when I'm not around. I wonder if they laugh at my weakness. I wonder if they were there when my friend heard me throwing up my pain into the toilet in my school's bathroom. I wonder if they saw me try to rip out the happiness of every picture I saw the boy I loved and his new girl in.
I don't allow myself to cry as often as I need to. I don't let myself grieve. I don't allow anyone to know anything about the first 13 years of my life. Because I know once I open that door, they will be scared of such a damaged me, that they will close it before I finish the story.
I do believe in God. I believe he didn't save me. I believe I've had to save myself all these years until I let him save me.
I'm Courtney. Nice to meet you.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself
i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls
i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches
im a ******** soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes
deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair
pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life
i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after
let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
A field of yellow roses
All with their own magical aspects
A lone red rose exactly thirteen feet from the forest edge
Different than the rest
It’s our imperfections that make us graceful
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Dear Courtney,
My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.
I sit here, while I cannot take my eyes off the greens. It is the first time in a while, but it has always been nostalgic with you here. The trees stand there, and the train moves at its monotonous pace. This time, I am thanking this train for its urgency. Maybe it wants us to see each other again. Just you wait, Courtney. Tomorrow, we will see each other again.
It's dawn, and the morning breakfast is here in front of me. It is a complete set. Just like what you like. Tea, toasted bread, egg, and tomato. Ah, I thought I saw you sleeping here beside me. Am I doing it again? Wait for me, dear friend, for I will see you now.
There the trees and the mountain face me. The scenery is telling me a story. A memory of you and me. Ah, dear friend, it is almost evening. I hope you're thinking of your friend here while you're taking a sip of your wine.
The train has stopped, and I am here now, Courtney. I hope this letter reaches you, dear friend.
"She's really a writer, huh?" The nurse said while she read me Cordelia's letter. I nodded and smiled.
"How was she?" I asked. The lump in my throat was so heavy that I could not breathe.
"She's resting peacefully in the bay of Mayhem, Courtney." The nurse then held my hand.
"Do you think she's happy?" I asked her.
"Hon, her eyes will give you life. Of course, she is." She kissed me on the forehead and pushed my wheelchair.
"You will have life again, Courtney. I will see you after the operation."
My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.
"Thank you for your eyes," I whispered, and tears began to well up. The wind hustled, and the trees hurried to drop their leaves.
I took out my notebook and pen. I wrote how the scenery by the bay gave me comfort.
Cordelia, I hope this letter reaches you.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC
This little squirrel Quill
He lived over the highest hill -
He pined all day with nuts to collect
To protect for long winters.
Quill climbed the tallest
trees and still he
hid from large eagles till
He knew he could safely return home
burrowed in his log.
Mr. Squirrel Senior Quill warned
"Don't be long, it's nearly dawn!"
But little Quill amused himself
and ate acorns to meet his fill.
He didn't worry or scurry home -
He took his time,
He sang a rhyme
He made a friend: 'Jerome' the gnome,
He sang and sought a new way home.
Mrs. Squirrel Quill, she drilled and drilled:
"Where were you? what happened?!"
Her mother's voice shrill.
"I, uh, I was ill!" said Quill, "terrible case
of Squirrel's fill!"
Hiding the nuts, he smiled wide;
He was happy, little Quill -
Free and filled.
(C) 6/1/15
Courtney L
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Courtney’s old subaru stuttered and stalled as she sat at the red light. The large blue duffle bag sat ominously on the leather seat beside her. She couldn’t look at it.
God, Luci. Why did you get yourself into trouble? Courtney’s mind was racing. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. She ****** her head to look at the bag. It was bulging.
The bag was stained and dusty, ripped along the seams in some places. Courtney’s phone rang loudly. She jumped, and held onto the steering wheel with one hand and answered.
“Hello?”She was silent as the voice on the other end talked quickly. “No, I’m not there yet... yes, I’ve got it.. No, I haven’t touched it... Yes, sir. She’s very sorry... I know, sir. Yes I’’ll tell her.” She hung up. Her face was ghost white, her palms and forehead sweaty.
Many voices argued in her head. I shouldn’t be doing this for her. She broke the law. But Luci’s your sister! That doesn’t matter. She caused the whole family a lot of pain and money. And now I’M breaking the law. What the hell?!
She looked back over at the duffle bag. It sat staring at her accusingly. She turned away. Her car was getting awfully hot, so she rolled down the windows, letting air flow through. Checking her watch, she hiccuped with surprise. Her foot slammed down on the gas, her head pressed against her seat from the quick acceleration. Her car’s enging groaned with the speed, but she couldn’t slow down.
********* Luci. I really hate you right now.*
Suddenly, she saw flashing lights and heard a sharp wailing sound behind her. A police car pulled right up behind her, speeding along, signaling for her to pull over to the shoulder of the road. Courtney’s eyes were wide with fright, and her palms were sweating profusely, leaving stains on her steering wheel. Oh god oh god oh god oh god...Ohhhh my goddddd.
Courtney slammed on her breaks, pulling over. A man in uniform knocked on her window, and she rolled it down slowly. There was a loud noise from the passenger seat and Coutney’s world slowed as she saw the duffle bag fall to the floor of the car, the zipper breaking and the contents spilling onto the carpeted floor.
The policeman’s face was horrorstruck.
“Ma’am...” He stuttered. “I’m going to have to ask you to...step out of the car and put..put your hands on your head.”
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
“Women sync up with the moon,
like the sea does,
and it makes them unpredictable.”
he said.
(Surely not –
the sea and the moon are as predictable as you like!
you can chart them with maps!)
“Ah, but how about tsunami’s
that come along from nowhere
and drown the innocent?”
(Tsunamis aren’t caused by the moon,
they’re a result of the earth crashing into itself
and we are the earth,
us men,
and we drown the innocent.)
Every time I look at the moon -
(and I look at it often because I’m that kind of boy),
I can’t help but think of every woman in the world,
of every class and ever colour,
who has looked up at it too.
Cleopatra,
Kate Moss,
Katherine Hepburn,
Workhouse women with broken nails,
Baudelaire’s pale thin girls,
Courtney Love,
Female football players,
And how they feel
(or felt)
just as separate
or as close to it
As I do.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
She's the women
You imagined
Stepford wife
She sit's with Hands clasped tightly
Courtney Loves drunken sister
Resonates within
Her wilted box keeps disintegrating
Her barricades
Useless
Soaking filth from the ground
She would cry
Tears dry
Salt is only producing
She's a mist uncontrolled
Wild growing daisy
Sitting in a ticky tack
Garden
She sees freedom
Fake
Placed in the deserts hot sun
Thirsty
Last drink
Now haunts
Suited up in her dress
She carries on
Fragmented
Dissapointing denial
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
XC is running through the sprinklers with your crazy goofy team
Rolling your ankles running hills
Cross country means so much to me it’s true
Running is all we do
School day seems shorter
Practice seems longer
The sun is shining
It’s warmer then it’s colder
XC every single moment is worth its weight in gold
XC it’s high school’s best story
And it’s waiting to be told
It’s bleacher 5K’s, well earned PRs
And your sport’s punishment
Cross country man where do I begin
XC we’re rained on during practice and we run with soaking feet
XC we get lost on distance runs and say we went out to eat
It’s also
Basma’s smart wisecracks, also Mariam’s sass
And calling Amy the wrong name
Courtney going ham, my freshmen children
And ab workouts causing us pain
Mehak!
Oh wait. Maybe I’m going too fast.
XC it’s weight room and it’s hard work ‘cause you do it for the *****
XC it’s crying at the banquet
Cuz your team is just one happy family
And I don’t wanna leave
First year was longer
Last year was shorter
I’m gonna miss y’all
My eyes are getting warmer
XC every single moment was worth its weight in gold
XC it was my favorite story thanks to you guys it was told
A running high and my team cheering
And then that final sprint
Cross country man where do I begin
(XC)
Where do I begin
(XC)
I promise I’ll visit
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 11:08 PM UTC
Keep-A-Breast
Apple
OtterBox
Acu-Rite
Dial Aquafresh
Oral-B
ACT Garnier Equate
Hanes
On the Byas
Rude
Toms
Dakine
Acu-Vue
Ponds Degree
Preferred Stock
Mighty Wallet
Hot Topic
Keurig Dixie
Donut Shop
Domino
International Delight
Peter Paul's
Best Yet Great Value
Instagram
Facebook
Snapchat Yik Yak
Forever 21
Adventure Time
FSC Bic The Poetry Foundation
Staedtler Pilot Sharpie Microsoft
The Norton Anthology
Toshiba Dell Expo
Lipton
Emerica
Anti Hero MOB Shorty's
Bones Thunder
Shake Junt
Swingline
Pandora
Tommy Hilfiger
' Jill Greg Ashley Courtney
Judy
Bob
Janice
Shannon Kelly
Robert Emily Jeremy Darrin Liza
Bill Joe Dominic Sean James
Gav Jordan Tony Eric
Christopher
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
a ray of sunshine
breaks through stormy clouds
a bright smile
dries tears
sadness evaporates
and frowns are lifted
the corners of mouths
raised by two bare hands
(strengthened by faith)
and held in place with vibrant ribbon
Ready? you ask
and everyone knows it will all be
Okay
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
The grey clouds shift and swirl above my head,
slowly, almost imperceptibly getting darker;
as if anger has forced a flush of colour to their cheeks.
I crane my neck, searching for the transformation
of anger to grief; for the tears to pour out,
to rain down on those of us below that don't mind
being a shoulder to lean on.
(C) 23/6/14
Courtney L
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
Not mine, but truly beautiful - and exactly how I believe things should be - not only love - but life, work, self-esteem, everything.
"Dear Human: You’ve got it all wrong. You didn’t come here to master unconditional love. That is where you came from and where you’ll return. You came here to learn personal love. Universal love. Messy love. Sweaty love. Crazy love. Broken love. Whole love. Infused with divinity. Lived through the grace of stumbling. Demonstrated through the beauty of… messing up. Often. You didn’t come here to be perfect. You already are. You came here to be gorgeously human. Flawed and fabulous. And then to rise again into remembering. But unconditional love? Stop telling that story. Love, in truth, doesn’t need ANY other adjectives. It doesn’t require modifiers. It doesn’t require the condition of perfection. It only asks that you show up. And do your best. That you stay present and feel fully. That you shine and fly and laugh and cry and hurt and heal and fall and get back up and play and work and live and die as YOU. It’s enough. It’s Plenty."
-Courtney A. Walsh
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
my mask fell victim to the dance floor
while he was dancing with drunk blondes
so **** dressed as a cop pushing pills
three girls grinding on his leg
and i bought one
and wanted to **** the faces and the tongues
of the ***** he ignored me for
it would have been very courtney love of me
very punk rock
but i grabbed their *****
and licked my lips at them
because whats his was mine
and he knew the painted eyes on my back
saw their every move
and every dollar from those girls
goes to our cigarettes
but later i found out
that was all we kept in common
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
Turning up and down in the wind-every single crane I folded
On the seventeenth day of the fifth month
I took you to go see the gardens
To see the orchids bloom
White Purple and blue
Hanging leaves
Trees like statues on a night without wind
The ghost festival
It was dark in the perfumed gardens
Velvet purple sky
We sat and listened to the far off music
The sound of drums
Traveling along the gurgling river
Sitting down on the edge of a rock
You were laughing and smoking one of my cigarettes
Those wisps of smoke curling around
And the flick flick of your ash on a rock
You thought you were so cool sitting there like Joplin, all strung out and white looking like Courtney love
Your knee high socks
Are smeared in mud and pollen
Just then the music all stopped at the festival down the river
Except for some lone flute playing a haunting other-worldy melody
As we sat looking on the calm purple waters
The children and old women took small paper boats with candles inside
The mothers and the fathers
The sisters and cousins Uncles and brothers
All knee deep in the darkened waters
Pushing those small glowing ships down the river
Leading all those lost souls and spirits
The ghosts of this year's dead flowing out to sea
Like a fleet of stars they slowly drifted
Water reflecting the hundreds of candles
That crescent moon looked so right above the spirits
I watched them clear the bend
- Without taking a breath-
Until you laughed and flicked your cigarette **** into the still water
Ripples of moonlight
Talking about yourself in the dark
Somewhere down the river the music started again
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
Caitlin, Courtney, Emma, and Ellen
Just a few of the girls that I know
I hit it, I quit it, forget it so quick
Their name disappears at the do'
They're here for the night and our bodies connect
At the hand, then the mouth, then the groin
This fish has been caught but my skin remains taut
Confining my soul from being joined
Until she arrives, these girls can kick back
Watch TV, relax, but leave me alone
I'll shout when I need, and grin when they leave
But grieve until my darling comes home
She'll walk through the door, I'll forget all those ******
Came by to visit or even existed
Forgive me my sins, a villain, ich bin
But simple *** is in man's logistics
Call me a chauvinist but when the days over with
I always treat my lady like a queen
The one-nighters sustain lust ingrained in my brain
But none mean a thang [sic] when I'm with that girl of my dreams
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 10:11 PM UTC
Do you
Kurt Cobain
take Courtney Michelle Love
to be your lawful shredded wife?
I imagine her sitting across from him
Her lips stained a violent red
Smiling
She'd say what I say now
It didn't have to be this way
That's what's funny to me
Even afterwards she was composed
And maybe,
I don't know,
Maybe she was too full of ******* and hatred to really grasp it
But think of it this way:
Would anyone be capable of shooting up
and then shooting themselves?
Doubtfully
Do you
Kurt Cobain
take Courtney Michelle Love
to be your lawful shredded wife?
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
February 20, 1967
When Aberdeen, Washington became home to a legend
Throwing pebbles at cops
and falling in love with Punk Rock
1985 is when it all fell apart
The divorce shattered his poor, frail heart
Then along came Krist, Pat, and Dave
Who made his life worth the wait
"I Rather Be Hated For Who I Am Than Loved For Who I Am Not."
Against judgement, racists, and sexualists he fought.
He's an inspiration to few
because of what he chose to do.
April 5, 1994
Down he feel with the gun in his hand on the floor.
"Peace, Love, and Empathy." was left on the letter
A Document that Courtney and Frances struggled to read later.
Fans left with faithful lyrics and sorrow
He always said they weren't promised tomorrow.
Rumors of conspiracies and ****** spread
Courtney finally announced that he wanted to be dead.
"It's Better To Burn Out Than To Fade Away."
and just like that Kurt Cobain had changed my life in every way.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
I've recently been contacted about having my collection of poems published. since you all are such great fans and supporters, I invite you to go 'like' my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/courtneyksnodgrass
you'll get additional sneak peeks like excerpts and quotes from the novel that I just finished writing as well!
it would really mean a lot if you guys could go like my page and then invite your friends too. (if you feel I deserve it)
all is appreciated, thank you so much.
~Courtney Snodgrass
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC