"declawed" poems
you have me running in
dangerous circles (round and round and round and)
or is it you that circles me ---
the helpless prey
?
((well, all the helpless can do is pray))
those alien teeth, they
close around my jugular, only slightly
i forget what (wheeze) air is for
she's are no declawed cat!,
scream my back and cheek and neck and arm and mind
[*that's gonna sting like a ***** in the morning*, warn-growls she,
predator woman
(chimaera, monster she, sphinx)]
just ******* let me go and let's
(make this mess)
get this done
i can feel the words shriveling off before reaching my tongue
[i know the chase to you is foreplay but]
mercy! mercy! timeout!
--- has no one told you that it's ugly to play with your food?
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
She feeds on Fear.
Feeds on past insults and old rotten words.
Feeds on what ifs?
and “what can I get away with?”
Oh, she’s a clever one.
She can be a dragon and a terror,
but more often than not,
she’ll make herself real small,
like a tiny kitten.
Nibble away at all that is Good
without me noticing.
[Just call them love bites.]
Meows:
*“play with me,
play with me,
I need the attention
and you aren’t doing anything
Important
right now
If you love me,
play with me.
Make me purr.
Sure I scratch
but you don’t really
want me to leave.
Make me purr.
Sure I scratch
but no one will know the
difference.”*
Get her purring
and I am no longer
myself.
She is satisfied,
temporarily.
[Always temporarily.
She’s always hungry].
And me?
Who knows what I am,
when she’s in control,
except convinced
that I love poisoned claws
digging into my soul.
I’m used to her,
I love her,
I swear.
[I’m used to her.]
The thing about
Monsters
is that they can
shape shift.
This is no Disney movie,
no horror story,
no evil step-mother
to contend with
and vanquish.
A simple battle
between Good and Evil.
Monsters are not
black and white.
It’s all a mess of colors,
you see.
-
Maybe the monsters within
are not even truly
Bad.
Only:
*afraid,
hurt,
wounded
abandoned.*
Trauma’s
last defense
against all that
accumulated Hurt.
Maybe
the monster within
can be
tamed
disarmed,
declawed.
Turned back into
a kitten again.
Tough,
playful,
protective.
But not Destructive.
Not a Terror.
Not Deadly.
-
Don’t say for sure
that there are no monsters
lurking within you.
Mine are loud.
Yours might just be
dormant.
-
[Tell me about your monsters within.]
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
this must be how a tiger feels
declawed
staring through the glass of a cage
at children
pointing
and mothers
scolding
and lovers walking
handinhand
do they revel in their sadness
because i imagine
they sleep all day
for the same reasons that i do
because staring at people watching you
bask in your own misery is
tiring.
but i am not a tiger.
i am a sad sad girl
addicted to misery
eating her yogurt
imagining herself a predator
while wanting a doughnut
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
Rock hard abs exaggerated
Instead intoxicated
We're complicated
What a generation
Flawed and declawed
Don't complain we're not to blame
We're just entertained by the insane
The world we see is a nothing
Thanks for leaving us a something
We're weak yet you're unique
OK, remind me why the world is dying
Never mind I am ignorant, keep reminding me please
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
She was a barefoot singer
Her toes sliding
through the fine, cool earth
It was how she drew
from the spring of nature
She never could hit that high C
while wearing shoes
Their soles are blacker than ours
she used to say
Those ugly boots are cutting you off
she used to tell me
You'll never hit a high C
She sang and I played
I wore my shoes
And I let my hair grow long
My savage war paint
Smeared across my chest
under my shirt
Unknown to everyone but me
And her, she saw it too
We only played outside
The earth on her soles
The wind in my hair
The tortured animus of song
How those nights conspired against us
The natural warmth of audience and music
Our blighted bond, tenuous at best
Soared strong on those nights
A wind over the mountains
A wind that promised rain
Her voice was fragile
But also eerie in its gravitas
It commanded the respect
of the dead soldiers and sailors that came out for us
It made her younger
It declawed and dulled her fangs
I would sometimes cry
when she hit that high C
On our very last number
On the very last page
The fire would kick up
and my fingers would dance
And we both believed in the other
She in her naked earth
Me with my jaguar soul
Oh, how those nights
conspired against us
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
I’m always glad to hear your ***** is doing well. Their temperament is, as always, forever hard to tell. I heard that Mercy Lane had to have hers declawed. It scratched her over quite a bit and left her slightly flawed. All the things I know of friends fly from my mouth like birds, but idle gossip I should not spread when purpose steers my words. With weighted heart I tell you the reason that I write. The man she feared used tempered words and put her down tonight. I didn’t know my ***** was tame ‘til she laid heel for him. She rolled right ‘round under his palm and shocked me to the brim. Little more did I suspect that she would now submit, especially when his liquid voice just set her teeth to grit. He oozed some words and touched her sides and caused her eyes to glaze. Then, when we were both sound asleep, he shattered her to haze. It burst me out of all my dreams to find myself worn thin. Now I don’t know what to do without her in my skin. Tell me now, my dearest friend, what should I do hence? Should I let him have me too, or rise to her defense? The only problem seems to be I’m without her; she’s me.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 3:53 AM UTC
Cat fight, cat fight
Meow, meow
Cat fight, cat fight
On the prow
Can't hide from the scratches
Can't have them declawed
They fight in batches
The can't be outlawed
Cat fight, cat fight
Meow, meow
Cat fight, cat fight
On the prow
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Black diamond
Between two globes,
(A long lost map
Of forgotten spheres)
A darksome heaven
That has never seen
The sun.
And the ***** of your
Feet are the most beautiful
Things I’ve seen in years,
Declawed through
This year of purrs,
And all the miles
Of smiles
They’ve run.
(I prop you up with
The Dictionary Of Angels,
You look *******
Gorgeous on
Your back.
You’re so shy about
This effeminate pose
But love,
It doesn’t make you
Any less –
You don’t have to join
The circus
Or wax your crack)
I press my mouth
To feathers of tawny birds,
Fighting back the urge
To spell out words,
****
Cherub
***
Spit
Come
Pray
And instead just ram my tongue
Through the middle of everything
I want to say.
With one on you
And one on myself -
My hands are clockwork
Turning hard with the
Efforts of play.
You’re telling me
That if I stop
You’ll **** me,
And that’s fine -
I have never been so sure
Of my indestructability.
I won’t stop,
Not even when I’m
Right up there with God
Picking bits of our bomb-blown
Love affair from my hair,
I won’t stop
Even when my
Arm is aching
And my tongue is a
Tired red snail
(Your fingers bounce
Off the bed
And claw nothing,
As though the very air around
You is a jail)
I wanted you to
**** me
But that's not
Going to happen now,
So I move myself up
To the razzle dazzle
Of a dying candle
And milk marbles
Strike my eyebrow
(So I'm a fraction too late)
No matter,
I just **** down
Your perfect column
Of skin
And drink long and deep
Of the white,
And my head
And my heart
And your breathing
Are as slow
And as drunk
And as ageless
As gin.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
You need to be brave enough
To hold my hand
Even though haven't been declawed
You need to be strong enough
To lift me
Even though I carry heavy burdens
You need to be kind enough
To hold me
Even though I'm made out of shards of broken glass
You need to be tough enough
To be near me forever
Even though I am burning fire
Because love is impossible
But if you will be
All these impossibilities
I'll be all your impossibilities
Please repost if you want ti be someone's impossible
Please comment I love to read interpretations of my poetry
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
crusaders
christianized, zealous warmongers with ****** stains on stainless steel blades
hauling with them the great flapping insignias of royalty, emblems of their special heritage
disregarding the fact blood flows warm and fast all the same, nobody spared
familiar ties shattered over petty disputes of land and territory in the name of a great purpose
a great purpose disguising glory-seekers and painters whose favorite color is red
led by a massive snowy warhorse with crimson hooves and jet black beady eyes
old, worn, and of a raggedy golden mane forever worshipped
it is my fate to follow
(that’s what they tell me)
crusaders
biblical storytales springing to life as they gallivant across the country singing do-goods
while their actions connotate some great demon lurking about behind their holy words
valiant warriors in service to a mighty omnipresent deity watching woefully from above
as they unnecessarily **** innocents that they knew it was wrong to ******
blind belief is as alive as bloodlust to them, screaming their lungs out for the almighty
they are the salvation and the scourge, leeches of the land and lordly leaders for long
fearful eyes of aliens stare to the sky and grovel in a piteous attempt for mercy
he cannot condone this
(and that’s what they don’t)
crusaders
knights of cardboard armor and ironclad skulls falling by the thousands
yet they relentlessly hunt the enemy like predatory raptors of the past, voracious
not yet declawed or defanged as they are before the plastic wisdom of man claiming to be
the god of glory, gold, and gore; suddenly he is a savage ravager and avenger of the undead
men swear themselves to a cloaked idol in order to become accusers of the guilty
when the openness of perception may be all that is truly necessary
even kings are defenseless against the all-consuming force of religious blessing
how is it just?
crusaders
god’s greatest success
crusaders
god’s greatest regret
(am i both or neither?)
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
you are slender and sleek
your hair as black as night
and when you were smaller
you and teddy used to fight.
we named you after citrus
because you were so sweet
then you had a **** ton of kittens
which threw us off a beat.
I keep my door closed at night
so that you don't disturb me
and when you *** in my closet
It's pretty **** unerving
We really should get you declawed
sometimes you make us bleed
but if we have an infestation
you're the one we need.
One time we gave you the wrong food
not on purpose, i am sure
but then you farted in my face
and then you were abhorred.
I promise that i love you
even though you're such a ****
just because you're my cat
and i'll always be your nerd.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
As crepuscular embers fracture window panes,
The mind wares the solace of this paragon host.
Destitute, edentulous, declawed.
Is joy only to be found in the exchange of hands and throats?
And I took more than my fathers name;
I took his blood and his voice and his pain.
So what is it that separates?
Am I the emanation of original thought or am i just the sum of the harbingers' tale?
Am I never alone or am I bound to wade in the vapid wake?
"Could we be the limbs of a möbius soul?"
The panglossian being wonders.
And wanders.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
The beast inside,
Eating me alive.
Searching,
Burning,
Consuming my soul.
Begging for release
But, like a declawed cat
Unable to get free.
It planted a seed in the pits of my mind.
A request for help: for freedom.
But as the blood ran down my arms
And I put down the blade,
It decided the taste of my life was worth staying inside.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Tangled in yarn, he purred.
Like a kilowatt humming through the extension cord.
When he wasn't a blue cat, he was gray.
When he wasn't being played with, he was stray.
But his attitude made all the difference.
A rule of thumb for his mere existence.
"I think it's almost golden, no I know it's almost golden."
Color blind it was his silver lining.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
The hooks are gone,
A cat declawed,
Your memory, a diffused bomb
Existing in neither time or space,
Happy moments without a face,
All free to dance like marionettes.
And
Not even hearing that old tune,
Or seeing you across the room,
Could pluck these heart-strings
to make me swoon
Nor the way you make me laugh,
As we joke about times past,
Could move my heart
to break its fast.
Not even when you've gone,
And your scent still lingers on,
Would I wish you'd pressed your luck...
Oh ****
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Just in case you
couldn't
guess, it's not a
a fair fight
or a level
playing field.
It's you with
boxing gloves
and them with
machine guns.
It's Van Gogh
throwing his paintings
out the window
to stop the hecklers.
It's Janis falling
down
the stairs, lonely
and
broken
looking for love.
It's Morrison seeing
the game for
what it was,
wanting to disappear
in France and
write poetry,
then dying in a
bathtub with a
witch in the wings.
It's morphine dreams
and thorazine days.
It's the tiger
declawed and lobotomized
at the zoo.
It's the lobster
cursed with
precious meat.
It's the statue of liberty,
burning her bra
and impaling
working class men with
her stiletto heels.
It's Gogol
dying after a
prolonged fast,
because a charlatan
told him
it was evil.
It's the elephant
domesticated by
the cage, but
still dreaming of
the Serengeti.
It's the dolphin in
a Hollywood
swimming pool,
a shark in your
coffee cup;
it's the criminality
of releasing the insane
from their cages to
wander the streets of
Santa Barbara.
It's pathetic and putrid,
a setup up;
the perfect tragedy;
a crime that goes beyond
denunciation.
It's what they will continue
to do to
you and me
until someone or something
intervenes.
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
Partners
no crime,
innocents,
time served deserves
an extension
we pretend that others do not exist,
stare our way through each day
until we get home and
then it's the telephone and
the world is okay
but
I take a ride in the landau
listen to
Spandau
ballet
really?
yes,
it's just a matter of no fact at all.
Walk tall, mum said, as I hid under the bed,
always monsters to fight
wrongs to fix,
right?
nearly midnight and no Oasis
what's this,
music of the solo mind?
Walkman no talk man makes
Jack a bull dog or something
that hides in dark corners.
Still dozing my way through the
thoughts and each day
I am dozing
some more,
it's slightly not keyed in
the code is not right
the dots don't line up
or
it could be my eyesight.
'if you haven't got a penny a halfpenny will do'
then they decimalised the system and the
scheme fell through,
what about you?
do you collect stamps?
get cramps?
forget your name?
I am one of the same among many
cloned,
declawed even as I roared
my defiance and we should not
place any reliance on the material things
nor spirituality
punctuality
or any eventuality that eventually
will occur
share nothing
even thoughts have shadows that
show up in ultra violet light
wrong or am I right?
This is broadcast by the
'last of the Mohicans',
'should have kept my hair on,
white eyes speaks with forked tongue,
bet he
eats his peas with it'
thank God for madness
she is
the mistress of sanity
and
the goddess of poetry.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
On having a secret mother
the boy is lacing up his right shoe
when he sees
the string
tied
to his middle
finger
and wonders
how asleep he was
when it happened-
(being forgotten
is a lot like
being forgotten
by) harm, that purple balloon
lowered into
then surrounded
by
the inactive
construction site
of the world
On my father being gay
so you know
what it is
you have
(felt,
there is)
an emoticon
at the end
of this
book
On suicide
you are further than I
in your worship
of the slow
vehicle
that carries
praise
back and forth
from appearing
to reappearing
god (how else)
to bully
what would
wipe you
clean
of body
language…
On foreclosure
any chance, no,
of improving
upon
my impression
of god.
noises beneath a bomb or bomb
threat.
wheelbarrows, wagons.
the occasional declawed cat
past which
I make
like I am
rowing.
(in wheelbarrow) (in wagon) otherwise,
no cats
on cat
island.
On libido
the previous verse was a poor man’s bible. like wildfire a fondness for appropriate discipline spreads. one scarecrow means practice, two scarecrows mean parentage. a third is your father’s failed garden of baby teeth. is, by definition, is. I are
motherless. what mother doesn’t know doesn’t worry. many spiders came on the wind and a few were swept into mouths briefly opened by age. what made woman did not make the disappearing girl. flashing back to a scene that’s not there or forward to one dependent on space, pain arrives
in memoriam.
On memory
for all the showing, one would think the only things born were eyes.
when lord
says
or lords
say
this is the body
I tend
in unison
to trail
behind
my voice
as if
I could make my own
remember the anesthesia
it underwent
to intervene.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
momma always said that life on the farm wasn't always stingy she said the birds were chirping Roman numerals and the bees buzzed the alphabet sometimes
daddy always said momma's knees were full of salt because grandad made her kneel
momma said childhood was rough once grandad knocked the hummingbirds out with morphine and daddy had to peel their feathers off
sometimes momma would have a seizure and start sputting out random stories that she would remember and then we would go have to quiet her down and bring her to bed
the one story she never tells is the story about me - how I broke her vase
that barnacle was so delicate it cracked when I put too much salt in it
momma heard the wrong bedtime story once and ripped her seed-filled bible in half
she said god gave her a vision and finally tore the dream catcher I have above my bed to see the trains I stuck in my head
she never knew I could be the little girl dreamin of covering her next lover in salt
and the little girl screaming in the crazy box when she had to put miss instead of sir
now momma always said that I would be her little girl but momma never said she would always treat me the same
momma threw a knife at me and said girls belong in the kitchen
momma striped my room clean and said decorations weren't manly
momma yanked my clothes off and pointed to my chest "these aren't supposed to be here"
now daddy always stuck up for me but this point I wasn't daddy's little girl - I was momma's little reject
now momma lost her mind when she found out uncle shared the same name as me
momma threw the cat tails at me and threw me out
momma ripped my life apart and said I was at fault
momma was weeping with the pigs and shot the dogs heart out
momma scratched herself up and declawed the horses
momma went headless with the chickens and skinned herself with salt
momma calmed down when we tied bricks to her feet and dumped her in the river for a bit
now she sits in her rocking chair on the porch, picking out dead flies stuck in honey
every now and then she gets bit and feels a sense of reality
she doesn't talk much anymore so I just stuck the tongue back in my hat
thought a country girl would've been good enough for the folks back home
spent the nights carving in the trees together
sticking wheat in her teeth
and she shoved grass down my throat just to keep me quiet
momma saw me filling my lovers mouth with a tongue and yanked me by my hair
dragged me all the way down the dirt road
momma didn't flinch and quickly had my mouth washed out with salt
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
Compelled to fight *****
in attempts to stay clean
The shadows conscripted,
clandestine and mean
Surprise as an ally,
you stalk and you spy
To vanquish the monster
—declawed and defied
(Villanova Chapel: December, 2021)
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 11:30 AM UTC