"playbill" poems
Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
Joy is David Bowie blaring on my record player. Show tunes pouring from my speakers and my lungs. Dancing to Come on Eileen at two a.m. Getting lost in a library. How I revert to being seven every time I go to Disney World. Happiness is when my fan mail reaches my favorite broadway star and they send me a signed playbill. Breakfast for dinner. Giving to someone and asking nothing in return. Knowing every word to my favorite films. Learning new things and discovering old things. Kitty paws and fuzzy cat bellies. Getting packages in the mail. Beauty is in an old book that's been worn with someone's love of it's story. Strangers who smile at you. People talking about their passions. Museums. Owls in flight that look like mystical creatures. Fairy tales and the people who believe in them.
There's so much to smile about.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
I tried to smudge your name out of the
playbill of my life, but I couldn't. Somehow,
I'd convinced everyone around me, and even myself,
at some points, that you were nothing but a mere what-if
in my life of absolutes, and I didn't miss you.
Of course, day in and day out, words and lines for unwritten poems
would submerge my thoughts deep in murky, unfiltered tubs of
darkness, and I'd find myself haunted by your existence.
I tried to get over you, but I'm a poet, and the fact
of the matter is that poets don't get over much of anything. So
I'm sorry for this facade that I've so grudgingly constructed,
but I've never been too good at saying goodbye...
..or sorry, for that matter.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
PlayBill
You left me heart in hand at the alter,
disappeared without so much as a word, nothing except the coldest shoulder.
While not even given any single
ounce of closure,
I lost it,
I lost my mind along with my composure.
Became a recluse, a pessimist, began living life like a lone wolf avoiding any and all human contact norms,
being sought out to be some type of mean spirited misanthrope.
But what more was I presumed to be,
I was living a life of misery without any real company.
Therefore not even my misery had anything to love, I was just empty and numb.
I was angry, furious, outraged.
I knew better,
but I still let u get the better of me as u left me with the absolute worst inside of me while you were just so sketchy about it and vague.
The world is nothing but a stage,
and I was second leading role with you playing first as I was just along for the ride paved with chaos and havoc down the line of intersections consisting of deceit and defeat where u crashed the car at a point in time, which by then we were just too far, and u had somehow put on the performance of a lifetime.
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 5:06 PM UTC
Let us tell you of our adventure, they said.
Of war and all its horrors we've seen.
Dying dough boys screamed and moaned as they bled.
And the flash of mortar fire would glean,
displaying his numbers on our surface,
and the terracotta blood and drab green.
We are just a playbill for Satan's circus,
with no part lest our roll is through,
or did not perish in his wicked furnace.
And now, retired, no more to do.
But handed down to next of kin
til now I tell this story to you.
We are not just made of tin,
so many tales lay deep within.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
It rings in my ears
as I see your pictures displayed on my screen
It rings in my heart
as I see your name displayed on that playbill
It resounds in my soul
as I feel my eyes water with tears
It feeds into my mind
as I cry over you and your return to music.
I would have never thought, almost two years later
that your name would still be on my lips
I would have never thought, almost two years later
that your voice would still be in my mind
I would have never thought, almost two years later
that your voice would be back on the stage
And yet, I see your name there and I weep for joy.
I weep because I was afraid I had ripped music
away from your life
I weep because it is not the case any longer
I weep because I know you are over me
I weep because you are happy and I am not.
I hear your song, forever imprinted
I feel your body, forever felt.
I feel your soul pushing farther and farther away
Scrambling, fighting, resisting my call...
My call for another chance, for a seventh one, for an eighth
or however many I have begged for again
and again.
I weep because I know you will never see this
I weep because your love is gone
and my heart is empty.
As empty as the ski slopes early in the morning
As empty as the theater after the show
As empty as the alleyway where we parked the car
As empty as your home when all were gone
As empty as the roads, when they were covered in snow
As empty as our beer glasses
As empty as our summer days
As empty as those hours on skype when I was asleep
As empty as my promises to you
As empty as my promises to you
As empty as my promises to you
As empty as my promises to you.
Empty.
Empty.
Empathy.
Never.
Felt.
"I can't do this anymore"
I hear.
"I can't handle this."
"I'm sorry."
Empty.
Empty. Empty.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
I wish I could fix you.
I wish I could smooth all of your worry wrinkles.
I wish I could tell you that everything will be ok, and actually mean it.
But the secrets of your sadness are deeper than I have ever known and I can't fix it.
You are the only hope I have ever lost, the only need I always refused and the only soul i have ever rejected.
Too much of you has withered away.
When we speak, our words are only those of distance. Desperately searching for conversation.
Have I never known you because your face is not one of a mothers, but a sad and broken stranger.
I can not fix you.
But you said that i was the one that needed fixing.
So what if none of this was real.
& the only standing truth was every word you ever said.
Every letter was my contradiction.
& every day was my false fantasy.
This pit I've crafted so perfectly was nothing but curtains and cotton ball clouds.
This was only a script I've memorized a thousand times.
& behind it all was the dream you've always vowed.
But that's not it.
Because the playbill says that you were cast to fool the crowd.
Unfortunately, the fabric of your costume can not withstand your fables.
I did anything i could to see those lips move to the shape of a crescent moon.
To watch the color of your pale skin turn blush. To keep your secret safe.
I breathed every ounce of air I had into those shriveled lungs.
I did everything I could to fix you.
But I, can not fix you.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
I've got three steel pennies on my table and a half dollar in my pocket
I've got a Phantom of the Opera music box on display and a replica lightsaber hidden away
I've got a stack of comic books on my dresser and a few more on the way
These are among my prized possessions
But none compare in value to what I've got for you
I've got my ticket to American Idiot on Broadway and a signed playbill and iPod
I've got signed coppies of Under the Influence by Straight No Chaser and The Warblers CD
But none of these compare in value to what I've got for you
I've got it bad and I've got it in excess
It's overflowing and I'm a mess
What have i got for you
I'll tell you now
I've got nothing but love, Red,
And it's all for you
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
Burdened hands
with bird in hand
burn in demand
to burgeon man
he lays still
reading the playbill
drinking his DayQuill
unable to change will
burdened hands crave ****
burdened mind shame filled
burdened time grave hill
burdensome brains spill.
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 5:57 PM UTC
Keep looking you might find something that will leave you unsettled.
A text, a photo, perhaps even a letter.
False promises, empty proclamations, a hollow vow to do better
Lies, craziness, a truly pointless endeavor.
Keep convincing me of what I already know. We're broken, we shattered and I don't much care whose at fault.
He's in my heart, she's in your vault.
"We'd be better friends than partners." You've often exclaimed.
You offer to share equally yet its me holding the majority of blame.
That's really not true, its not how I feel.
You ruined us.
You're the one who broke the deal.
Flattened the wheel
Flat tired the heel
Threw up the Happy Meal
Slipped on the banana peel
Tangled the fishing reel
Ripped apart the seal
Ordered the Veal
I'm at a standstill
I need to get off of the treadmill
My world has gone downhill
I'm an actress in my own life
see the playbill.
I play the role of an imbecile
You lay on our bed, sharing photos of your ****
honestly, I don't care you've become quite the *****
Alcoholic
You're really quite sick
No flame, no wick
No tock for my tick
You think your slick?
It's actually quite pathetic
tragic, chaotic
It's become my epidemic.
I don't hear any music
I don't feel very poetic
I just feel you're a brick
leaving me frantic
and even worse
so very very very heartsick.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
i.
one can write
must
write
in a vacuum
but read, no.
many have this backward.
ii.
the winners
of new
essential
fiction.com
win
what is still
a bible.
iii.
the marks on my daughter’s pencil…
oh, thinking
is a pain. I am thinking
of biting
her ears
when I am given
a branch.
iv.
be afraid.
the most horrible fish
has yet
to walk
from the ocean.
v.
time was here
when I arrived
but hadn’t
eaten
vi.
once okay
the soul was
with being
a copy
vii.
in heyday
of health
the infant
weighs
as much
as a bag
of ice.
here, a bath is drawn
for the burned
in effigy.
viii.
mother & father
if you want to help
there are two
images
left
ix.
on the playbill
I recognize
virginity
as the inheritance
of Jesus
x.
let me believe I can crush my shadow.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
I'm a slave to the words
A marionette in the music
As I'm assuaged I've moved on
Muscle memory's proven
I can pick up the patern
Feel its reverberating sound
Emotions heightnened, rising action
Then I collapse to the ground
I hoped I wouldn't have to
Ever again play my part
But my name's in the playbill
I know the motions by heart
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC
I know it's early to judge
but this lifetime seems to be
the one
where I get to meet all the past loves
losts foes
in once and all, it's like a
curtain call
one walks in, we clap
next!
wait I didn't quite-
next!
repeat that please I'm not over yet
there must've been a story
and behind each, many
but I fell asleep and I forgot
for me it's this one night
one night only
plot? only bows and poses
and when I'm lucky, a brief glimpse
of what could have been
can be seen behind the red velvet
I throw roses, try to catch a glance
a home
anything but a dead end
but it's not meant to be, no room for
not this time around
"partner in crime"
"twin flames"
all or nothing, told the Playbill
I miss you i miss you you you all still
"best friend"
"soulmates"
yesterday left the last train for closure
need to wait two light years more for our future
for the price of you all it all just
breaks "This must be fate"
"I get you"
and the play is through
I know we've done this before
cheers!
the last bow leads to a
roaring applause
I get my heart signed after the show
it too plays its part
knows it's not enough
and I too know, I know
lights out
end this round I want to go home
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 8:56 PM UTC
“May the road rise to meet your feet”
And it did
well worn pavement surging to
Catch our shoes.
We ran through the masses, playing tag with our dreams
Buildings rising high enough to scrape heaven, theaters
Big enough to catch stars.
Lives flying by in a passing Taxi
Millions of stories waiting to unfold straight up into the sky
Step into one world
Or another
Find your future on the the city streets
A ticket in a crosswalk
A playbill in an unattended bike basket
The velvet curtains are thick and heavy enough to silence
Your insecurities
The stage lights are bright enough to blind your fears
The orchestra is loud enough to deafen your critics.
The Overture ends
And the rest of your life begins
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC