"playdate" poems
A booth Made out of Fed-Ex blocks
Tongue depressors Still lingering with the taste of fudgesicle
Diagnoses Of cat-scratch fever
Of applesauce flu
Of –itises and –idias
One end of a jumprope
Held to one ear
And the other
Tracking the thump of a human heart
When the only illnesses
Were those of a sun-spent day
And playdate fatigue
We were all doctors
We could all
Save
Lives…
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
Criss cross applesauce
we sit without a care
your fingers smell of cookies
though your hands have played in dirt
i think of you this day
as it pours His chilling rain
and wonder when the sun will show
so we can meet again
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
he always calls me by my given name
whenever he finds himself back in town;
mariela on the dotted line,
mari in the moonlight.
ella if he's feeling smug,
bunny when he's looking for God.
he knows my history is shaded with blue,
marred by narrowly-won home-front wars.
everything about me reminds him
of Heaven and sweet, honeyed beaches.
sandy cheeks from moonbathing, ****
by clyde's stagecoach motel on the coast.
barefoot and manic, he tastes like sugar
and complements the *** on my tongue.
green-eyed with envy, but he's sweet
enough to make my mind grow hazy
with the lust of a woman gone mad from her fears.
he rolls through on the tail-end of a storm
and dizzies me until the dream ends
and i find he's left me only morning dew.
he tells me i'm an angel, lazily smoking
cigarettes while he lounges, gloomy, by the pool.
sunshine bikini singing sailor songs softly,
cool in my gold hoops dancing between
his open thighs, signaling gamine doom.
he's larger than life, starry-eyed,
reading me poetry against his olive chest.
i could die here, i know this, listening
to the gentle tune of his heartbeat.
he tells me he'll love me only until tomorrow,
but i'm not so sure that's the truth.
when the playdate ends,
when the sun dies slow,
when my love goes home
i'll awaken,
but not just yet.
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 10:31 PM UTC
I grew up with God in the wind,
and didn't fit in with Christian friends.
They told me stories and begged me to repent.
Though doubtful, my anxiety sparked at the thought of sin.
I was once on a playdate and the mother told me.
She disowned her best friend when she confessed she was a lesbian.
She told me she could only take her back if she came to her senses.
It made me feel sad and sick, with little sympathy for the protagonist.
I was once told by a good friend that no one is bisexual, of course they're just confused.
I knew who I was but I didn't say anything in rebuttal.
I just nodded my head and took the bruise.
Once after jokingly seeing my boyfriend and another male friend hold hands, my mother told me "how dare those ******* disrespect you like that."
It was a moment that shattered glass and left scars.
I managed an apology after too much effort.
My stepfather once told me that gender fluidity was a confused phase, and a fad for attention.
Walls were put up and notes were taken.
Doors remained closed and silence prevailed.
I am complicated.
I blend in to "normal"
I feel guilty at times and don't feel honest.
I undervalue, perhaps, the benefit of looping everyone in.
Or, perhaps, I'm just keeping the peace and heeding warning signals.
I can say for certain, it's not a fad nor phase.
I've always been who I am, I just had to grow up in order to phrase it.
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 12:10 AM UTC
I seen nim again that sad looking man...
He stared at me with wonder....
Or was it disgust i cannot tell....
Maybe he should clean up...
The world will hate him less....
And a brushing of teeth will allow him to get close....
Looks like he has enough barriers...
He is not the suitable shade of accepted...
His tattoos make him a dangerous felon....
The lost look in his eyes means he cant be trusted....
If the rest of the world could see what i see......
That he tries harder and harder everyday....
Because his daughters names are tattooed on his neck.....
They are the reason hes tired...
14 hr days leave every late night worth it...
Because a midnite playdate is his only reward....
A lonely soul who recently lost his mom.... his dad....
And how a friend may be all he needs....
But burying his last one four yrs ago has made him scared.......
Now he is facing a world without any back up......
He is the only protection for a family that means everything....
And has a girl who maKes him feel like nothing....
Someday i hope to not see him so down....
But as smile at him...
I realize this whole time...
That sad man in the mirror is actually me....
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
Bad Morning, long time no see, wish it had stayed that way.
It's **** to see you.
I don't give a monkeys how you are.
And as for your wife and kids, I never liked her, and they were always horrible to mine.
Got to go? Thank God for that.
Be careless,
With any luck I won't bump into you again for a long, long time. Please don't call.
I can't think of a single nice thing to say to you, and it would be awkward as hell.
I don't want you knowing anything about my life.
Good morning, long time no see!
It's great to see you!
How are you?
How's Sally, Joe and Sam? We should set up that playdate, it's been awhile.
Oh, you're in a rush? That's a shame, never mind.
Take care,
Hope to see you soon - call me!
It would be so great to get the chance to have a proper chat.
I've so much to tell you.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
I search for the arms
of strangers,
of friends,
of my family.
People pass by me
and their eyes drop
to my arms
before they meet
my face again.
They found a woman's body
hands, feet and face
burned. Naked
tossed into the woods.
Her killer
still unidentified.
They asked for tips.
She struggled
they said,
her violator may have been wounded.
Scratches and bruises may still be visible
on the forearms of her attacker.
So I find myself
staring down
at the pale arms
of men,
of the unkempt elderly man at Honey Farms,
of the teenage gas attendant who never quite
meets my eyes,
but also
at the father of my daughter's afternoon playdate,
the teenage sons of my neighbors
and at an evening barbecue, my own father,
questioning against doubt
what they are capable of.
And when I am alone,
even though I know,
in the mornings
I look down
at my own arms
unmarked.
And still, I check
twice.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
My face is ******
Because I've been picking at it
don't worry I've felt worse pain
and if I had to I'd pick it off again it'd be no big deal
I'm sure it soon will heal
While I'm sitting in this room
And wearing this silly costume
I smear my blood all over the tile floors and on the door
Miss Monah
Took me from
My insanity safe House
So I make a mess
And tear up this dress to make her feel a little more stressed
I told the woman Monah with one eye that I didn't need a babysitter
I asked her to reconsider
Maybe we can just play
But she is stuck not in control
She said it's nothing personal
That some man with toys has sent her
She told me he wants a playdate
So to put me out of my misery she's going to have to **** me
"Toyman knows where girlys go"
She said with a crooked smile all while holding that axe
Her ****** mouth curved up a little more and she screamed
"You didn't check on the child!" right before the blow found it's target a man opened the door could it be
Is that the toyman I see
Will he stop miss Monah from killing me
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
We break from these dreams without thought
"we can do anything," we cry
kicked in the back of the knees.
The bruises never show, but
we might hold out just a little bit more
might take things a little more slowly this time.
If all is well and calculated,
then aren't our errors just an altered path?
You see me as a stick figure,
another character that wanders by
familiar in my distance
safe in my unchanging rhythms.
But to each their own, I suppose;
we find meaning in whatever comfort we choose;
security blankets our minds and our homes
but I've run my fair number of red lights,
I've done things I'm not proud of.
You set straight lines around the things that I do and say;
when walls break down, you always ask why they failed,
never how to build them stronger.
And I am tired of this empty playdate
with the idea of "goodness" and "virtue"
I pick up the phone but your line is dead;
I continue to be a stick figure.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 7:47 PM UTC
The seedy ****** here were ungrateful, hateful
With my giving loving rainbow drops
Now I know the ugly huminz need mustard seed facefulls
To plug their noisy orifices up
Good thing I'm not into sinus ****
At least, not yet
Do better, stupid humins
Or you'll come to know the taste of de luge
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
My mouth's a myth magician,
but my eyes can't tell lies,
lie to me and tell me you
believe me when I tell you
I am fine...
What am I supposed to tell you,
what am I supposed to say?
On the positive side,
I didn't ache the same way,
but on the negative,
I'm sure I've lost you again,
meaning that you losing me
could be the beginning of you
finding your meaning
without me there;
Okay, Friend?
You may not gamble
with my feelings,
you may not place a bet
on my love because
I bet my love will go extinct
if you do not water me.
I don't want to be your playdate,
I don't want you
to ruin my mixtape,
I want to keep my engine running,
and my body fueled,
my stomach can do
without the abuse
Because it has confused
you for food and I can't eat,
without thinking that I've
mistaken you for a flower,
and am now chewing
on the thorns,
I don't want to be your friend,
I want to poke you inside and out,
I want to cause goosebumps
to crawl all over your skin,
and I don't ever want to
breathe you out, I want
to breathe you in,
right now, is that a sin?
"There are other fish in the sea"
but my fishing line
goes straight through,
never picking left or right,
there are no other fish in sight...
So I'll keep swimming,
I'll leave you behind on the shore,
and there you'll be safe,
and faraway, I'll be okay.
Okay, Friend?
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
run your finger across my teeth,
you wicked child
call me in the morning,
call me in the evening
probably making the same mistakes
again and again and again
mistakes are making us
again and again and again
we're the cards nobody wants
take us out of the stack
so we can have that playdate
-c.j.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
I wanted promise houses built of hay.
I knew those chocolate hearts were poisoned but I ate them just the same.
I thank you. Your absence breaks my character. I can now rebuild.
Your silence fills my heart with questions and the only answer that seems to quiet it down is: love (as cliche as that may sound.)
I've remembered that love is best when it is mirrored; now, the only one I'm smiling into is the one inside my bathroom.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
I'm sitting at a stop sign with my tongue tied & my brain fried,
oozy sunny-side-up on the pavement
they tell me "look at the bright side" as if the sun could talk,
but no, I'm shooting blanks
on a half-tank of chemical reuptake;
here's a mouthful of soap, keep your insides clean
stuff a drawer with hope for the rainy days;
'cause we worship the heat like we're trying to get cancer,
I'll spill from my lips what I don't want to eat,
and worship every dancer for a flaw that knows them better;
insert needles into inked-up skin, then burn out every letter,
we'll burn that bridge when we get there,
make it a public monument
picking pennies out of muddy boot-prints,
but **** it, if the shoe fits
keep your luck in a jar so it can't run out like your bank account,
resuscitate me in a desert so I can get used to the drought;
& we've all got a cutscene we'd rather not talk about
so here's the uncensored take,
after I spoon-feed you the low-stakes version
(try not to choke)
this is every mistake on a half-tank of reuptake
try to fill up your plate while your bank goes for broke;
take it up a notch and watch me free-fall down the ropes
while you climb the ladder with 5 dead bodies and a *** tape,
call it a playdate with fate
& see how long the relapse takes
after your firewall fills with smoke.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC
Im trapped in a world
completely fake
but hey, its a pretty place
with oceans fars the eye can see
but there to many people drowning
screaming, frowning
I guess not all of us can swim
or there being pulled down from sin
want as much as you can take
I only wish this world was really fake
six feet below the ground
its our fate
wish this was fake
but hey lets have a happy
unhappy playdate
sit on the beach
building our castles
just for the ocean to knock it down
I guess the sharks
wear the crown
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
You, the living soul,
Today, you might be feeling down
Because you have missed a plan,
Like a playdate with loved one
Or a walk on a shoreline.
But don't harden yourself, too much
For in your memories,
A loved one, forever lives
Thus, cherish all you both have had shared
With the joyous love as you both cared.
Till that fine day blinks,
and you both meet again
No tears shall fall from your eyes
And wet the cheeks,
your beloved one kissed
Nor your face should be glommed,
and covered with any pain
For in moaning and sadness,
life's just plain.
So, be cheerful and imagine
how you have loved and
you were too loved back
And having shared those memories,
you must've been blessed
Thus, don't paint
the rainbow memories
any gray or black.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC