"puffy" poems
how do you stop your throat from burning
from salty tear-stained gulps and gasps
for oxygen that is no longer there?
there is too much carbon dioxide in the air now
and i want to fast forward into a world
where i can breathe in sweet helium
and ask for it to stop.
because there are times
when it's impossible to breathe
and when my puffy red eyes
can't open more than a millimeter
because you have glued them shut
with your accusations.
i didn't want to be gas station concrete any longer
i didn't want dirtiness to be my middle name
i only wanted to cleanse myself of you and your fists,
you and your laughter
you and your hatred.
i wanted to be clean.
(a.m.c.)
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Sandman comes 'n starts t' raise
Golden dunes o' fairy land
A world o' dreams ahead now lays
Come on lovely close yer eyes, 'n
By th' gods o' sea 'n sky
Start 'n sail on puffy clouds,
'n with them green 'n pretty eyes
Steer yerself t' cotton grounds,
Dream o' love 'n joy 'n sea
Made o' liquid silk 'n gold,
As a cap'n ye shall be
Sailing in th' Nevertold,
Hoist yer colours in th' blue
'n trust th' heart t' point the way,
Ye be sailing straight 'n true
T' th' port o' Dreamland Bay.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
I've been tired lately,
When I'm tired it shows up on my face,
And in my body language,
Like a bold flashing sign,
Topped with puffy eyes and weak shoulders,
I've been fighting lately,
With the world and with other people,
To be recognized for who I am now,
Not what I did before,
And I've been fighting with her too,
The old, younger me,
Caught up in her surroundings,
Too focused on what went wrong,
Never looking forward and so never moving on,
Who just wouldn't let up on me,
"You're not good enough,"
I know that,
"You're not good enough,"
Okay I know that, but,
"You're not good enough."
Well you know what?
That's not good enough.
I can't use that,
There is no benefit to that kind of thinking,
Fear of rejection,
Fear of success,
Those are not good enough reasons to keep me in critical condition,
Self-loathing is not good enough for me.
It's not good enough for anybody.
"You're not good enough."
Says who?
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Try not to think about it
Shove it down ....way down
Don't show it
Its bubbling up, it wants to escape
I don't know how long I can hold it
I'm not that strong
I want control over it
But it consumes me
I am it
And it is me
I wasn't always this way with it
I never would shove it down
Until one day I was mocked for showing it
I was told I was weak
Because everyone has it ... and they can control it
Its all in your head , your a cry baby
I believed it
Why couldn't I control it ?
Next time I'll try my best
But I feel it again....its about to escape
I can't let it
I try shoving it down ....way down
But that doesn't stop it
Now its flowing out of me like water
I need to stop it
I run to my room , lock the door,shut off my phone
So no one can see it
I look in the mirror
Puffy face and bloodshot eyes are the result of it
I sit in front of my fan
The cool air dries it
I sit until all the evidence is gone
Until I can walk out of my room and deny it
I have to ... I'm not a cry baby
I can do this
I am it
And it is me
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth
plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back
now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?
who needs a screwdriver
without a *****
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
Please Don't Touch My Hair.
It's amazing,
It's beautiful,
Maybe its the first time you'll see;
Hair so dark and 'puffy'
As the hair God gave to me.
But my hair is not a commodity;
A thing for you to gather round and see.
It is not something I pull out once a while
Just so you can take a peek.
Please Don't Touch My Hair.
Don't run your hands through it,
Don't ask me why it act's like that,
Don't ask me if you can pull it,
Don't pet me like I'm your cat.
Don't touch it without asking,
And worst of all ask and not wait,
Are your manners really that lacking?
Please Don't Touch My Hair.
Don't stare like I am some exhibit
Brought for you from far away,
Don't mock the way it looks on me
Don't say 'I don't like the way it looks today'.
It's My hair
On MY head,
So don't you even dare.
You're not the one that spends hours
Looking after my luscious hair.
Please Don't Touch My Hair.
Because many years ago
My ancestors were put in zoos
So people like you could know
How our hair felt, and our skin looked
Instead of just seeing old photos.
As if we were not human beings
With minds, and hearts and souls.
So my hair is not on display
For your viewing pleasure,
My hair is on my head for ME
And it has worth that you can never measure.
It represents Who I Am
My Tribe, My Land, My Culture.
So don't hover around with oily hands
Like a flock of curious vultures.
So for the love of all that I know
Please DO NOT TOUCH MY HAIR.
And don't ask me why you can't,
Don't say it isn't fair.
Because would I walk up to a stranger
And ask, only to receive a no
Then go on and touch it anyway?
...I didn't think so.
Please Don't Touch My Hair.
This is the last time I'll say it,
I cannot be silent any longer
I will not tolerate it.
I've given it all I can
I have been very patient
But I will not let this continue
This I will not permit.
If you say you are my friend
You will respect this
Its My Hair, on My Head
And that's all there is to it.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
We could scale
snow capped mountains
or tiled rooftops
We could stroll
the halls of grand art galleries
or the city's graffiti stained alleys
We could sip
wine from elegant glass goblets
or instant coffee from chipped cups
We could watch
gala operas and musicals at the amphitheater
or puffy clouds as they float by in the sky
We could look
up to the vast galaxy and its starlight
or down to the metro's sleepless city lights
We could listen
to loud pulsing rhythms at a concert
or to the steady beats of each others hearts
We could go
and roam the world all day
or just stay in each others arms all night.
I can't care less
on what we could do.
Every moment would be
Fun,
Adventurous,
Exciting,
Marvelous
Grand, and
Breathtaking
As long as you are with me
and I am with you.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
The smoke traveled through my throat all the way to my lungs.
With cloudy thoughts and smelly clothes
I sat on the back row.
Teachers and classmates wonder alike.
I wish I could push the smell inside my Hello Kitty backpack
But I cannot, so instead, I pull myself aside.
I keep telling mommy to quit.
But does she listen? I wish she did.
A couple of years later I discovered a marvelous thing!
Although I had promised myself I would never touch a cigarette, I do.
It happened in the backyard where my volleyball fell.
I simply bent down and picked up a cigarette **** instead.
The skinny, now small cigarette- still blushing with mom’s lipstick.
I put it in my mouth, automatically.
Just how I’ve seen her do it millions of times.
I inhale and exhale my worries away and become my mom.
Next thing I know, the stench disappears
and it’s me who blows little puffy clouds
into my daughter’s mouth and lungs.
I pass the sickness on.
Later on we go visit Doctor Nguyen.
As we step inside, I can smell the infected air of the hospital’s hall.
And I know.
I know what the doctor will say.
While I see myself on my daughter’s head
I can hardly breathe.
I am choking with the smell of smoke,
The smell of sadness,
The smell of tears and of cancer.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
A picturesque sky hidden
behind apartments and trees.
Remind me of home,
the proverbial one I was born in
and seen twice.
Blue skies
as if painted onto a canvas
with puffy cotton ***** for clouds.
Cut up by the bland browns and reds
covering the buildings separated by soft hues
of greens and browns.
Ironically making
a skyline.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Smooth, silky hair tied in a high ponytail
Clear lip gloss
Fingernails painted pale pink
The perfect girl next door
Pastel cardigans and sweaters were her thing
Waking up with red, swollen, puffy eyes
Staring at her reflection in the mirror for hours
And reappearing fresh cuts on her wrist
Yet no one knew the blackness growing darker in her
What's done is done
No way to go back in time
A little attention would've been sufficient to stop it
But to be fair
She got it in the end
As her body laid on the ground
With blood gushing out of her hand
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Our home has an uneven foundation
The walls are crumbling and the support beams are rotting
And tonight, the roof finally caved in.
As my lungs filled with sawdust I covered my ears
I covered my eyes and hid from my fears
I didn’t wanna hear the screams or the tears,
I couldn’t bare to hear promises of suicide
And claims of pure hatred with a dash of cyanide
I couldn’t bare to see my home topple over
And I couldn’t bring myself to look at their hands bunched up into fists
They screamed until they couldn’t make a sound and I couldn’t deal
I couldn’t witness such a catastrophe without being scarred so I ran and I hid
I hid from their words and I hid from their lies
I hid until the worst of it was over
And then all was quiet.
When I opened my eyes, the walls were intact
The beams were solid, the floor was leveled
And everyone was smiling.
Their teeth were black with ash and soot
But they smiled wide, grinning ear to ear
And their voices were calm, the yelling had ceased
I uncovered my ears.
And though their mouths told one story
Their eyes told another
They were red and puffy, and I could see the pain that the damage caused
But they smiled on anyway
As did I.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC
For you
I will be the housewife
and obey
and put on my stained apron
with my weathered cracking hands
and cook
your meals hot
For you
I will be the mother
and tell our wonderful blessings
of the perfect man
I met
and how he
fixed me
For you
I will be the good daughter
and force a fake smile
when your mother tells you
that you could do better
For you
I will be the friend
and be your punching bag
in your drunken state
and forgive you
when you come too
For you
I will be the love of your life
and be with you
in all your hardships
and puffy eyes
that even I can’t understand
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
How do you explain that your bones are the coal used as breeding ground for a fire? How do you explain that there's a fire raging inside of you, setting every inch of your body and thoughts ablaze? Like a wildfire destroys the forest, this pain is knocking me down and smoldering me.
But how can you say you're in ashes when your body is unbruised?
No collapsed limbs, no heaving lungs, no unconscious mind -only puffy eyes and a tired tongue?
How do you explain that the tightness one gets in their throat upon hearing unexpectedly terrible news is a common feeling of yours - a side effect of the blood that runs through all of your veins? That even though you know you can do something, the words 'you physically cannot' are flooding your brain like a drug and poisoning every choice you try to make?
How do you explain that every move you make feels like walking on a tightrope that seems to never end. How each step sends a shiver down your spine; trying not to fall, trying to finish the task, trying to stop the anxiety -but you can never reach the end because your destination keeps switching from left to right despite the progress you've made.
How do you explain that you're dying when everyone see's you as perfectly alive?
NJ2016
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
at first i did not realize what you meant when you said 'i love you'.
i thought you'd said it because you knew just how vulnerable i was to you.
you knew what i felt was real. but what you did wasn't
you were hiding behind a mirror that only reflected the love i had for you.
the things that weren't really there.
i did love you
i shouldn't have
but i do not regret kissing you that night under the lamppost
and i do not regret staying in my room all day long with you
but i do regret that first kiss
by the ball field
the night you vowed you would never stop loving me. the night that i was truly undoubtedly beautiful to you
i felt that.
but now i feel nothing for you.
you were the closest thing I've felt to true love and definetly the closest to heartbreak.
for months i couldn't breathe
my eyes were the red of blood
my checks were puffy as clouds
my skin was salty and id lost all passion for mascara because it only seemed to run down my face within minutes of applying it.
i laid in bed nearly all day
i couldn't move or speak
you had shattered me
and here i am
being you're friend
watching you kiss her
watching you hold her hand and watching you love her.
but i don't feel pain anymore.
i feel something worse
i feel empty
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
Ye, champagne and roses,
A bag full of poses,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
From London to Denver,
you're glowing my ember,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I know that you're fluffy,
You're cute and you're puffy
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The sun is a-shining,
The silver a-lining,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The moon is a-gleaming
For you I’m now dreaming,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
So, come ye, and take me
For you will not fake me,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I love you, my kitten,
So put on your mitten,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 1:07 AM UTC
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
and all these years
they told you that heartbreak would be
not being able to do anything;
crying most of the days;
not being ok for a long time;
being able to hear the sound of your heart breaking;
'the heart break syndrome', they would say.
'time heals', everyone promised.
'this too shall pass', everyone whispered.
'it will strengthen you', they encouraged.
what they did not tell you
was that
heartbreak would make you do the unthinkable.
crying on your bathroom floor during shower.
muffling your crying on your pillow.
trying to explore yourself.
meditate, read books, watch movies, writing.
waking up with puffy eyes.
and have to go on like nothing happened.
lock yourself in your own room at night when you get home.
laying awake staring at the ceiling.
counting on what you did wrong.
replaying every scenes.
endless pool of tears -
those kind that make you really tired;
not the sleepy kind of tired,
but the 'God-please-end-this' kind of tired.
praying to God to please just end this
for you cannot take more pain.
asking God on what you had done wrong in life
to deserve this kind of pain.
do i even still believe in God?
they did not tell you that heartbreak
change your perspective in life.
that it would feel like you are suffocating;
unable to breath.
where is the air?
even when you sleep,
you wake up and dreaming about him again.
the desperation to end it;
that you would google
'how to deal with heartbreak'
or the desperation to ask people for help.
but you know it's useless
and you don't want to be a burden.
or when you hear others telling you about their relationship
and you can not even give them any advices anymore.
'i used to be so good at giving advices', you think to yourself.
but now not anymore.
they did not tell you that heartbreak
would make you numb
when you are surrounded by people.
the way you get yourself throughout the day
and do the daily routines
laughing,
do random things,
being weird;
'you are still the same old you even after all these things', they would say.
'no i'm not', you tell yourself.
even when your heart is broken
or the way
you would act like you had never got your heart broken
or the way
others would tell you their problems
and you have to act
like you are okay
and you have none
they did not tell you that heartbreak
would make you feel this useless
like how you suddenly think of
'i am so broken'
and yet you could not
even think
of telling anyone
because of how pointless it would be
'what's the use? they don't get it like i do', you would think.
they did not tell you that heartbreak
would take this long to heal
'time heals', i used to say
'this too shall pass', i used to tell my friend.
but now
i am not so sure anymore.
time heals, they say.
well, i'm still waiting for the time mine would heal
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
Don't love me for my picture perfect days
For that is not who I truly am
Don't love me for the days my hair looks flawless
For that isn't really me
Don't crave me for the days my makeup is done perfectly
For I am full of flaws
Love me for me
Love the me that has acne on her skin
And face wrinkles when she grins
And struggles to grow eyebrows
Love the me who's face goes puffy when she cries
And the me who has stretch marks on her thighs
Love the me that gets too emotional about her favourite films
Love the me that rolls out of bed in the morning, tired eyed, scattered hair and all
Love that me
For I am not my picture perfect days
I am a girl who's full of flaws
Love me that way and I will love you without pause
For I am perfect in my imperfect way
I hope you see my flaws and decide to stay
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
My cousin came to my house
And stayed after Thanksgiving
I thought that Thanksgiving food was enough
Boy, was I wrong.
He woke me up at noon
At noon.
Didn’t he know I had to sleep off the Thanksgiving meal?
And he said
As if I should have known.
Could you get me the cheeseburger pizza salad slice?
I replied, From where?
Who would have such a concoction?
But I knew him.
He would be the type
To ask for a cheesy gordita crunch taco from Burger King
And look at their confusion with his own puzzlement.
Then when they told him, we don’t serve that.
He would reply, It’s okay, I have the recipe
I can tell you how it is made.
So I get up and put on my coat.
And gloves.
Because I don’t want grease all over me
And start to walk.
And just my luck
The first snow of the season starts.
Not heavy enough for me to turn back
Just enough snow to turn it into an experience
That made me wish I would have slept upstairs
In the closet
So my cousin could not find me.
Its like the Making the Band 2 show
When Puff Daddy tells them
That he wants cheesecake in a different borough.
So I guess my cousin’s Puffy now.
He said he was into producing….
I get to the pizza place
And tell them what my cousin wants
But it took me three tries to get it all out.
They said, I’m sorry, but we don’t have the cheeseburger pizza salad slice
But we have the chicken pizza salad slice
I said Good enough
I’m sure my cousin would be happy
I would regret those words
I brought the pizza home.
And told him that I got it.
He seemed happy
Until he saw that the meat was chicken
Not cow.
He asked me
Had the audacity to ask
Couldn’t they remove the chicken
And put hamburger meat?
I tried to tell him, That is not how it works
They don’t respect your recipes
They have their own
What is the difference?
He then pointed at the pizza and said
Chicken goes on burgers
It does not go on pizza!
I was stunned into silence
By that logic
I don’t know how cheeseburger and pizza go together.
I told him I would eat it for lunch
So at least one of us was satisfied.
The other had his own ideas
But couldn’t find a store to cook them.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
On a tall glass
In quite a generous mass
Cold and fluffy,
Yet somehow warm and puffy
Some praline, and nuts
With fresh banana cuts
Sensationally sweet,
Capable of a marvelous feat
of filling a stranger full
Otherwise, he won't be in a mull
Or in a daze
Just take a look at him in that sugared haze
Whether it's strawberry or mango
Or an orange doing the tango
I'd just like to add
That we like to go mad
Or we'd go for a scream
Over something cold, called: ice cream
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
Gazing through the tallest
green nettles
I realized they do
not bite me
Cause it was not the day
for stings and aching
Cause i had the black
mountain boots
and a heart
on my
dim
dark
sport gown
My hands reached
upwards
the Heavens
towards
the white yello
Crown
of
Elder's Abundance
Where Scented Blossoms
Coloured my skin
And exposed my life lines
After
The coolest tangerine
Lemonade
I sat on the black soil
squished young grasses
and found the
tiniest
snail
baby
My palm was a giant Plato
For it's snailish leg
On the left one
he was without weight
portruding forth
to his destination
Is it possible that
his house was
3,5 mm
long
Isn't it cute
that when streched
was 7 mm
at lenght
Visible horns
like 1 mm
and half of it
The upper
The downward
Twotwo
Four
What are you looking at
My lines or me
If he climbs from my
left palm on the right one
It's ment to be
I'll visit the seaside
Fibbonacci House Spiralled
Inner layers with colours
outer still
and translucent
Is it possible
this tiny snail
thinks about me
It didn't work
It remained
on my heart's side
Then I moved this
cutest creature
on my right palm
Little little snail
you're not a match
to squeeze
From the right to the left
I thought to myself
he is she
i don't know
snail's so young
for sure it doesn't seek another snail
To cherrish and love
Yet
It
Climbed on my left thumb
Beautiful in motion
As a revolution
For better days
It is my heart's side
My vision became
Sharp
Clouds
Waffed all around on the deepest blue
White and puffy
Magickal
Metallic
Dragonfly
Emerged out of
Nowhere
Had landed on a spider web
cocoon
on the Verge
of Enchanted Forest
Where grave monument resides
Dragonfly
was in the air
the invisible wings fluttered
My sharp vision
focused on
another three
Blueish
camerades
They don't need los zapatos
They are not obsessed as
Imelda was
And i wasn't thinking
about that at all
This words are for you:
thank you for the music
but the dragonflies
buterflies I love
most.
They were near my
heart,
one caressed among
tall grasses
one butterfly
also
not in oslo
and
Fibbonnaci Friend
who gave me this
Sharp vision
To see the magic
revealing all
around.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I bent down to her ear and said
Thank you for all you’ve done
Not just for
NY
But for the World
She looked at me expressionless from her chair
I don’t think that she understood nor cared
Then I handed her a little
Bag
Containing two lipsticks
And two pencils
I think she threw the pencils on the floor and
Wondered aloud
Why was everyone giving her pencils?
She did not notice that of the two that I gave her
one was stamped in gold
With the one word
Hustler
And on the other, two
Strictly
Business
I made no suggestions nor references
I didn’t smirk
I must have appeared a bit sweet
A treacly aberration
It doesn’t matter
I had selected two perfect reds in LA
One a bit more blue
and one
a classic vampish carmine
Blood red can be a challenge even against
pale
pale
Skin.
Standing in the lift
Fully attuned
she caught me
not merely looking into her eyes
But seeing what I saw
A death’s head?
I hate when I’m caught doing that
Under the fluorescent light
She was dog rough
Pasty with sad sunken eyes
I was thrown, but by what exactly
Her magpie distress?
Her etheric calamity?
Her puffy, aging face?
We sat and spoke for a while later that night
She did not recognize me at all and apologized
maybe it was the next day
that the three of us had lunch
Everyone in good spirits
The mandrake’s screams
Forgotten with smiles and a wink
Memory bamboozled and
Make-up duly applied
She took out the lipstick
And redrew the lines
She liked the shining black case
with the little black ribbon for a pull
She told our companion sitting on a stoop
smoking cigarettes
I like your friend and
I wondered does she realize
that we already know one another?
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
I wonder if clouds know they're beautiful
When they sit and watch from the the sky
I wonder if they know how dangerous and threatening they are
When thunder cries out
I wonder if they know how they turn colors
When the sun hits them just right
I walk to work wondering if they know
I wish I could live up there with them
I could be puffy and white
And no one would say anything
Because that's how clouds are
I wish I could reflect the sun
But only be full of rain
If I was full of rain
I wouldn't be full of emotion
Clouds don't become angry
Or sad
Clouds don't fall in love
And realize their love wasn't real
I wonder if clouds know how truly breath-taking they are
If I could stay and lay on the grass all day
And watch them
I would
I've driven through clouds once
It was like a dream
I pulled over and felt the fleeting puffs wisp by
I felt the rain wet my skin
I felt the cold penetrate my clothes
I felt the wind tangle my hair
And most of all
I felt the thrill of being in the clouds
I wonder if they thought of me as beautiful
As much as I saw them that way
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning
The work is never done!
Lunching, shopping, relaxing, reading
I’ve heard is much more fun.
Sweeping, mopping, dusting, shining
Who thinks up all these gigs?
But what I really want to know right now
Is who left open the barn door to let in the pigs?
Mowing, weeding, trimming, seeding
Are mans work, but I’m all on my own
I gave birth to a virtual army
But housework is their No Go Zone!
Yelling, screaming, crying, keening
Achieves naught but my puffy face
I’ve given up such futile exercises
That puts no one in their place.
I hear “Can you help me please”
They hear “Blah Blah Blah”
Maybe I need to learn sign language
One gesture can go so far!
To this end I have ultimately decided
And I really do think this is for the best
To sit right down with drink in hand and
Let the little piggies wallow in their own mess!
24/07/2010
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC