"unreactive" poems
This is my gift to you
words
a form so lacking in all
stability, security
that we chew them and spit them out
so they’re done
over
intangible.
You may throw them away from the
back of your throat
to the tip of your tongue
in one wave
one simple wave of movement and then we can all forget
the silly things I’ve said
admitted
denied
and will not be caught out by
sources that say otherwise.
This is my gift to you:
One free ticket to forget me
what a prize
to be hypnotized
People pay a lot for that ****
You see, when I make awkward eye contact
with my morning mirror
and delve into my makeup bag
for assistance in eye liner
my fingers always find that pit
and slip into a ring that’s been tossed to the bottom
rings entwined with rings entwined with poor judgement.
They sit and wait in their scuffed coats,
like waiting for a bus
waiting to remind me
remember that time?
This is my gift to you.
A present that says
‘I am not permanent’
because believe me, I’m not.
But if I have to wake up to
break ups bound in highly unreactive gold
then at least let me free you of these chains too.
It’s just such a shame that they suit you.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
I miss you and my skin shivers
The heaves of the flying engine
The sky of our heavens angel
Amiss and my soul webbed in a bay
As the mist of the dew condenses
The waters flows in our artistry
Our chemistry a fizzle unreactive
Our feeling dances as a spirit of its own
The miss and want to walk my finger
Rest it on your bare hairless chest
The miss to walk and pluck a hair
Resourcefully induce a prickly pain
I miss you and my tear flitters
On the trail of the cave I touch
****** the walls that hang your heart
I miss you as we shield our soul and shell
At the crossroads where the devil turns
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
You named her “best friend”
And she became the twitch in my eye
She became the wall I began to hurl myself against
Praying that I wouldn’t shatter before she budged
You named me “baby”
And marked me down for what I am
A child who doesn’t like to share
A jealous girl clutching her favorite teddy bear
Who’s one temper-tantrum away from scratching at anyone who’s ever touched him
There are parts of me that I’m afraid of letting you see
Pieces that I cracked in other girls’ mirrors
Trying to be all that was desirable in them
Lately I find myself
Crunched into the corner of her looking glass
Desperate to know how she commands your attention
She seems so harmless
Small and smiley
But I’ve watched her gaze
Seen it try to tear me from your side
So I named her “benzene”
Sweet and cloying
And toxic
I’ve been gagging on her name ever since
Felt it clawing at my throat
Forcing me to either acknowledge her presence
Or choke
Still, I named you “dearest”
And she has been watching me with liquid nitrogen stares
Unreactive but deathly cold
Leaving me goose-bumped and panicked
You sing her name
Oblivious to how it knocks against my ears
How it squeezes my skull until I’m retching
So I named her “migraine”
And every time she is there I am ill
Her name has me ripping out my insides just to stop feeling sick
Wondering how to rewrite myself
So that you won’t crave her attention anymore
How to make myself good enough
So that you won’t need her anymore
You named me “beautiful”
Sighed about getting lost in my eyes
But I noticed
Hers and mine are the same color
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder
When you’re staring into mine
Do you wish they were hers?
Still, you named me “dearest”
“Darling”
“Girlfriend”
You named her “best friend”
I am afraid of what she names you
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
One of the deepest feminine pleasures is when a man stands full, present, and unreactive in the midst of his woman's emotional storms. When he stays present with her, and loves her through the layers of wildness and closure, then she feels his trustability, and she can relax.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC