Month: December 2016

the pen is mightier (than the scalpel)

i.
fantasy girl,
they tell me,
you’ve got your head in the clouds.

but it’s better up there.

ii.
i’ll do what you want for now
but i’ll have you know,
i’m a celebrity in my own head.
and i don’t need to figure
things like taxes and math.

i dance
around beautifully brazen ballerinas
and flowers missing half their petals
before they’ve even bloomed
and weave justice back into romance
and weave romance back into words.

i make my own living
where i am king
of thieves and beggars
and i am respected
for my fraud.

iii.
you expect me to remember
the littlest things
        (names,
        dates,
        rules)
when i am too preoccupied
by things that fill my head
        like the sounds of words
        like the way they make me feel
(why do you feel that way?)

and due dates make me anxious
so i’ll just erase them
why don’t you understand
i have the power to change the world?
my pen is mightier than your scalpel.

        (i don’t need to meet
        your plastic-surgery standards,
        your smiling faces with lying eyes)

iv.
what is surviving in your world
compared to even living in mine?

–

written w15jun2011.

–

explain this.

i attract
ten-minute visitors
greetings.
talk in front of me
as though i were
invisible
then leave        (me be.)

tell me what it is to be free.

ten cents
is ten cents       (too much)
for you

bare feet
run in glass-shattered dirt
tell me
what innocence is.

:seeing light
in the least
obvious of places
   
 
and not knowing
that pain is called such.

–

written f10jun2011.

–

neon

the city is
not
all[ways] skyscrapers
and neon lights
money embedded in
every window

remind me
that there is still
dirt under my feet
scum that give each other names
and work for minimum wage

there is rhythm
in the lower class
even if there is
no glory

your efforts live on
in elevator systems
and stoplights
telling me
when i should
take a break

–

written f10jun2011.

–

your biggest mistake

harried conversation
postured
as the tiendas
on three sides
my back up against the wall

spanglish with grammar mistakes
confused grins
the tension’s wax-paper thin

slightly rotten fruit
for sixty cents
        food here is cheap
        we don’t know
        we can sell it for more

        the conversion rate’s set
        in blood and grimaces

sickly sweet,
the way you try so hard

stilted prose
slitted eyes
you
can do so much
better
than this

–

written f10jun2011.

the first of three poems written that day. i wrote them all one after another on my spanish class’ field trip to a spanish market in the cities.

it was really noisy, overstimulating. i felt a little trapped. thankfully my poetry notebook was there to help.

–

french revolution

:a blip on the radar,
an unexpected visit from the place in your mind
where everything gets questioned

a doubtful twist in the mouth
says you are not to be bargained with,
even if you have polished your housewife’s façade so well

your sculpted lips take their turn,
clashing with the whisper of a fencing foil
against the steel heart on my sleeve

you tell me nothing will allow you to surrender
that i am the underdog in this court case
that no one will cheer for me; i am despicable to view

i am the hoi polloi throwing cobblestones
at your french doors
let me into your mind and i will never let go

–

written r9jun2011.

part of the reason why france fell so easily is that the glue holding down their cobblestones wasn’t sticky enough.

–

architecture

she carves adjectives deep into her brain
with her friends’ razor blades,
which she claims are much less dangerous
than their knowitall tongues

she plants bare-branched willows
up and down her quaking calves
and anchors ladders to freedom
between her ribs

she knows guilt
better than she knows herself
but she has surprised everyone
by not feeling much of it lately

something about her screams pisa
a little crooked; but she will always remember
that it’s the straight-laced suckups
that you need to watch out for

–

written w8jun2011.

–

crossroads and high hopes

i am big-city thrills and chills
high expectations and high maintenance
and you are blue-jeans casual
an unbidden laugh in the worst of situations

and where i am polished
you are unkempt
and where i am upset
you are content
and where i am disgusted with the skin i wear
you are telling me nothing

you are not a dream’s apparition
you are not my only hope
and yet you never fail
to bring a smile to my face

and i will not project upon you
my dark-haired prince charmings
or my high-hopes demons
because you deserve more
even if you’re not perfect

–

written t7jun2011.

another one which my criticism of has been softened by time. maybe it’s not perfect, but it still has its merits.

–

jokers, pawns

fingers intertwined
don’t misinterpret it
for something different than what is said

a smile on the sly
hope unwarranted
by the dictator that is this condition

take this to heart
it’s a cinch to force a laugh
but these unbidden grins
are all your fault

a joker shouldn’t expect hearts
a suit not tailored
and yet i’ve always been a fan
of frayed strings

i did not want this
it happened anyway

–

written m6jun2011.

back when this poem actually meant something to me, i didn’t like it. after five and a half years’ distance, i’m more fond of it.

–

we’re supposed to need this

and i write
simply
for the cacophony
of six-syllable words
clacking against each other
for luscious alliteration
coating my mouth
like agave on a late-summer eve

and sharp consonants
and delicate suffixes
sounding smart
cloaked in fire,
burnt toast on the tongue

and i write at night
because then the murmurs of my subconscious
are unmuffled by the
should-haves, shouldn’ts-
and other standards

and at night
the razors attached to my truths fade
into vague discomfort
unhaunted by dirty words and clichés
and formatting and rhymes
and what else they say we need
we’re-supposed-to-need
-this

but i like parentheses
because i am two-faced
because i am secretive
because i am mysterious
manipulative
and i have everything
to hide

–

written a4jun2011.

this is one of those which came to me as i was half-asleep, waiting for unconsciousness to fully claim me- hence the nonsensical imagery.

–