all these girls
have bracelets
on their left wrists
vicious vocabularies
oh
so
traumatic
bury yourself alive
in syllables and consonants
you’ll still
choke
on them
positivity is overrated
right?
let’s all go down
in roses
[ and vampire teeth ,
for good measure ]
red-eyed
red-tongued
love for some
and some have none
–
written m11jul2011.
positivity is a lost art.
(from back when “emo” was still popular.)
–
can’t remember-
of her friends,
who is the cutter
and who is the thief
and who is skin and bone
and who’s schizo
who tries to dance
to the
beat
in her
own
head
twitching pirouettes
whispered by the ballerina
locked inside
the marrow of her r i b s
who wouldn’t talk
because he knows
he’ll spill his
guts
if he does
rambling unnecessity
like an untuned AM radio
who scans herself in
as an
automatic
reject
with barcode arms
and perpetual regret
of her oft-used
s y
el it
f – p
who considers himself a
p o e t
because he speaks
right
from his heart-
never mind that it’s all profanity
(maybe he should be scared, too ? )
can’t remember uniquities-
they’re all the same anyway,
joined in a mutual desire
for assured
destruction,
simply because they’d
rather not
be like
this
–
written a9jul2011.
–
i.
stop hiding
masterful monologues
from open society,
slap it with a stamp
of novel appeal
ii.
come out
from your turtle shell
play constellations
to a welcome audience
let your voice be heard,
pure as hatred
iii.
stop digesting
toxins
for a week
straight
simply to feel
hollow
and clean
iv.
quit letting
prescription patience
control you
taper them off
and surely
you’ll still
be the same
v.
you’re sober now,
so throw away the box
sitting smugly
in your desk drawer
tempting you
yet comforting-
you know you’ll
never
let go
–
written r30jun2011.
prompt: five things you have never done (but would like to do someday)
–
i swear
you could unzip my ribs
and my chest cavity
would be hollow
except for a heart
(to pump anxiety
throughout my body)
and a stomach
(to create pain)
all around me
i feel this void
causing previously-ricocheting emotions
to spread into a whimper
as if they were never there
in the first place
organs are useful for nothing
except for causing you to scream when they quit working
and then stop when they stay that way
–
written t28jun2011.
–
silent student
traps herself behind a desk for days
not one word spoken
besides yes-ma’ams
and thank-yous
silent student
ventures home, spills her guts
all over the keyboard
inky fingers twitching stories
hellos, how-have-you-beens
to names on a screen
silent student
trusts her virtual friends
[her online confidants]
with pit-of-your-stomach secrets,
spun-glass truths
but
when the “real” people
have nothing to say,
she won’t waste her time
to reciprocate
–
written s26jun2011.
real people are just hallucinations caused by staring at a screen for too long.
–
your hobbies-
darts on a checkered target
reel back and
thwap
a needle
pinning your hopes and dreams
to the corkboard,
butterflies preserved for the harvest
you can see
you lived the dream,
your life splayed out
before you-
some sort of sinister
Pollock on the pavement
you had it all
and then you blew it away,
two hands held together
like a small child mimics a gun
two shots-
bang
bang
-and there’s not a shot.
–
written a25jun2011.
–
i am the one
who sits back to watch
the apocalypse
not delighting in destruction-
simply apathetic
at the worst of times
who soliloquizes silently,
handpicking syllables and synonyms
ripe and bursting with hidden meaning
from the lexicon at
the back of her head
who lives for noise but won’t open her mouth
instead dancing nimble fingers
over black and white keys
creating shades of grey
like shades of stone and metal,
a self-built prison
with bars of music never shared
and concrete words unspoken
but still misunderstood
–
written f24jun2011.
–
father is
a startled sparrow,
paranoid personality disorder
depression, bipolar
[father lives on lists,
father strives for consistency
with what has been written
by doctors-nurses-politicians
serpentine and setting standards too high to reach]
a neurochemical molotov cocktail
always dreading
the day he’ll explode.
father regrets
every single mistake he makes,
father wants to make sure
daughter is
perfect
so she won’t end up like him.
father lectures poetic
on sadness and suicide
rebellion and self-pity
as if they are the scum of the earth
as if he is the scum of the earth.
[and self-esteem was not a gift
he could pass down to daughter]
mother is a maple tree
standing tall and strong
[but forgiving]
mother swallows her pride
and knows that she is not perfect
and neither is daughter,
that good judgment comes from experience
and experience comes from error
[but even the best of parents keep secrets,
silky snakes wrapped around the best of times]
daughter is a rabbit,
just an ordinary rabbit
scared out of her wits
by the future
she is not perfect enough to endure
[silky snakes devour rabbit-flesh
indignant misled sparrows scavenge on what is left,
bereft]
–
written r23jun2011.
–
i.
you smile too much.
it contrasts nicely
with your barcode arms.
ii.
there’s a python circling your wrist,
scar tissue constricting your skin
and setting you free.
iii.
faded scarlet scars
paralleling mine-
i’ve tried to knock that habit.
iv.
and yet you turn your arms upward
baring your mistakes
with no lack of self-esteem.
–
written w22jun2011.
–
on the brink
of something more dangerous
than self-destruction
she holds
a knife in one hand
and self-doubt in the other
whispering,
you are no better than your options
–
written m20jun2011.
–
idiography 