abandoned her
golden rapunzel tresses
for chemically altered darkness
something to
match the way she feels
about her lack of attention
she has complimented me
perfectly
for the past nine
[and a half]
years
sunrise still lurks in her face
her voice
penless
does the same
as mine
she dances glory
over the rooftops
[she plays beauty] music
to my ears
she calls me
every once in a while
–
written f17jun2011.
about my childhood best friend.
–
not the american dream:
a true american would never fall this far.
but i have to hold onto
this image-
the phoenix
crawling out of the ashes
of the bridges we burned
rising to glory
by doing the one thing
that got me into this
nails chewed to the quick
stubbed toes, eye leakage
over nothing special
self-pity
is nothing beautiful
morbidity
is low-key
revolt
is commonplace
“more real,
more raw,
more sincere”
don’t demand this of me
(my standards are all too similar,
but i’ll pretend they aren’t
just to spite cliché)
counterculture
still draws upon society
as a photonegative,
a source of injustice
to rebel against
don’t give me structure
rhyme in your own head
hoard punctuation for yourself
don’t give me standards
keep your mouth shut
impress monotony upon your own
my standards are enough for me
–
written m13jun2011.
the prompt: what inspires/influences you?
i’m no good at sticking to prompts.
–
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.
–
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.
–
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.
–
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.
–
: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.
–
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.
–
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.
–
and she wonders why her hair is falling out
(ruby red filaments decorating every dream)
and she argues around corruption
(and wonders if it’s verity)
and she pries deep within herself
(for suffering, because that’s what matters)
and she is shocked when she can’t find enough
(to justify what she does)
–
written m6jun2011.
–
idiography 