December 2009
Some Wednesday Night Honesty.
Games. These are what my silly little insecurities force me to play when I meet a pretty girl and I want her to like me. Most time, I don’t plan on actually liking them back. But occasionally…
THIS happens. I’ll kind of like someone - maybe even a little bit, and they are apprehensive about taking me seriously. They complain about the way I seem ridiculously occupied or...
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Cash Back.
I will lie to you one day
And you will decide to breathe less of me
Mill your tongue into adobo
The clay will paint my fingers gold
We won’t kiss
the way we had
When we were 15
and swollen behind sand dunes
There will not be enough sun
For pregnant pauses
We will make love
With everything but our hands
You will whisper that the rain
Is filling enough to outshout deception.
I will play the game...
“Your ribcage is a harness. If you let it - life will hang you.”
– Sierra DeMulder (Amazing. Pure brilliance.)
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Butterfly Wings
I don’t think people realize how beautiful feminine affection is. More specifically, woman - on - woman affection, lesbianism. I remember being much younger, in my preteens, admiring a lesbian couple from afar while waiting for a friend in a random Starbucks somewhere in Greenwich. I was struck by how sensual their small displays of affection were. A light touch on the back of the neck, or...
(Free) Write.
I don’t scream like I used to
Sullen murmurs
And pencil shavings
Swollen between my fingers.
I try to write myself frozen solid
Flatline of a tear duct
No longer anything much of a songstress.
You paint me lovely
And I try to live up to such a mosaic of trust.
I trust in my shadow
Knowing that it will never be any more afraid of me
Than I am of it
It is the only consistent figure...
“In a gentle way - you can shake the world.”
– Ghandi.
It's Cold Out
I’m trying to be careful with the way I touch the mirror. People are really beginning to scare me. Just people, in general.
Sometimes I worry that the things I dislike the most about people are merely reflections of myself.
I would hate to think that this is true; hate to think that I have misjudged myself and mislead others in the process.
Really, I am afraid of being left behind.
Rip Me
I want someone to scream me into sawdust
Kiss me off of their fingertips
And wish me good travel.
No one expects this of my smile.
They expect hypersexual.
Eager to be turned inside out
Waiting to become impossibly buoyant,
I am none of those.
I am the scared little soul
Behind the garbage truck,
Wondering if its safe beneath that smell
What kind of hiding spot could it be
What kind...
I'm Not the Jealous Type
But I definitely cannot stand being treated as if I am disposable.
Truth Is. (One Of The Hardest Poems I've Written... →
This was the hardest poem I’ve ever written. So much honesty that I usually never have the bravery to bare.
I Cannot Believe
How much I love women.
Dear lord,
I feel worse than some of my brothers.
Watchbrianomnidillon:
Hiram Monsseratte, state senator, democrat, pig of a human who voted against the gay marriage bill. Shown here respecting traditional marraige by dragging his bleeding girlfriend, screaming and crying from their building after she “accidentally” slashed her face with broken glass. Requiring 40 stitches.
He was acquitted.
reblogging wouldnt be a bad move.
If and Then: Freewrite
So I wrote this poem at Willie’s workshop last Wednesday, and…I don’t know - it just really hit me hard.
If morning mist were as weighty as sand is now,
If it were nothing between the spaces of my hands,
then
typical,
The way brow beaten women fall into the bed sheets of women
who don’t kiss us like Disney tells us to.
There are no princesses where there lacks a...