Monthly Archives: June 2013

Here, kitty kitty…

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Here, kitty kitty…

You fit me well
In that sinister edge your laughter keeps
Making a mockery
Better than a living
Of me, and I pretend so well to love it

You do not know me

You wear me well
But cannot keep
Me, contained
In the guilt of your smile
You poor baby; you made me
Your fix, your crutch, your reason for being
Seldom what you seem
Turning me into a joke
Some permanence of blue
In your emptiness of green

And yet I’m the one short of worthy
You deem
It wasn’t enough
For you to tie me down
A mummified queen
Of this promised forever

If simply to breathe, I should ask your permission
If I seal my lips and sell my dreams
If I spend the money to buy into your mission–the satisfying of your own sick needs
Will you then say I’ve fared well as your wife?

If I resist the urge to peel the skin off your skull, set your frame on fire, blow your brains out just to watch you bleed
Then in my book it should suffice
(trust me)
As proof I must have loved you
If only a smidgen

If I close my eyes, keep still, be quiet
Return my silence for your emotional violence
If somehow I manage
To allow you your vices
Of snapping a soul in two just to suit you;
If I rise to the top like thickening oil
On the surface, I assure you
It means that you my dear, at least married well

I didn’t marry down;
I crawled straight to hell and took the name of the biggest beggar I found

Rob Peter to pay Paul

My life is a testament
To what happens to little girls
Who are never shown how
Why does marriage still exist?
Was I born just for this?
United with a state of unobtainable bliss

I grew up too quickly
Oblivion-rich
Of societal norms
I colored my world in shades of burnt orange
Forgetting the images subsequently absorbed
Were distorted, conformed
To my inner expectations
Of very little
And very often

We always get what it is we’ve expected

For me, it’s a lifetime of hide-and-seek
Bare-knuckled scream-thinking
Bruise-inclined heart-beating
White picket fences
And hearts to be mended
With skinned-shaking knees

I believed sweet dreams are made of these
Who wouldn’t like to disagree?

The cat accomplishes nothing
Out of the bag

Clarity

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Clarity

This morning I sat beneath a pecan tree, seventy-five or so feet it reached into forever
I watched, I observed the sunlight dancing on its leaves, like a gold necklace or platinum band, her leaves were also made for the limelight
I partook in it too; photosynthesis through a ninety-degree angled morning sun; isn’t it something how powerful sunshine is?
I asked how it happens, that in the silence of her posture she cleans the air I breathe
Silence, and stretching

Seasons come on in this way, cause and effect

Her roots are reaching deeper, begging the Earth to have her forever

Though just in case, she lays her eggs, her seeds into the ground

However “Ever After” Goes

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However “Ever After” Goes

The excitements purge and the dust settles
Time, taking its measurements in re-runs
And the shows aren’t even worth showing
Extra loud repetitions blaring the soundtrack to life’s mediocrity
Its meaninglessness so shrill in pitch
And did you know boring yourself to death is a noisy endeavor?
The laundry’s staled. Mildewed, despite re-starting the cycle fifty-eight times over
Three days have gone by? Add soap push start and forget about it
Over and over and over
Was marriage designed to be this hard?
Does everybody do it? Do you know what I mean?
Matrimony, the eternal scream and it’s a lot like the laundry these days; a bunch of bullshit I’d rather not do
With its moldy stench of unfinished business, of apathy, of not giving a damn, of dying another pointless death every time I get out of bed
I want to see him feel empty for once, stop giving a fuck, shit or get off the pot, give the whole thing up
As masterfully as I have
In the earlier days (before the TV sets died in the permanent-seeming on position)
I was the same, yet a different person
Alive, electric
Before peace caved in and lost its spine
I was in motion
Bidding my life to the proof of my worth
(as I thought it’d need proven)
By “doing my part”
With a permanent grin
Walking in such an effortless spirit of perpetual excellence
Prune-shriveled fingers yet manicured hands
Ironic how (while feigning confused disappointment) he now likes to remind me of what a cool person I was then
Before I quit wiping his piss off the floor in my boy shorts, before I quit wearing those sexy bandanas in my hair, before I learned how to kill him with my eyes, before my imagination died and the horizon collapsed, taking me hostage by the brutalities of domesticity implicit in being the chauvinist’s wife
I was cool.
I was a prized fighting champion with manners and class on my knees and hands scrubbing my way through the American (or my imaginary) Dream

Life is divided in two, but no one ever tells you
that the middle can suck you into itself
a black hole; an anti-matter; a one way ticket to the realization that you grew up to become a nobody

There’s a red sheet whipping in the winds of change, gripped by the hands of resistance
You can’t be the bull and the ringleader too
And so I dance, I dance my midlife away
While the gringo masters the art of futility
His every breath a burning desire to see me tamed
Hopes should never be set so high; birds are not born for a cage

Something Abused Women Never Tell You

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Something Abused Women Never Tell You

I am silenced and submissive
Raging inside, where beautiful ideas go to die

I’m half of myself; fractioned
Fractures hide themselves well
Collected, I am
A cool calm collection of them
The broken bits, loose screws unwinding

He says anger looks ugly on me
I stop wearing makeup and frowning, lower my voice and say please rather than fuck you

It isn’t enough.

He wants the rush, not the victory
The squeal, not the bacon
Though he enjoys both, he is satisfied
By neither, nothing, never
He bites my head off
For the volumous chew, the ratchet twist, the wretched way my body writhes with rebellion
The texture of misery is a taste he must’ve acquired

And love, you can’t imagine
But this is also what it looks like
The kind that can’t walk away
Or be firm in the boundaries
The kind that finds its secret pleasures
In the challenge of such a twisted duel
You don’t believe it and I don’t blame you
But this is love
Too

The Guardians of My Heart

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The Guardians of My Heart

My children, my litter of dewdrops, my empty womb;
Men in the making
Whose smiles reach my sight with the propensity of blisters
My anxieties collecting just to linger there
Threatening to burst at the slightest touch
Reach too close, love too much, mother them just enough and pop! disappear
Is it practicality or fear?
I watch them in the meadow, the open spanse of nature across the hurry from where we live
A lone donkey in a barbed cage of wire waits like puberty
On the shore of his lot in life
In time, he has not once let us down
Stands taught, posture of a proud soul, still and quiet and expectant
As a fed animal should be
Routine; the feedings, the adventures of these walks, the passing of their childhood and innocence before my eyes

My heart takes its beatings in this way