Handshake

If I believed in the devil
I'd tell you I've met him

He's a silver tongued liar

And the world's best salesman

I met the devil and he lives in my head

He tells me he's got answers

And he'll sell them to me for free

I met the devil and he shows me the truth

Distorted and bent like me

The solution's permanent and less than ideal

But he'll sell it to me for free

Dishonor

Dishonoring my emotions
Holding them in my mouth
Clenching my jaw against them
Swallowing them deep into me
Where I can't see

You know me best
But sometimes it's like you hardly know me at all
Because I couldn't ever let the needs inside me
Come tumbling out around you
And that's why this will end

When I met you, I thought I could live without myself
But I transformed because you helped heal me
Making me feel safer than I have before
I could embrace what I thought I'd killed when I buried it alive
But now I'm burying myself for you

It feels wrong to do wrong by both of us like this
But I feel such shame and fear
When I think of telling you who's really there
Sleeping next to you in the bed we share
I wish I could control my thoughts and feelings, but life is never fair.

Counterfeit

You can sustain the body
But when the soul flickers
When the soul is homesick for its nest
Away from this sensory coil
Our only consistency here is change and decay
I don't know where to find restoration
When I can't find rest, least of all in sleep where
My past will always find me
The fog and shadows played tricks
And outwitted my better judgment
Somehow I'm left with the counterfeit

Love Neglected

Why did you teach me to hate my body?
You shamed me young
For looking older
While older men leered
At me for the same reason.
I learned to resent my body through shame.
Then you taught me to hate your body,
The body I would grow into
While telling me to enjoy the stares now
Because you don't get those anymore.
You implied that a fat body
Is a body absent of value.
You never taught me how to love.

Cut Me Down

Cut me down
Scream at me
Flecks of spit
Hit my face
As you flail
Your arms wildly
And shove an accusatory
Finger in my face
Just like my daddy used to
And I look up at you
With love in my eyes
And apologies on my lips

Warning

Why didn't you warn me?!
That they'd be cruel to people like us!
They got to me first
And now I hate us both.

Hope Is Too Buoyant

Sometimes it's enough to write a letter I'll never send
But there are times when it's not enough and it never will be
And I force myself to sink back into the river of denial
To be swept away by the current
Cleansed of my sins
Praying this time I will finally drown
Only to wash up onshore downstream once more.

Perpetual Issues

I looked into myself,
Gazed past the healed scars,
I reached deep within myself
And touched something raw.
I felt the wounds I thought I'd worked so diligently to heal;
I think now they may always fester
And only sink deeper, nearer to my soul.

(April '14)

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I let myself try a thing I haven't tried in a long time, but I wasn't ready, and it made me wonder if I ever would be.  

Perversion

I've come so far and not far enough.
I'm no longer sure that it's obsession,
Madness or just that life's rough.
But whatever it was led to my cession.
Nothing's the same since this perversion
Of reality into something more sinister.
It was an indisputable act of subversion,
Since I met the mutinous minister.
I did all I could to try to tame him,
And all I did was tame myself.
Blindly, but fiercely, I planned a coup,
And somehow successfully asserted myself.
The unshakeable weight of my preoccupation
Left me bereft, befuddled and invisible.
I won't get burnt after my reincarnation.
But I can't live like this, an individual divisible.



Can this poem be saved?  It's chunked together from bits and pieces from different nights.  I am very reluctant to release this one because it's stumbling, in my opinion.  But here we are.  I'm a whore for my views stats going up, and they go up when I release things, whether they're good or tasteless. (Admittedly, there are far more views when a poem is an actual success).

Probably need a therapist, but Blogger is the only therapist I want to go to, since at least it's productive.

Lonely poet poets alone.

Letters to an Ex-Lover Anthology: Unaccompanied

Last night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The fan sent me sailing in the breeze,
And then the music sent me reeling.
It was the soundtrack you gave me, love's reprise.
Suddenly I couldn't breathe, again I was vulnerable,
A feeling and state I deeply despise.
So I decided that it finally ends tonight.
I promised I'd kill you next time I saw you,
With the weapon kindness, rather than a fight.
Forgiveness wasn't enough, maybe this will be.
So here I lie, with the breeze on my face,
And I'm forgetting all the things you did to me.



How my poetry often starts out (as disjointed, ugly, stupid-sounding notes):
"I was listening to that cd he gave me when we first met."  "Used to be soundtrack of our love."  "I feel vulnerable again and I can't breathe."  "So tonight I'm going to lie down and forget all the things he did to me."  "Kill them all with kindness."

Fiona Apple has been inspiring me.  "Remember when I was so sick and you didn't believe me?  Then you got sick too, and guess who took care of you.  You hated that didn't you?  Didn't you?" from her song Regret.

Sometimes, I feel like I use rhymes as a crutch, because they're so easy to work with.  But there's a romantic element that plays into this.  I want to transform the simple rhyme into something complex and beautiful.  Maybe one day I'll be satisfied that I've accomplished that, but not yet.  Never yet.  Rhymes do so delight me.  I suppose Shel Silverstein was more whimsical with his, but I like to think that maybe we shared a similar fascination.

Also, it's been a very long time since I added to this anthology.  I know it's just personal, but this anthology holds some of my favorite pieces I've ever written.  The first title for this poem was Otolaryngological Fatalities. But it doesn't start with U like the theme of the anthology.  So I changed it, for now...

One last thing, is this the end of the anthology??

Disconsolate

Making myself feel lonely in a crowd,
I can't wait for life to lift this shroud.
I'm not living the way I wanted to,
But I don't want to regret the things I'd do.

It's hard to be brave in the face of Fate.
I'm afraid of finding love and then finding hate.
My legs feel so heavy when I try to march.
I feel so much more comfortable making the demarche.

I know, truthfully, I'm only young once,
And I don't want fear to make me a dunce.
Where is courage born, and how does it arrive?
I guess I have to close my eyes and just take the dive.





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Really I'm too busy for a love life right now, but I'm definitely not immune to the effects of not having one.  But it's been a while now and I feel all virginal and angsty again.  Emo poetry, anyone? Bring on summer already!!

No One Knows

She cries out

And no one hears her;

A radio broadcast

Without receivers.

A silent “MAYDAY!”
“MAN DOWN!  MAN DOWN!”

Jill went up as Jack went down.

No one knows he’s lost his crown.

She’s falling apart,

Inside out.

She fights herself,

She fights self doubt.

The fight unyielding,

Yet, death toll low,

But united she does not stand.

No one will know, she will not show.

Raise up that white flag;

Wind tears tattered bits.

Thunderous crashes of the sea,

Our lady is prone to fits.

A green lady, a lost symbol,

Falls to her cold knees.

Her crown cracks.

She grieves.

A meaningless banter,

The daily routine,

Once proud and respected

Now, cruel and mean.

Nitpick each word, each letter…

“It’s wrong!”  “Take it to court!”

Burn down our fort, it’s better.

White is the kettle.

White as the pot.

Her mindless anger

Is hot to trot.

She’s unzipping.

Her seems are ripping.

The coins are flipping.

Her spirits are dipping.

She does not know.

She has no help.

It might be better, if only she spoke.

The cards are dealt.

It’s not her fault.

It’s ours, not hers.

We’ve made her what she is.

We are everyone, but we throw racial slurs.

Centuries she’s been alive,

But still she’s young and bold.

But secrets, no child should know,

She keeps her lips shut, eyes cold.

She will not relent.

She plots against foes.

And still,

No one knows.

2006

Regret

So, this is perfect for the season (Jewish new year). I am cleaning up my desk and I found this folded up.

It was written 9/11/11

If I died today, I'd walk away
With a basket full of regrets.
So, with a prayer that
Death sleeps through the night,
I walk down to the water.
Tonight's the night that I
Wash away my troubles
And let the river
Carry away my regrets.