Sunday, November 16, 2008

Nature of 4am

Nature of 4am

As the wind is blowing
And the storm approaches -
        when the spirit
Of the unfinished invades thoughts…

The clear light of day does sometimes
        bring truth. But
Lovers’ prose
                 hidden confessions
poetic rhetoric
        is in time suspended darkness.

Effigies scatter on the tail
Of the Northwestern wind
            whipping from behind
Leaves - whirling together their
        Unconsummated dance.

Pride and fear are the
        enemies of Fulfillment.
The vilification of happiness
                a perceived cost.
The pain of ebb and flow
        etched into the memory
                    of the heart.

As waves crash their mark upon
            the cliffs and bluffs -
the wind
            bends trees to breaking
            the tide
                    froths beaches to foam
So do we anticipate the next blow.

        How to make the crossing?
            Crushed with the stillness
of pristine night above

            Chaos hurricanes among us
            As will is stripped -
Fate wins a momentary victory.

To Be First

I am sick of being last.

I am sick of being second.

from kickball to the absolute furthest thing in my parents minds
- Sick of it

what ever the reason!
kids will be kids
a-dults concerned with a-dult issues

I'm an afterthought.

I have a roof over my head and rings on my fingers
- it does NOT give you permission...

and, when I beg, and when I plead to be heard and am ignored
- what do you want me to do?

you choose your values it's not me... it's not us

don't you Dare to be surprised when loneliness guides me into someone else's arms

- I'm a one man kinda girl - ambiguity tears me up - yes, I KNOW it.
- I'm not made to be in limbo - it's just a truth - one foot is out the door.

I stand here, clutching my robe open in the front, make up from the night before still fresh, standing tall, desired and admired... hearing the horrible things you have to say, begging you to stay... because I'm your wife... I'm your wife! and you think I'm not enough.

Dirty Pretty Things

Dirty Pretty Things

I pat on my face cream.
In the morning, rubbing it in
It protects me.

I carefully craft my makeup
To accentuate,
to highlight.
To hide behind tinted beauty

A tainted barrier,
A false barrier,
A strong barrier,
between myself
and the nature of others.

I'll shake your hand, "Hi! Good to meet you!"
Or, support you, "That's really great!"
Or, lie to you, "I'm doing really well!"

Sometimes I'll mean it,
But, I know it won't happen.
"We should get together sometime soon."
"Yes, plan it. I'll see you then!"

Sometimes I'll believe-
My own lies to myself.

It's when I take off the mask...
That the tears wet my neck,
Drench my eyes...
As the pain heaves into sobs.

Not just anyone will see it.
It is privilege.

And you...
With whom I shared such dirty pretty things...
Who threw it back in my face...
You'll never see it again.

I protect myself
Even from you.

Painful Beauty

Painful Beauty

It's painful to think of the beauty in the world -

Eyes Colombian coffee
Skin golden, white

Wrapped in your arms
Rocked to comfort
Dog licking my toes

I am.
For now…

An illusion it is to be
The one lovely thing

Beauty exists separately

There will be another
Sitting in my place
Between your legs
Tangled in you
Arms, legs, breasts, pussy

Wrapped in your arms
Rocked to comfort
Dog licking her toes

Family -

The spice of your skin
Never forgotten
And, your tongue on my clit
Your sex coated kisses

It's painful to think of the beauty in the world –

The beauty that buries the past.

Who am I?

Who am I?

I am a woman on the run
Away from time that is red.

Red of the blood in the sun.

I look out the window and I see my life – the one I have yet to live but am
Too chicken to continue and too chicken to change.

So, I'll stay on the toilet and finish.

But before I let the pilot lead me down
I will drive my own car like Dr. Stupid
The one that makes me feel good as Gin & Tonic
With Dre and Snoop in the 90s
Blaring on the radio
As I sidle down the sidewalk made of sandstone and glitter
In the constellation of Santa Barbara beaches.

The sunken garden of the courthouse – cold and far away
Solitary as Pluto – Sunken gardens far away from me now
Paved with Spanish Tiles
Made in California!

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

Yesterday... I was pretty. They dressed me up and took my picture. They wanted to put me in magazines and on the runways. They told me I was too fat at 107 lbs. They ignored me. They raped me. No one was able to change the person that I was. I had my own thoughts and explored the world in my own way.

Today... I am beautiful. I dress myself. I see the girls in the photoshoots and I feel sad for them. I take pictures for myself to remember what I have. I am healthier. They notice and flock to me. They admire me... But, they fear me and thus will not touch me. Only I can change the person that I am. I still have my own thoughts and explore the world in my own way.

Tomorrow... I will still be beautiful - in a different way. I will pity the young who look down on me - they still need to prove in pictures that they exist. I will admire the strong and try to help the weak-minded. I will help those who need to learn to fly and be admired. I will teach them not to be feared through kindness. I will guide them to find their own unique thoughts... That will be my legacy. I'll no longer care what they do to me. Surely I'll be replaced... That's the nature of the thing.

Pity by Erin Belieu


Once I took it in my mouth, I had to admit, pity tastes good, like the sandwiches

they make in French patisseries, the loaf smeared with force-fed organs, crust
that shreds the skin behind your teeth. So bless the tongue's willingness,

for it chooses like a wartime whore, and it's the picky who end up dead against the wall. And bless also the bouncers,

who all last summer grew kindly ashamed those nights I fell backward off their stools. When A. said, "People are generous with ugly things and you're the Goodwill drop box,"

I counted the turns I've taken on that swing—

the handouts I've offered to the fucked-up and broken. It's the playground rule,

everyone gets a ride: then you're the girl at the party trashing the patio furniture, or the man, later that night, pushing her down in the street.

—Erin Belieu, from Black Box

Stop by tgf

Stop by tgf

I want you in the morning
plain and beautiful
and made up
and lingerie.
I just want you
For a little while
To be mine
But, that is asking too much.
So I will stop.