Posts for June 9, 2017 (page 2)

if your favorite of the things about me is the way i look, then you have no favorite. my appearance is nothing about me,

my shell is a thing about you, about the city, about the climate.

this skin i did not lay over my flesh, i feel no pride nor shame in your perception of its softness

these legs have been screwed into my hips my the nimble expenditures of divinity, i have not shaped my thighs nor sculpted my calves

i am no more responsible for your viewing of this body than i am of foreign hands dipped into foreign water

i am separate from your idea of me
and that is fine.

reality is what it is decided to be
and that is fine. 

you have chosen me as the object of your desire

i have chosen to keep walking

There was a time when
he spent his days hardly working
at a job he hated
surrounded by folks 
thinking with their stomachs
putting their money where their whims drove them
and It was just another day as it always was
at the “modern-retail-convenience-gas station” 
in the heart of the shops and restraunts 
on the outskirts of town where I-64 met suburbia

From the break room a voice rang out
” hey hun, you busy out there?”
he turned to see his coworker brandishing a broom
and a field mouse frantically writhing around in a mouse trap on the floor
“do you see it?” she asked ” I was hoping you could take care of it?”
she motioned for him to take the broom
” is there another way?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the mouse
“no” she said ” his foot’s caught by that glue, he’ll struggle ’til it’s torn off and thatd be worse and we gotta do this to get him outta here, well, you haven’t had to do this yet have you?”
he nodded ” yeah, I haven’t”
“it’s sad I know, don’t worry, don’t look, I’ll take care of it”
he could sense the fear in the mouse 
it was breathing so heavy it seemed to expand and contract like a miniature heart beating frantically

and before he left the room he looked back and saw that the mouse had stopped struggling as if paralyzed 
he closed the door shut behind him
*HWHACK* * HWHACK* * HWHACK*

we’re all field mice 
trapped by our own motivations 

Truth is
My time on the mat
Is a much for you
As it is me

Jaywalking down your street again
Hope you’ll notice me
Cutting in your line at the grocery store
Ringing your doorbell to leave a love letter
Throwing roses at your door again 
Seeing​ you leave ,hiding behind your tree
Throwing sparkly hearts from your roof top onto your sidewalk
Buying​ a handsome shirt and having the neighbors kids deliver it to you
Cutting out pictures of magazines of anyone who looks like you
Following you a block down your street
Writing you a love poem slipping it under your door again
Sending you heart shaped colored candles
Painting a heart on your phone poll
Stuffing chocolate kisses in your mailbox
Sitting outside waiting for you to walk by
Jaywalking to you again

my gut still takes an adolescent twist
when someone says your name in conversation  

at night my arm still drops
into the unzipped pit on your side of the bed

Nothing stays buried forever. Today
I remembered wanting to be
the beast that screamed
love at the heart of the world
as the acid drip from fangs
bled about the edges.
The day before the belladonna
clock cake rested easily
at the end of the long
lace tablecloth. Maybe
tomorrow I’ll remember
something that makes a difference.

Spreading tightness.

                                           Shimmering visible heat
wisps evaporate and return.

                                       Ticking sweat collects
in pools for gnats.

                               I swat, rest, swat, rest,

but it all keeps coming.
                           I feel something terrible

blooming, like sunburn,
                               waiting to leave a mark.

Upon realizing that mango chips are not an appropriate replacement for love, 

I vomit orange onto my kitchen table

and my mother holds me while I cry

because it’s okay,

you know?

we will have fresh mango tomorrow.

When she runs through pitch
of night with sleet at her heels—
white trees waving last-minute
leaves as winter falls
under a bursting moon
her boots sooty
apron and kerchief red
hair as pale as pink ivory
and a skull for a heart—
the blackness gathers
over her head
like a halo.