There is a better poem here
underneath the layers
of self doubt and questioning
line breaks, behind
the veil of writer’s block.
I’ve written three scrapped
poems before this one,
and I’m still disatisfied
with my results.
I’ll just keep digging
until I discover what
I’m looking for.
Maybe I’ll find it soon.
The sun hot on my skin
Reminds me of your hands
The breeze coming through
Smells like your cologne
No clouds in the sky, just blue
Reminds me of your eyes
I wonder how long
This longing will last
When you will fade
And leave my brain room
To see a world
Without you
I was sweeping off my porch when I thought I heard a tiny shout
I sat my broom aside and decided to check it out
when looking all around I saw him standing in a tiny door
he was living in a mushroom so I crouched down to see more
he said his name was Alder and he hoped I wasnt mad
I assured him he as welcomed and that I was really glad
when I step outside each morning I greet my new friend
I also remember to whisper goodnight at the days end
biofield reveals minute cracks
The poems congregate like unopened letters
Whispering their sweet and sorrow
I catch a word here and there:
Eyebrow, sling shot, Gilligan, heron
Frisky gifts winking their secrets
Hidden intentions urging a closer kiss
Shapeshifting angels and perfumed demons
They absolve my lapsed abandon
The crone with the broken blessing
God bending the forgiven knee
scratch scratch scratch scra- ouch!
it hurts now…. please don’t touch it…
itchitchitchitchitch
My mom stopped
taking hydro this week
sitting on the floor
all the other kids are
picked up or
at the after school program
I did it just to know what it felt like
wished it never ended
did anything else to try
to match the rush
I go to meetings in churches
and try to materialize
and talk through
what I can’t process on my own
Still I see dots in my vision
like atoms colliding
Still I just want to be numb
Wound not like a ribbon, but like a faulty watch. Wound not like a gaping hole, but like
a pinprick. I suffer a long loss, interspersed with tiny victories. Blood like a faulty tap
dripping water. I still love you obviously. At least enough to tell everyone about it.
At least enough to claw at the wheel when I drive past your house.
Wound not like a noose, but like a necktie . I don’t hold your hand but I do think about it, twin sisters at the end of a long hallway. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever, I don’t care.
Another for good measure, another, just to be sure. Pushing every button until I find the one that makes you explode into a million pieces. Selfish girls always get what they want,
for some reason. Wound not like a bleeding gash, but like a broken bone. Held you in the back of my head like a ring holds a diamond- otherwise purposeless. I want to pluck your grandfather
from his bed and stand him straight like a man, like a mannequin. I want to drive you to work. Wound, wound, wound. Like a song. Like a shudder. Like a dance. Cloudgapping and toasters-
strudels, baths in rose scented water, tapping my nails on the glass case at work, one two three four five. I used to bite deep crescents into my palms- tethered to the ground by the comfort of
my jaw. I used to beat bruises into my hip bones. Okay, I lied. I still do when the opportunity arises. I know pleasure and I know guilt- they are the best of friends. I know pleasure because
I know guilt- the inverse being true as well. Riding your coattails all the way to the bank. I want to hold your hand,but I don’t, but I do think. About you. About the things you say.
About hormones and what they do to bodies. Wound like- a reveal, like curtains pulled back- the flesh unveiled. Admission. honesty. This is what it really is. This is what it was the whole time.
Red. Wound. Wound. Tight around some sort of answer. The award winning failure. Nationally recognized. Spark of talent. Another canine head dipped for another heavy collar.
Begging for you to take me and keep me and make me yours. Begging for the wound. Begging for the ribbon. Begging for hallways and diamonds and hands and hormones.
Open sesame?
