Your Best Poem

I hope your soul feels a squeeze from mine
any morning you wake and squint at the light.
When you wake - from the tip of your toes to your head
and begin the slow, lumbering rise from your bed,

know this: the reason it all goes unkissed
is that I am not there with my early-bird lips;
I am very far off with my strong set of hips,
and my fingers, which ache to retrace all your ribs.

If you leave without breakfast, or unsatisfied,
it is only the miles that stretch under the sky;
if your ears miss my timbre and singing and talk,
and it's tough to recall as you leave for your walk,

know that though strangers and their ignorant eyes
might miss you, mistake you for scenery; I
would walk the whole way with my head to your side,
drinking your sight like a peasant would wine.

"Watch the context....
It reads wrong...
Go fuck somebody else, sorry I'm still a little raw..."

The result of my constant need for walls and running... to run away from what I want because I am fearful of the outcome is a practice I've held in the shards of my corroded heart...since....since...


Well...
I guess since I left him... since I lost myself submitting to a man who took me from myself and left nothing but blood on the linoliuem, bruises on my face, scars on my spirit in return.

I fell in love with walls... the way they granted the power to be built as tall as I so chose them to be... how brick by brick I could ward off anything that might cause me to ache that way again.

I don't remember the last time I was given a choice before now...

"Shut the fuck up bitch! You don't know what you're talking about!"
"I make the decisions, what I say fucking goes, you should know that by now!"

Echos haunt me even now... nights alone are both dear and haunted for me depending on which way my mind decides to run. Sleep a stranger that I visit from time to time wrapped in the arms of my keeper and how I miss it when it... him...when they're gone.

"Good morning beautiful."

What the hell does he see in me?

"You're a fucking useless slut!"

I almost believed that once before I got off my knees and tried to gather the pieces of myself again. The mind is a terrible thing to waste....but even worse is the fate of allowing an infection to breed in your own self image.

I still find myself some nights screaming for him to stop, still find myself rocking on the bathroom floor tears streaming my cheeks hating what I allowed him to destroy in me.

"You can't change the past, but you have a chance now to make a better life lil one."

I am still in pieces, shambles if you will, but there is this man that won't stand for anything but me at my best that deserves me whole.

Still fearful of what the future holds...no longer running.

"Baby please help me forget, hold me in your arms!"

I choose to try again... because life is to short to live tangled up in ghosts.

The morning light    
crawls across my face,  
caressing it like a gentle kiss.    
Thoughts of you overwhelm my mind    
leaving me in tangles.    
    
I find your message on my phone.    
A poem.  
As I read,  
I bask in the warmth    
of your prose,  
being bathed in its beauty.    
Though the words are not for me,    
the desire wells inside me    
to be the muse to your art,    
to shape your imagination    
in the form of my body.    
   
How I long to touch your face.    
For your fingers to softly graze    
my cheek as your gaze    
slowly suffocates me.    
To feel the pressure of your mouth    
against mine until  
my every thought    
is reduced to ash  
from the fire    
that consumes me.

       
You must know there are times
I will not choose you over the poem;  
nor your email, text or pouting silence
over the verse;  
  
Bulging zippers will not sway me  
nor swollen suitcases by the entrance.  
If you want to be first in someone’s life    
you must know, it can never be mine.    
  
I'll never be the faithful wife  
skinning vegetables at the sink;
a gimlet eye’d grandmother supervising,
starched apron and recipe splayed
submissively across the counter -  
contents spooned carefully;
the roast, flayed, awaiting its wake -
attendees of potatoes and carrots
following into the heated pyre.    
  
I'll never be the faithful mistress  
in a négligée holding a drowning olive  
after a cocktail party --
  
alarm at attention so we don’t oversleep
alerting your wife to your late absence.  
  
I'll be in the tub with the poem instead;
gluttonous ink splashing imagery  
over its porcelain skin with each spit  
of candle and stroke of pen.    
  
You must know, in bed I'll fantasize  
about the poem, how it carried me    
shielding my isolated survival
from extinction, while hunted
by laundered mindsets
firm in sects of belief.  
  
You must know the poem  
is 'One Hundred Years of Solitude',  
a plantation abandoned by death;  
it’s 'All the archived Names'  
without Ariadne’s Thread;
the Life that Pi actually dreamt    
'The Shipping News' reporting anthologies
modern American beats underground;  
it’s 'Water for Chocolate' torched  
by match heads; it's 'Midnight  
in the Garden of Good and Evil';
it's Romeo; it's Juliette.    
  
You must know, that if betrayed  
by lies or entrapment I will escape    
elope, even commit suicide  
before captured alive;    
  
we’ll die together, deeply inhaling afterlife  
as Plath – taping your sleeping existence
away from us, towels caulking the frame;    
  
and you, you must know  
you'll wake lonelier than you’ve ever been.    
~  

I hate myself
I want him dead
"But you can't kill me" once he said,

"cause if you do
you'll be dead too
and noone is going to cry for you".

Get to know to yourself better
you're about to enter a shelter
Learn your fucking list of traits
change yourself your life awaits.

Traits you should embrace and hold
Traits you should erase as told
Traits you should change a bit
for you in society to fit.

Well, I,
with my conscious with sense
with this confession as a defense
admit how horrible I am
so stupid, irresponsible and dumb.

I have lost fourteen years
I've cried with fake and real tears
I've sold my soul I've given up
And still I sense an inner gap.

What should I do? Must I pray?
I am three hundrent miles away
Away from home away from sin
I don't think that running away means win
cause someday you may go back
so measure then your strength and luck..

How the hell did I get here? I can say..

there are certain rules a kid has to obey..

My indifferent folks, my low self esteem
the fact that I wanted to be a part of a fuckin' team
To face reality my mom drunk galons of white wine
She used to ask me "are you ok?"
I was always saying "I'm fine."

I wish I could say we lived happily ever after
but a 25% alc./vol bottle had been her only daughter.

I didn't care until I saw her whittled coffin
The second funeral in my life,

about the first.. I don't like talking
I'll tell you what, then people labeled me as a widow
blackdressed and pale looking out of my rehab wide window.

I tried to change but I was terrified by me silver
the sickness was just in my head,

but I was burned by a real fever.

I thought I'll be fine but I've been hiding behind of..my finger
If I hah had a revolver backthen,

I would had pulled the trigger.

I started writing words inspired by a guitar
as I was running on a highway,

three dudes, me and their car.

I am so sick of this life
I wish for a different way of living
never to think of fucking dust
or my sight like knife on the ceiling

I have a feeling
I have to find my final destination
It isn't death
It isn't cash
It isn't recognation.

                         


           
                                     
                                     
Dressed as sinner      
hailed as murderer      
of freedom                                      
in liberty                                      
                                     
All black suit                                      
yellow teeth          
carrying black bags            
in deathly stares            
of un-slept eyes   
   
Just a party, really            
wasn't it?              
 "only this once"              
 "fun for tonight"            
Until hell broke                                      
                                     
His royal evil ass              
knocking at                                      
windows and doors                            
a l-i-t-t-l-e                                      
more insistent                                      
more regular                                     
more persistent                                      
than before                                      
was it not?      
     
Seemed a joke, at first. Not so?      
                                     
The good people left your life                
didn't they?                  
They'd slander him, wouldn't they?      
You'd stand up for him, wouldn't you?      
     
Speaking inventive words          
filling his evil                  
with some light;                  
some positive                  
you probably believed initially      
They never came back, did they?      
Of course you didn't notice at the time                         
who would?                                   
                               
There were                                      
bars                                      
parties                                      
visits                                      
the new people                                      
willing participants, weren't there?
 
The bank started hounding, didn't they
People were nagging, weren't they?      
                                          
It spirals, doesn't it?        
Do you think        
we'd be asking questions        
if you hadn't taken that first line?      
Hadn't trusted that                                  
suit                                      
teeth                                      
dead eyes                                      
and his packet?                                      
                                     
Calling judgement now        
aren't you?        
Suspecting us                
with our questions                
of making you steal money at night;      
while your mother cried                
herself to sleep                  
Your wife running                
from her family home               
(all four little mouths, in tow)      
not so?                                      
                                            
I know, you're wishing      
these questions weren't asked       
or we hadn't called      
the suit                    
"a dirty fuck"      
or that I had                 
never penned this
The clock
ticking the seconds
of your life away                                      
                                     
You wish I hadn't                                      
                                     
don't you?                                      
                                     
                                     
-x-                                      
                                     
 

I sit in the old servants quarters of
an English stately home. Behind the wall,
a partly cobbled green lane which I love.

Going down the lane from this aging Hall
in a wooded glade is a metalled road.
Going right, past a white wash Lodge withal

a scattering of dwellings now bestowed
by this beautiful walk through bright sunbeam.
Toward a bridge under which a burn flowed

where trout swim stationary in the stream
and, sometimes in the woods, roe deer are seen.
Continuing on this road as a dream

especially at dusk, where before we've been.
Road and stream like rod and snake reach a ford,
where two foot trout shimmer, quiver, careen

across to spawn; a sight to be adored.
Where stream and road cross a ford, where we roam -
pleasant and relaxing with health restored.

Along the lane where the trees make a dome,
around the corner and starting to climb,
the single track lane will then take us home.

If I stood up and rotated around:
each way you look, this journey is background.

I am a sister I am a brother
I am a father I am a mother
I am a daughter I am a son
I am the many I am the one
 
I am a worker I am an employer
I am a creator I am a destroyer
I am righteous I am a sinner
I am a loser I am a winner
 
I am a hater I am a lover
I am obvious I am under cover
I am a hitter I am a receiver
I am a doubter I am a believer
 
I am truthful I am a liar
I am frigid I am fire
I am saved I am savior
I am thought I am behavior
 
I am in orbit I am low
I am a victim I am a foe
I am a peering crowd in a face
I am a fractious human race

 
Appealing as a rose  
but am a Trojan horse
Deceptive by nature  
Please beware of rapture....
 
As the sun wakes  
it strikes unapologetically on
my glassy face  
"Light always wins" it says  
And I echo its rays  
in every direction....
 
You stare obsessively at your reflected face
that I project;
Your eyes that twinkle as stars  
Your smile that's straight from Mars  
And your skin that's smooth as silk  
 
But frankly
Perfections that i project  
Create intrenal imperfections
 
Your ego slowly consumes your core
like a meadow set ablaze
Burning all life it inhabits....
 
But what do I know....  
Am just a mirror