Submissions by malveillant (Ana)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
abandoned
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th Jun 2013 8:31pm
9th Jun 2013 8:31pm
Not Confused, Just Beautiful
In Minneapolis I worked at a bakery and walked home every day
smelling like brown sugar and lemon peel cupcake frosting.
When I found him, he was feeding bread crumbs to the swans-
black trench coat, dark hair, an open book of Rilke lying on the park bench
next to his knees, the kind of man who’d write beautiful pickup lines
on the backs of bar napkins in an effort to take a woman home
and just lie next to her, no sex, no touching.
He bought me a Mountain Dew at the corner store and we tossed
coins into the fountain, wishing for separate things,
koi...
smelling like brown sugar and lemon peel cupcake frosting.
When I found him, he was feeding bread crumbs to the swans-
black trench coat, dark hair, an open book of Rilke lying on the park bench
next to his knees, the kind of man who’d write beautiful pickup lines
on the backs of bar napkins in an effort to take a woman home
and just lie next to her, no sex, no touching.
He bought me a Mountain Dew at the corner store and we tossed
coins into the fountain, wishing for separate things,
koi...
634 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th Jun 2013 4:58pm
9th Jun 2013 4:58pm
Is it true that a submissive girl needs a lot more attention than a regular child?
616 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Jun 2013 11:38pm
8th Jun 2013 11:38pm
cycle
She staples her plaid skirt shut. The buttons shot off, she says. I want to ask whose glitter press-on nails I found beneath a desk, whose clot of blood I smeared with my shoe in the girls’ bathroom. I visited it a few days later. It had dried and flaked, as if scratched by someone’s fingernail.
There’s a lesson on how to sit properly going on in the cafeteria. (Don’t straddle.) There’s also a Student Council meeting about ways to get the boys to stop chewing tobacco and masturbating in the lavatory between classes. They’ve been writing on the walls with themselves.
There’s a lesson on how to sit properly going on in the cafeteria. (Don’t straddle.) There’s also a Student Council meeting about ways to get the boys to stop chewing tobacco and masturbating in the lavatory between classes. They’ve been writing on the walls with themselves.
608 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Jun 2013 9:33pm
8th Jun 2013 9:33pm
human memory is fleeting
I stole a pair of your underwear three years ago
as an excuse for having to see you again but it only
made me wonder why we say “pair” of underwear
when there’s only one, or how full moons always remind
my father of the swollen belly of a pregnant mother,
red and ripe and distended with veins. That first night
together I kissed you hard because it was the only
way I learned to do things: to turn human beings
into crash test cars and run them into trees,
or don’t do anything at all. This is the way we learned,
shedding sleep from our new bodies like...
as an excuse for having to see you again but it only
made me wonder why we say “pair” of underwear
when there’s only one, or how full moons always remind
my father of the swollen belly of a pregnant mother,
red and ripe and distended with veins. That first night
together I kissed you hard because it was the only
way I learned to do things: to turn human beings
into crash test cars and run them into trees,
or don’t do anything at all. This is the way we learned,
shedding sleep from our new bodies like...
613 reads
3 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
7th Jun 2013 7:34pm
7th Jun 2013 7:34pm
whatever happened to Danielle
You prefer to eat Chinese food with your fingers and tell me in between bites
about your cousin Danielle who wanted her parents to love her so bad
that she carved the phrase “Living evidence”
into her own skin with an X-Acto knife.
When I was a child I expected morphine any time I got a bruised knee
or a banged-up heart, but was only ever rewarded
with a few swallows of my older brother’s whiskey stash.
John always shot heroin in the bathroom
with his legs drawn up in the tub like a little bird
so my parents wouldn’t hear his moan when he inhaled.
I was...
about your cousin Danielle who wanted her parents to love her so bad
that she carved the phrase “Living evidence”
into her own skin with an X-Acto knife.
When I was a child I expected morphine any time I got a bruised knee
or a banged-up heart, but was only ever rewarded
with a few swallows of my older brother’s whiskey stash.
John always shot heroin in the bathroom
with his legs drawn up in the tub like a little bird
so my parents wouldn’t hear his moan when he inhaled.
I was...
661 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Jun 2013 12:07pm
1st Jun 2013 12:07pm
drunk dates over coffee
An old boyfriend invited me out for coffee today;
I discovered he was a member of AA
after watching him squirt a few shots of vodka
into his raspberry frappuccino. My mother started
drinking decaf after my father left her
and swore off caffeine because it made her feel
too much like she did when he kissed her:
dizzying, an ache, firecrackers popping at 4 am
by neighborhood children who accidentally burned
their cats’ hair off with them and had to wait
five years for it to grow back.
But when my...
I discovered he was a member of AA
after watching him squirt a few shots of vodka
into his raspberry frappuccino. My mother started
drinking decaf after my father left her
and swore off caffeine because it made her feel
too much like she did when he kissed her:
dizzying, an ache, firecrackers popping at 4 am
by neighborhood children who accidentally burned
their cats’ hair off with them and had to wait
five years for it to grow back.
But when my...
697 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
27th May 2013 7:17pm
27th May 2013 7:17pm
poem for the boy who called me a slut
It’s not really any of your business how many bodies
I’ve waded through knee-deep like water since I grew old
enough to know what sex was, or how many condoms
I’ve bought in the middle of the night at Costco
with shades on so the clerk wouldn’t recognize me.
When I turned eleven, my mother unwrapped a box
of maxi pads like a gift and taught me that every time
a girl bleeds, it’s just her body’s way
of leaking its beauty from the inside out.
A girl is not a piece of meat;
a girl is more like a piece of...
I’ve waded through knee-deep like water since I grew old
enough to know what sex was, or how many condoms
I’ve bought in the middle of the night at Costco
with shades on so the clerk wouldn’t recognize me.
When I turned eleven, my mother unwrapped a box
of maxi pads like a gift and taught me that every time
a girl bleeds, it’s just her body’s way
of leaking its beauty from the inside out.
A girl is not a piece of meat;
a girl is more like a piece of...
1184 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
26th May 2013 8:03pm
26th May 2013 8:03pm
thoughts
some girls tell stories about men who want
to fix them
i am not a girl men want to fix
i am not a girl with problems that want to be
kissed, sucked on
made to feel
softer
i am a girl who makes wounds like mothers
do birthday cakes
i pace over them, i find all the right ways to
use a knife
men don't like this
men want something they can fix
they don't want the girl who lets the knife
slip,
they want someone easy to talk to
they want the girl who doesn't know what to
do when she falls down
but i have died so many times that...
to fix them
i am not a girl men want to fix
i am not a girl with problems that want to be
kissed, sucked on
made to feel
softer
i am a girl who makes wounds like mothers
do birthday cakes
i pace over them, i find all the right ways to
use a knife
men don't like this
men want something they can fix
they don't want the girl who lets the knife
slip,
they want someone easy to talk to
they want the girl who doesn't know what to
do when she falls down
but i have died so many times that...
846 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by malveillant (Ana)
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