December 31, 2011

Conversations Over Dinner & A Boyz II Men Goodbye


8  .  21  .  96
Conversations Over Dinner & A Boyz II Men Goodbye

“no no… you talk about yourself”
& you pause to tell me that came out wrong
I understood.  No insult, no injury
“What I mean is that you talk around how you feel.”
through a mostly chewed mouthful of shrimp.

I guess I didn’t know

“now that I think about it, there are two of me”
you raise your eyebrow and put down your scallop
“There’s mousy me & the loud obnoxious me”
I’m the mouse tonight
pick, pick
“excuse me miss!  Could I have some more lemon?”

The evening is warm
and by hook or by crook we made it!
Well, we made half our plans
Quasi will have to wait
for video it seems

We hold hands on the drive to your car

You follow me home, the first time your car is in my drive.
As you step out of your car
“Do you really find it necessary to drive 85 down the highway?”
“Don’t be silly.  I was only doing 70.”
“No, that was definitely 85.”
“Huh...  My speedometer must be off...”

Clunk
I throw my shoes on the radiator

So I’m sitting on the couch
stretched out really
barefoot
with a blanket over my legs

with newly found VCR remote in hand
we play video clue
and candyland for ages 3-6
“Come on… Humor me.”
I whine and grumble
probably more than I should
but play

All the while I wonder many insecurities
will you honestly miss me?
Oh god I hope
one sided love is the pits

& we pseudo spoon
me on my back and you on your side

& it smacks me
right upside the head
how much I love your body and how you hold it against me
how well I know your eye color
            caramel brown and the lids just barely cover the pupils’ edge.
How good you smell tonight
these things I could never say
I’m awful with compliments
they always come out wrong

after you’ve warned me you’re turning the light on
we stand there
I want to cling to you, pretend I don’t have to leave
            I’m not actress and I can’t’ forget
my thoughts timed to a funeral dirge

“ya have a Boyz II Men cd?”
“No”
and I think, that was my graduating class’ song, or was it 94’s.
“Do you mean it?”
“what?”
“Your Boyz II Men reference.”
Silence
yes by default

we walk, disheveled, and more than a little sad
through my dark house
towards the all too symbolic looking front door.
I walk out with you
to your brand new car
            I’m so happy for you
            I’m so happy with you

I wobble a little, my bare feet on cement
your eyes are darker and at half mast
            from both sentiment and fatigue

neither of us want for you to open that door
that really would be goodbye
I think so loudly, I’ll miss you
“well,” you start, “we’ll always have e-mail”
you and I both give a well educated laugh
not enough
“that is” I declare “I’m sending you a phone card.”
that seemed to go over well.

Somewhere, I forget exactly when
but you who closes up tight
rarely lets down your guard
admit to me first, in a real voice,
“I love you.”
I am stunned I am shocked
I hold you closer and confess the same

“Now, no messing around at school.”
“ok”
“Well, I don’t know what you want...”
“you.”
“huh?”
“I want you.”
sigh

I made you swear and promise me
            no cheerleaders
and you argued that if you couldn’t have cheerleaders
I could have no lesbians.
Agreed love.

You’re tired and you work at noon
but my spirits rise when
you swear you’ll try extra hard
to rise from the dead to see me off in the pre-dawn morning
I’ve never had a send off
not a welcome home crowd of 1-20
it’s hope
assurance that I matter

you climb in your car
kiss me once more and I step back just to look at you
you mouth the words
“I love you” and I
“I love you too.”
knowing it must end sometime
you start your car and I turn around
clutching the always-too-long sleeves of my dress
I walk through my front door as you pull through the gate
I turn out the lights and lock the door
closure
for the evening, only the evening.

My last 3:00 a.m.  getting home night is over
I walk upstairs to my room
and the stairs creak as usual
my room, I grab a shirt and boxers
change
a sophomore in college
18 years old & I grab my teddy-bear
surrogate
I climb in bed
& lay on my side
fetus like

my left hip is tight
reminding me of the shot in the arse
I got for when I come home
Lisa’s quote comes to mind and I smile
looking forward, past the future,
to them both.

Till next & ever




he watches her
as she folds at the waist and grabs her feet
her hair slides over itself as she looks up
the dimmest ray of light
refracts in her eyes
tonight, they are watery blue

she gives him that womanlook
endearing, I love you, melt with me
from and independent part-time feminist

already, you own me
so long as I can
you
body, mind, soul

I work with you
you laugh with me
I teach you what I know
you spoil me rotten

December 30, 2011

Juliet is Bleeding


This was written about a sexual encounter between myself and someone I didn't love, but who began to fall for me.  Circa 1998.

Juliet Is Bleeding
& Romeo is stained

he hobbles, bare-assed across the room
the clock ticks off another minute
the dark morning hides
flushed faces and adrenaline charged legs

he only now, it, the knowledge dawns
she, head shaking, thinks, that was a mistake
as she anthropomorphizes herself from the bellybutton down.(she and hers surprises me
she hides for a day and then springs)
she, the dom, begs for forgiveness
he plops down on the dismantled couch
in the dark, quarterlight, his tooth gleams with his smile
swimming in the experience, he druggedly responds,
I don’t mind, really
honest and true
he, towering as he stands
hugs her petite, half-naked form
almost, he whispers, “I love you” into her mussed hair
she returns the hug, her mind half there
she wanders through the events
damn, now he’s going to fall in love
she grumbles in her mind
            Juliet is sick of cheese

He, Romeo of 19
a survivor of the dagger after the curtain
will grow to be a cuddler
Juliet has swallowed her bottle of ground callous
& rolls over to sleep

he holds her body
unsure of what to do, but content to never move again

she sleeps a dreamless sleep
and wakes beside him
rises from her place to shower and brush her teeth
business & pleasure
pashaw to love

Juliet is bleeding more than blood

December 29, 2011

Untitled - Late 90s


almost as if i expect it
hours before
i ready
as if i were going to be presented to royalty
though it’s only queens
i ready
make myself small
and quiet
so i can hide in my corner of the round table
and not stir up any sediment hormones
making it easy for them
the clitoris piranhas
who’d skeletonize my protest
so i’m too weak to stand
wiggle wiggle
laugh and point
the lone face
who’s red with shame and anger
those boys who’ll grow up to be sex-starved men
by their choice or ours
the women
but i dread
treading lightly
chewing silently
bowing my head so thy can’t meet my eyes
they with their jokes as stale as 3 day old cum
drawing my aura in as tight as a quilt
the real life incredible shrinking woman
who could, but doesn’t
who sits and takes it
for being a girl

boys who grow up to be boys
who’s hand me downs are only clothes
who don’t shed their piggie-tail yanking and circle-jerks
like foreskin
who are dirty
and nervous
who laugh to hide their shaking hands
for a woman
who takes offense inside her
ad lets it be
we all will take it in
sometime
forget to reject

shining strobe disk
flippity-flip
an excuse to look at a girl and watch her breast
follow follow
little lemming lovers
over to where men who think like you pool
for money or sex
fall fall
over self-made
paper-mache cliffs
rocky jagged loneliness below
and ambient mood-music the crash of empty surf
the tears that fall
from the end of their penisi

i yell and i scream
and only my parrot echo responds
repeating the words once more
before they drop for the beak
with a wet thud on the ground

at them
at them!
my words tumble and slosh like a waterfall
that pours over the table
from where i was standing
up in front of my chair
and the cold words, like arctic water
defeats me
arousal
as if any woman would sell their sex
for on night with one of them

men are boasters
and the louder they scream it
the less those who fall beneath them will
oh the trumpet sounds
the braggarts and the betters
rape me with your threats
make me eat your words
force me grasp your concept
because i am weaker
and i have a place for you
and round nubs
to catch your teenage first-time balance with

you are so dry and crooked
to only like what you can win
try me
will you stand for me
when i fight back
was it the weaker side that made your blood rush?
will you joke and grab
after i back up my no
with blood on my hands

In reading this, I almost believe that it sounds like living in the shadow of sexual assault.  While I have never been raped, it's as if I had a victim in my head when this was written.  Also, I'd like to note that I didn't grow up to be a man hater.  I swear.