2003-09-04 @
12:02 p.m. | Poetry: It Wouldn't Be a Blog Without It
Song in my head: Whistling in the Dark by They Might Be Giants
Mood: a bit bleary from all the detail work I'm doing
Current book: still With Child
Okay, so this is technically an online diary rather than a blog (for some reason, although everyone one on earth practically does blogs rather than the diary format, I just like this one better), I liked the way it sounded better.I was going through some old files and found a few poems I wrote ages ago, perhaps 7 or 8 years ago already - I don't think I've written any since. I figured I'd share, well, just because.. :-) I don't think they're fantastic, but they don't suck horribly, so that'll do. _______________________________________________________________ Mouth Hey there, little girl You with that smile you think will serve you so well You with those toothpaste ad teeth ready for beauty pageant runways Well, listen to me, sweetie pie-- that smile won�t be worth a damn when you find yourself stuck under that accidental boy-next-door. You think then your mouth will do you any good?
You may think you�ve won something Gaining access to those long-denied backseats of cars But what do you really have? So he finds you adequate I wouldn�t kick her out of bed, he tells his friends, and maybe even brags about what that pretty smile of yours is good for. While you�re left with an empty mouth and empty heart, Misbuttoned shirt and a throat filled with questions unasked.
You catch that glimpse of yourself sometimes You know, that one where you look into a storefront window and see yourself looking back like a stranger. Look at that smile, you tell yourself-- Shouldn�t it count for something? But deep down you know You can catch them but never keep them. Foreign Policy Neville Chamberlain�s got nothing on me; call me the queen of appeasement No easy feat, this title, but one won head held hard between the thighs of sweaty and unsympathetic strangers. Did I really think this was what I wanted? Left cold in an unfamiliar bed wearing a smile I never intended, a smile that masks the sour traces of stale semen on my breath. These indignities my price for a hand in my hair a heartbeat in my ear These indignities my price for fifteen minutes of make-believe. To Terry, who only started it Your desire may be greater than your allotted time but mine? Mine are equally vast and yet empty, full of nothing but white hot noise and longing. Your absence defines me, defies me- your loss cuts the boundaries of my wanting You were my Saturdays, my daydreams. I still dream only now, I dream of a hunger whose black lust rages Now my bones are picked clean, to glisten like stark offerings in the brutal sun of your retreat. previous | next |