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.

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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.