Friday, November 20, 2009

I'm going to laugh...

I hate being laughed at, so instead,

I'm going to laugh everyday until it hurts, so you can't hurt me. so you can't take that away from me.. Because this is truly funny. This is a new form of comedy that when looked at from the inside could actually be a tragedy.. But I'm going to laugh constantly, my heart will not be beaten on consistently, she must beat on her own persistently. I'm going to laugh everyday until it hurts so bad I can't do anything else but cry... and crawl in my bed and scream through sobs why?! WHY?! I'm going to laugh everyday, until you finally go away. Just because you said you will, doesn't erase you in one whole day. I'm going to laugh everyday, until the absurdity becomes clarity...because right now this is really fuzzy to me.

I'm not even sure I believe it myself. I was doing so well till you brought me back to my hell... Oh life and it's fucced up ways, I'm going to laugh at you everyday. Do you hear me life? I laugh at your intentional strife! You will not defeat me, only I can do that.

So I'm going to laugh everyday until I can honestly say: I hate you. The rest of it, is completely up to you.

The World's Not Ready For Us (Part 2)

I sat down to write part two of a very immature but still perfectly representative poem I wrote about my best friend back in high school. It's been a struggle, because I'm worried it will be received wrong. Much like I always worried we would be; received wrong. And then I realized, that's exactly the point. The poem will always be received wrong, because the world's not ready for us.

Sometimes, on purpose,
I'll pick a fight. Just to see how long it goes,
if it'll last beyond the night.

Sometimes, on purpose,
I'll make myself cry.
Because I feel that you still see me,
like I'm just one of the guys.

Sometimes, you irk me.
Really, really irk me.
But I love you anyway,
because I know I do the same,
every other day.

Sometimes, you're really wrong.
And you know I'm right,
But insist on fighting your fight.
Give up sometimes, it'll feel better
than the struggle of who knows better.

Sometimes, alone I'll smile.
Because I know if I called,
you'd at least chat for a while.
In company or not, you've
always put me first...
Which is probably why I'm the girl
a chic will curse..

Sometimes, you're too stubborn.
But you wouldn't be you if you weren't.
I've accepted every flaw in you (not many),
And you know all of mine...
No one else today would truly spend the time
to get to know me. And that's fine.

I wish we were married,
So I wouldn't have to fear being alone
it would be perfect.
I love you enough to say I do but I'm not in love with you
so you can do what you do...
And I know you get that!!!
Which would make our marriage even more true.

I wish you'd take me seriously,
like when I feel like I might die and
you barely even ask why?
I do cry... out of anger..
And you're the only one that knows that.
Everyone else just thinks I'm sad, but fucc that.

Sad is of the weak,
but my tears are not defeat..
Rather a passive aggression that I choose,
I choose to avoid the aggravation.

Sometimes when I sleep,
I laugh to myself at your last story.
The funny one you told me?
It's a comfort when I'm angry.

Sometimes I miss you too much
Sometimes you become my clutch..
Sometimes, I'm not ready for us.
But the world's not ready for us.
Sometimes, I challenge my trust...
Just to see where it will lead us.
Sometimes I close my eyes and see you on the other side.
And that's when I know, You'll always be by my side.
Thank you.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

This isn't about me.

This poem isn't about me. It's about you. Before you fall on the defensive, then I can't really help you.

and your broken heart,
broken soul and twisted mind.
crying eyes,
fake smiles you hide behind.

are not the same.
are not to blame. See
you have been framed.

You don't like what you do but you do it anyway.
You don't plan on betrayal but it happens...
You have all this in love in you,
You can't see the definitive line in between love and hate though.
You've lost it. Completely.

This poem isn't about me.
It's about you.
the endless list of things you fear in this world,
the countless minutes you've spent thinking. Just thinking.
the continuous struggle of your soul and your mind... you alternate who wins, all the time.
the lack of hope you have left in you.
It's all about you.

You hold the future in your hands but you fear a life with any sans...
Sans love, sans drama, sans happiness, sans sadness.
Sans everything that makes a human being something living.
Sans the you you've become too familiar with,
Sans the you you've come to terms with..
Sans acceptance of the almost impossible.
Sans exceptions to the rules..
Sans the you you think is you.

This poem isn't about me.
It's about you.
See by being about you,
You cannot ignore me..
Me as the conundrum in you.
You cannot deny me,
Me all the things you know you need, that I have.
You cannot erase me truly,
Me is a permanent marker.
You have "sharpied" me into your skin,
you have let the ink from my needle point pen pinch
you cannot give in..

You are not a coward,
You have not lost...
You've only reached a point where you contemplate some loss..
You are not behind... Only too far ahead..
You may end up alone, but maybe
You need to...

You are no more a victim than the cause of your angst... but you will be fine.. You have said your goodbyes, as have I... but goodbyes are for the lost.. and You, you are not lost.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Effects of a Howl

I just read Allen Ginsberg's Howl (for Carl Solomon), and I feel stuck. I have YET to read an American poet like him, and I'm shocked. America is a :melting pot: of cultures, creativity, determination and endless fixations, so how have I not come across anybody that was able to make me read 8 pages of rantings of a psychopathic Jewish (?) man before?? In that regard.. the Effects of a Howl...

Sirens blaring,
the helicopters are alive again.
Flashing lights, gun shots
a baby crying.
Cigarette butts and the
stench of a dutch,
..a heart beat elevated.
Foot steps too close behind at 10:19pm,
No worries in these streets,
he won't get to me. I am these streets,
I think.

Foot steps closer now, but I'm almost home,
he won't follow me.
Helicopter still alive,
darkness spreads across the sky.
I am not afraid but I am brave,
he WILL NOT follow me.

For I am not a child but a woman of the night,
A woman in a place willing to put up quite the fight.
"Do not fear the night," I hear myself say to me,
I break into a run and the footsteps fade behind me.
Cigarette butts and the
stench of a dutch.
I wasn't scared
... much.

But this is not my home,
I'm a stranger in this place.
the helicopter's alive,
the sirens own the night.
Not I.

I am of another place,
one that tends to sleep,
But if you have insomnia,
like me,
you don't have to sleep.
"The City that Doesn't Sleep."
That's the place of me.

I am of another place,
one where at night
I do not race.
Home is all these streets to me,
and fear will never win,
Cigarette butts and the
stench of a dutch,
do not exist here.

But my streets are not bare,
the baby does still cry,
When I reach "home" at night
I stop to watch the sky.
I listen to the night.
No sirens.
No helicopters are alive.
No footsteps linger behind me.
No man I cannot see.

I stop to watch the sky,
for the sound of the wind soothes me.
But sleep does not become me,
so again I leave.

Howl for my streets
Howl for my night,
Howl to the sky, and
Howl for a fight.
Cigarette butts and the
stench of a dutch,
do not exist here for me.
"The City that Doesn't Sleep"
eventually they will find me.