Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Red London - all the skinhead girls
we'll do it better.
we'll back you up in a fight.
And many of us
are stronger, more independent,
and 10x a lady than the trash you been
putting it to.
Up to you, stud.
but this waiting is getting boring.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Never Regretted Not
what games mark the wall
tides of hope dropping back
and truth is left behind.
there are too many wounds
this woman knows too well.
Are you down?
Do you recognize?
are we people
before hungry mouths?
Girl diversion. like a bottle of whiskey.
substitute poison.
OOooooh, I done heard.
thank god I kept me for myself.
tides of hope dropping back
and truth is left behind.
there are too many wounds
this woman knows too well.
Are you down?
Do you recognize?
are we people
before hungry mouths?
Girl diversion. like a bottle of whiskey.
substitute poison.
OOooooh, I done heard.
thank god I kept me for myself.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
A Champion For Me
I am strong but silent as steel.
I know the place of being invisible.
I'm probably comfortable there, in suffering.
As obnoxious as that is, as much as I hate it, as much as I fight it. It's what I have always known.
No one, not even when I was little, acted as my champion.
Raised amongst thieves, beggars, drug dealers,
bikers, whores, the hungry,
amongst pedophiles, and psychopaths,
the poor, stupid, and plain crazy.
Everyone kicked me around.
And I did push back.
And pushed and pushed.
And was punished for pushing
Any spirit can be silenced if scarred enough.
Any spirit.
But an indomitable spirit lives....
a hidden thing.
Weakness was never a luxury for me.
Still.
With every dream I reach for turning like salted waves.
filling my mouth till the singing turns to a choke.
the writing bleeds off the page and dissapears
everything falls away.
and my feet are tired.
I wear red lips but I am a Queen of the gutter.
I am victory in escape
from
a throw away street citizenship.
I buy street sheets in San Francisco because
I am that, or
I should have been.
No, I don't think you could ever understand.
And you deem to judge me
as some sort of loser.
II.
He who needs a side of beef
with a hole cut into it.
Wonders why I guard my body like a banshee...
What's wrong with you? I wonder too.
But there are few things mine
My flesh,
my aching, burning, lonely, rotting,
nameless, forgotten, scapegoated, kicked, dragged, starved, raped, crucified,
INVISIBLE flesh....
it's mine.
and if no one treasures it, at least I will.
Every man, fuck it, every person
in this strange world above the underbelly
has pictures like postcards
with some lovely Mother,
or some beaming Father.
I have a pilfered facebook pic.
an image
not mine
of my father
and not with me.
I. Don't. Matter.
I was a meal ticket birth.
I am not more than a passing thought.
I serve blood like a place to store shit.
What I have is silence.
lots and lots of silence.
where I can seek God.
and remember breath is where I exist
and find gratitude in the sun
and remember to cut the lines I draw
between me of this
and you with all of that.
because I will surely swing on a rope if I keep cutting away me from you.
AND
I am not an only.
Today I spoke with another
with eyes like heavy crystal
carrying
more
than you
could understand.
More shadows...
and
there I have a home
a big sister embrace that means
HEY, I SURVIVED. YOU WILL TOO!
I have humanity.
The world-style humanity.
III.
I am grateful.
handouts that are salty-sweet
like government cheese to a seven year old
Or soft smiles in Foster homes.
A room I don't deserve. A bag of bread expired from kind thoughts.
Another ear, embrace, generosity.
stoop so low, servile low, sorrysorrysorry. thank you.
I want to crawl into a black black place and never come out.
I want to be seen and
I want to
dissapear.
I put my heart out
and
I see texts
like knives flying.
why is it ok to cut me down
when I have swallowed
then cut me for it again?
please...
oh, I forgot.
My place.
that never has changed.
dissapearer. rat. invisible throw away child.
And maybe it's just time
to call it.
and
walk away.
IV.
maybe.
flint spark Irish blue
I got San Francisco under my skin.
maybe I got to pick up
and
ruuuuuuuuuuuuun!
Maybe there is still a future
with paint and canvas
and words waiting
like lovers mouths
guitars sounding angry and pounding out a story
like you wouldn't believe!
A -can-you-believe-it!
and a
all-this-passion-all-over-the-fucking-place
and a
YES! YES! YES! I got some steady fucking footfalls fuckface!
Art school finishing, destinia-me!!!
Find me, future!
I'm gonna fight for you so you fight for me!!!
I know the place of being invisible.
I'm probably comfortable there, in suffering.
As obnoxious as that is, as much as I hate it, as much as I fight it. It's what I have always known.
No one, not even when I was little, acted as my champion.
Raised amongst thieves, beggars, drug dealers,
bikers, whores, the hungry,
amongst pedophiles, and psychopaths,
the poor, stupid, and plain crazy.
Everyone kicked me around.
And I did push back.
And pushed and pushed.
And was punished for pushing
Any spirit can be silenced if scarred enough.
Any spirit.
But an indomitable spirit lives....
a hidden thing.
Weakness was never a luxury for me.
Still.
With every dream I reach for turning like salted waves.
filling my mouth till the singing turns to a choke.
the writing bleeds off the page and dissapears
everything falls away.
and my feet are tired.
I wear red lips but I am a Queen of the gutter.
I am victory in escape
from
a throw away street citizenship.
I buy street sheets in San Francisco because
I am that, or
I should have been.
No, I don't think you could ever understand.
And you deem to judge me
as some sort of loser.
II.
He who needs a side of beef
with a hole cut into it.
Wonders why I guard my body like a banshee...
What's wrong with you? I wonder too.
But there are few things mine
My flesh,
my aching, burning, lonely, rotting,
nameless, forgotten, scapegoated, kicked, dragged, starved, raped, crucified,
INVISIBLE flesh....
it's mine.
and if no one treasures it, at least I will.
Every man, fuck it, every person
in this strange world above the underbelly
has pictures like postcards
with some lovely Mother,
or some beaming Father.
I have a pilfered facebook pic.
an image
not mine
of my father
and not with me.
I. Don't. Matter.
I was a meal ticket birth.
I am not more than a passing thought.
I serve blood like a place to store shit.
What I have is silence.
lots and lots of silence.
where I can seek God.
and remember breath is where I exist
and find gratitude in the sun
and remember to cut the lines I draw
between me of this
and you with all of that.
because I will surely swing on a rope if I keep cutting away me from you.
AND
I am not an only.
Today I spoke with another
with eyes like heavy crystal
carrying
more
than you
could understand.
More shadows...
and
there I have a home
a big sister embrace that means
HEY, I SURVIVED. YOU WILL TOO!
I have humanity.
The world-style humanity.
III.
I am grateful.
handouts that are salty-sweet
like government cheese to a seven year old
Or soft smiles in Foster homes.
A room I don't deserve. A bag of bread expired from kind thoughts.
Another ear, embrace, generosity.
stoop so low, servile low, sorrysorrysorry. thank you.
I want to crawl into a black black place and never come out.
I want to be seen and
I want to
dissapear.
I put my heart out
and
I see texts
like knives flying.
why is it ok to cut me down
when I have swallowed
then cut me for it again?
please...
oh, I forgot.
My place.
that never has changed.
dissapearer. rat. invisible throw away child.
And maybe it's just time
to call it.
and
walk away.
IV.
maybe.
flint spark Irish blue
I got San Francisco under my skin.
maybe I got to pick up
and
ruuuuuuuuuuuuun!
Maybe there is still a future
with paint and canvas
and words waiting
like lovers mouths
guitars sounding angry and pounding out a story
like you wouldn't believe!
A -can-you-believe-it!
and a
all-this-passion-all-over-the-fucking-place
and a
YES! YES! YES! I got some steady fucking footfalls fuckface!
Art school finishing, destinia-me!!!
Find me, future!
I'm gonna fight for you so you fight for me!!!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
but, but, but...
snake.
burning under my skin.
sin.
mountainme moving memories to fade
shadowed knowing of you,
malemaleand motioning
primitive rubbing out my face,
till I have no name,
or a thousand names
but I crave it.
there, when no one can witness on me
I am dieing with it, heavy at my breast
but you need meat.
and I need your eyes.
Witness on me.
Take my thighs and honey
give me yours.
receive me like a plate of food,
drink touch tender and
a balm on the hidden
Tsunami mia.
stagnate sin in solitude
and you prefer
receptacles.
and I prefer
to crave
snakes
who can't say my name.
He said...
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
so
when did having a heart of gold
and being
a good woman
equal a life condemned?
why aren't these things valued anymore?
and being
a good woman
equal a life condemned?
why aren't these things valued anymore?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Hope
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
HOLY FUUUUUUCCK!
I thought it was dead!
KILL IT!!!
KILL IT NOW!
Quick! Before it breeds!
*thump*
siiiigh. Shit. That was close.
HOLY FUUUUUUCCK!
I thought it was dead!
KILL IT!!!
KILL IT NOW!
Quick! Before it breeds!
*thump*
siiiigh. Shit. That was close.
I Don't
I don't give myself away.
the world is mean
and men are razors with women.
I don't know
if I'm strong enough
to piece myself together
again.
the world is mean
and men are razors with women.
I don't know
if I'm strong enough
to piece myself together
again.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
standing in line for coffee. That girl is standing in front of me. Talking to a thin blonde girl about how good her second child is. Years ago, back when I knew her, I don't know her anymore- it's been that long- the kinda long where you don't say "hi" anymore, or nod. The kinda long that has returned each side back to strangers- we both co-miserated(sp?) about our biggest dream- cheesy as it was. The difference is- years later- she had done it. A simple dream, really. Nothing no one would write up in any paper. But I am thirty plus now going home to an empty room. Choking an a thousand empty intrigues. Boys with heavy eyelids and hungry hearts, and nothing to put on the table. And I choke because I can't even pick these flighty things up. Last night a boy gave me the eye. Several, in fact. One, I squirmed and glanced away like his gaze held glass shards. Touch. Go. Walk away. The other I sang to the wall beside me till his net hit more fish. The third, I simply called his bluff. He kissed me. I tried to run. He threw me in a cab. Like a send off, till he disapated into the night. Today, I work in a blue uniform. Tomorrow is mother's day. My mother is a crazy old wound in me. So many ways she has carved me into this terrified, solitary, and scarred woman I am. So, I had this little dream- a simple dream- silly even. I just wanted to be for someone else what I never had. So, before I go back to work- i'll just recognize how that girl succeeded. And I have failed.
Friday, May 6, 2011
The Hands of This Woman.
I want to punch someone, something.
I want to feel something give.
give under me.
because
I have been given
nothing.
Oh, I'm strong alright.
hardening like rose stems hanging in a basement.
without.
I want to make contact
the sweetest touch.
The only way I can touch
the only way I can feel.
without shaking.
without hiding.
Surging like a named bullet
angry and crude and vicious
my fists
that want to be
surrendered
painted and
taken.
tracing your back.
Jesus Christ.
If I get you
I am scratching bloody lines
down that back
from these
red
red
painted
fists.
I want to feel something give.
give under me.
because
I have been given
nothing.
Oh, I'm strong alright.
hardening like rose stems hanging in a basement.
without.
I want to make contact
the sweetest touch.
The only way I can touch
the only way I can feel.
without shaking.
without hiding.
Surging like a named bullet
angry and crude and vicious
my fists
that want to be
surrendered
painted and
taken.
tracing your back.
Jesus Christ.
If I get you
I am scratching bloody lines
down that back
from these
red
red
painted
fists.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Wait.
holding outdated devices
hoping with
ridiculous levity
and a blue blue
coating of dusted wounds.
blue like you say
my eyes.
MY EYES.
they all say
my eyes.
but my skin
moves like solitude in the sun.
a silk silence,
sticking to forgotten, hidden places
where it remains safe.
waiting.
hoping with
ridiculous levity
and a blue blue
coating of dusted wounds.
blue like you say
my eyes.
MY EYES.
they all say
my eyes.
but my skin
moves like solitude in the sun.
a silk silence,
sticking to forgotten, hidden places
where it remains safe.
waiting.
Monday, May 2, 2011
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