I am the palm touching my cheek,
and hiding my face,
I am dead nerve endings--pulsating alive again,
I am the little girl who cuddles vicious, heat-struck
malamutes and singing, oblivious, clinging to them
nuzzling --giving too much love--accidentally
stepping on their tails--too close to their open jaws-
Oh, friendly beast, love me too for the moment,
meet this challenge, be the only one who can do it,
I am the blood congealing,
I am the sorry yellow napkin,
I am the old woman's wringing hands
I am the doctor's crooked stitch
Now I am,
a faded scar, I am no pain, but a
constant reminder,
Look at me, friends and foes,
I am the one who cares,
but I am the one you say
"this is a who-cares-you
should-have-known-better-heartbreak."
You stupid girl, you clumsy thing,
stop giving so much.
I am the love you reserve for those
who don't deserve you.
I am the love reserved
for the unlovely.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
-
I started writing Seven Years back in May, and since then I've made a lot of progress. However, my attempts to create this work have be...
-
Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
-
shake up my heart and flavor your life it is full of holes. you cannot see me for I am brow deep in my old pain and I cannot speak because I...
-
for Allen Ginsberg i am not blue. i am a sunflower of more than one color. though i hold too much water until i am green, i am not blue. i a...
-
I have been published here: Prompted: An International Collection of Poems All proceeds go to LitWorld.org more poetry on the way!
Poets United Contributor
No comments:
Post a Comment