tin men

Mar. 8th, 2014 02:45 pm
wellownedbkup: (so full of shit)
tin men

We are not to be held at fault or our birth
Circumstance's victims inheriting ruins
As the world crumbles beneath our newborn feet
Never let it be said we were unaware

Time turns and grows wickeder apace
A coin toss between morality and sin
And watching best efforts to secure a future
Slipping like sands through grasping fingers

Whoever asked to be brought into this world
Dying, failing long before we began
At war with itself, and we, reluctant soldiers
Outdated maps clutched against clear and present danger

It's no wonder we're afraid to grow to a full adult
Responsibility latched on since we were young
But how can we all be held to blame
When facing dragons with no sword, no armor?



written on a windowsill in my bedroom, march 8 2014
wellownedbkup: (chicks)
hell has made its home in my belly
and i don't know how to finish this sentence without
the silent screaming, the muffled shout
this fire raging inside while i wait for something to happen

hell curls hot and sickly in my belly
with nighttime fires that consume and leave me
awake and empty shell of bitter meant-to-be
the taste of copper in my bitten shut mouth

hell burns home fires in my belly
slack-jawed yelling for a lack of things to say
so lonely that i push any other people away
for the fire that burns on inside without warmth.

8/5/2012
wellownedbkup: (chicks)
Fall

predictable,
the haze of heat and dust after summer break in classrooms too long in disuse
the state fair outside: raucous and disappointing
smell of animals in their stalls and lowing as the city gives way to country.
long days of sitting and staring at whiteboards while the world still bakes...
you come, predictable, a half forgotten memory
kisses under flickering streetlights that meant nothing at all
and your promises that fell apart like we'd fallen in love
another day staring out windows
dismal fluorescents buzzing like a sickly bee
full circle to where we began.
wellownedbkup: (so full of shit)
i remember them in lines of poetry. strange, isn't it? that they should fit so neatly into journal entries or memoirs as lines of poetry.

he was "when reading between your unlined/a4 pages".

he was "where i can't whisper...//"sweet dreams, trezo"/into digital ears".

he was "the darkness that curls on pillows left empty by lovers".

he is "we no longer love, but stare out windows/to old skeletons, the bones we expose".


i would try to explain it more, understand it more, but all i can see is loss and anger. is struggling to see something in them that i cannot see in me. unwanted and wanting. loved and unloving. desperate for something more than real.
wellownedbkup: (Default)
the end of a fling
... a terzanelle

we no longer love, but stare out windows;
not speaking for fear of what we could say
to old skeletons, the bones we expose.

ragged edges of self began to fray,
rag-doll threads that unraveled and were lost
(not speaking for fear of what we could say)

as structure built without counting the cost,
with lies and wishes for a better life--
rag-doll threads that unraveled and were lost.

thinking that one day you could call me wife
leaves you as love's fool, choosing to be blind
with lies and wishes for a better life.

empty phone calls where i struggle to find
quiet words: only what you wish to hear,
leaves you as love's fool, choosing to be blind.

if i could just speak! not tongue tied by fear-
quiet words. only, what you wish to hear...
we no longer love, but stare out windows
to old skeletons, the bones we expose.
wellownedbkup: (Default)
distaste

of what use to me is the thought of love?
wearied with words and acts of derring-do,
i scoffed at the foolish idea thereof:
of what use to me is the thought of love?
it's more like a curse than a gift from above
i, in this fight, am decided: i'm through--
of what use to me is the thought of love,
wearied with words and acts of derring-do!
wellownedbkup: (Default)
to the boy who once loved me

whenever i'm found with a moment of silence?
i weep
i feel as if my life has ended
and begun all at once
this brave old world that we faced together
frightens me and i sit
back against the wall and holding a teddy bear
and i weep

first thought as i wake and last as i lie down
now a series of stutters
false starts where i can't whisper
"good morning, love"
"sweet dreams, trezo"
into digital ears and my stomach churns
loud in the emptiness of my room and my bed
and i weep

we were, once, the definition of human love
incandescent and heartening
until i became the definition of human
imperfect and heartbreaking
too thoughtless in action to mean inaction
too weak to stand
and i weep

i don't know how to fill the empty time
how to count each of the twenty three and a half hours
minutes that used to be marked by you
my phone a dead limb
my heart a useless pump
leaving just my eyes to watch you leave
and i weep
wellownedbkup: (Default)
i am not courageous.

every waking hour, i spend like an accountant
pros and cons weighed like gold in scales
like gold in scales made before time itself
and i watch the balance shift back and forth with shaking hands
shaping weights of ideals.

every detail is itemized and i'm always in the deficit
the shape of me, the way of me
no more than a film of dust in the balance.
my ledger is thick with transactions
of a hint of sin tainting the goods.
the balance of the scales will tip with assessing the risk of you...

but i am not courageous.
wellownedbkup: (Default)
one day, when i'm pretty, i'll walk around my house in a tank and a pair of boxer shorts because i'll be comfortable in my skin.

tl;dr )

i've got a long way to go on my journey toward fat acceptance, clearly. but one day. one day, i'll put something on and finally think that i look pretty. and soon, i'll be happy to be in my own skin because i won't give a shit what everyone else thinks. kthxbai, haters.

and one day, i'll be exactly like Rives' poem--Gorgeous:

Gorgeous, transcribed )
wellownedbkup: (Default)
you hugged me.
you can deny it now, of course. but i'll remember.
try as i might to forget, i'll remember.

week two of the summer abroad and you?
you made the first move.
you broke the rules.
you extended your arms and pressed chest to chest and folded me in your embrace.
a scant second and i knew that you and me? we.
joined heart to heart in an instant.

next to you i felt dirty and unkempt
like my high school uniform
untidy wrinkled and careworn.

so sue me if i fell that hard for you.
you, with your dorky glasses.
you, with your legs like water reeds.
you and your chivalry and outdated sense of noblesse oblige to the american.
two weeks and you enveloped me.
the antidote to a stiff upper lip.

it's nearly four years since i met you.
you wrote me letters every month.
you paid for my cell phone service so that you and me. we.
talking and texting about my trip.
you spent the bitter weekend where she got married having fun with me.
all because you reached out to me.
melded limb to limb one second.

and when i say we loved each other biblically,
i mean to say that i knew you in that way that adam
upon sight of eve
declared her at last bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh

i spent almost four years waiting on you.

and yet
now
i always remember to never mention you
in conversations with friends.
As if the whisper of your name
could conjure your presence.
i try to remember to think of you
only as broken clocks herald time.

i never remember to forget you.
you hugged me.
wellownedbkup: (Default)
i feel like my poetry has to have some kind of meaning
like each line has to have an image
i read this poem
about building dynasties made of words like bricks
and i wondered what it meant when each line was only
one word
or two.

and maybe it's just the poetry snob in me
the one that called her workshop class a joke because the real challenges?
the real challenges were made by her.
there's an expectation for each line to have weight
to roll on the tongue like the sweetest berry and linger like wine
like dry wine that leaves its acrid flavor too full for a mouth

one word lines do not an image make
nor are the breaks to be bandied about like sticky caps
cutesy instead of clever and misshapen on the page.
wellownedbkup: (chicks)
you won't forgive me for this

it's weird but sometimes i like girls in that way you wouldn't approve of
and sometimes i like guys that way too that against the wall desperate way that comes and goes
but i don't have the capability to love
anymore
you took that away with your pain and your tears and your perfect past of zealousness

you make me feel like a bigot and a hypocrite
magnetic word poetry strung out over locker doors that spell freedom and lies

i write things down so that i'll remember couched phrases of why we don't all gel like before
why she was a whore and he was depressed how sick
these four brick walls so whitewashed paint peeling and quiet
stones that refuse to cry out i write so that i remember and swear and never love

you won't forgive me for this

i lavish affection on the available and attainable
no effort because he's really not my type and it's just fun
and games i could play if only i wasn't so desperate for someone to take me away give me rest
give me peace and please me release

you'd hate it when you saw
half innocent half vixen half pussy half raven
200% in negative not what you thought at all

i'm only quiet because i still have respect and words can be shifted into pleasantries

i miss being able to love
wellownedbkup: (tape)
Morning
the coffee's worn off
three cups and still couldn't think straight
once upon a time you were a mermaid
three cups and it's just now sinking in
nothing I do is
battling insurmountable odds

breakfast tastes like ashes of real caffeine
you understood me like no one
I can't even summon the
passion and fire and ice
caffeinated carbonated in 3 cups to go

I'm waking up for the first time
the coffee grounds warm us up from
music blasting from tin rattling speakers
empty lyrics and things I'd never known
morning DJs giving out good news to weary souls.
“Welcome to the Morning Show. It looks to be a beautiful day.”
wellownedbkup: (genius)
queen mab )
wellownedbkup: (Default)
Shadow Theater
Je rêve
of shadows
Mix reality with lies
Forgotten past times
Nostalgia wakes me again
In darkened rooms, there’s light

My discomfiture
Proof I’m an insomniac
But I am dreaming
Crisscrossed shadows on blank walls
Restless echoes of past life

Bed swallowing me
Whole body drowned in pillows
Si c’est un confort
But the shadows ever rage
Restless again and again
wellownedbkup: (Default)
still working with it, but....


Nightmare
In contrition, I seek desperately my left galosh.
wellownedbkup: (tape)
our last poem had to showcase what we learned over the semester. as i learned pretty much nothing i didn't already know, i got to write out whatever the heck i felt like writing. poetry snob, yes. but since i made myself have bigger challenges than my professor offered... *shrug*

this deals with a big talk i had in astronomy lab with this kinda awesome guy named peter. we're killing time talking about the lab and it got turned into this big joke about becoming a superhero based on all these cosmic rays that shoot through us every day. seriously: you calculate than over a million muons pass through you a day, and they're irradiated particles that move so fast, time moves slower for them.

so while we were in class, we end up talking about the hulk, superman, spiderman, mystery men and how "my mommy calls me special" and pretty much anything to kill all the time we didn't feel like spending sitting there.

a sestina is 39 lines, with 6 end words rotated each stanza. so they have to have the lines end a certain way.

p.s. peter's awesome. i think he likes me.

Astronomy Lab Sestina (You’re a Superhero) insert awesome music here )
wellownedbkup: (Default)
so, write a poem about nature, but meaning something bigger than just nature.

this is a ghazal, a persian form of poetry.


in stars tonight

the silver river flows overhead, in stars tonight,
as we watch from our bed these stars tonight.

a queen chases her king indefinitely;
her punishment instead in stars tonight.

a prince kills a Gorgon with a sword.
he carries her head across stars tonight.

we follow the bright lights over cars,
drive-in show: post-watershed stars tonight.

a twin shares his immortality
with a mortal twin--undead in stars tonight.

a hunter with sword attacks savage prey.
on its flesh, he's fed in stars tonight.

for the life of a wife, a musician will play no more.
his lyre caught, like tears shed, in stars tonight.

spiral-armed galaxies show a loving pair
in a waltz, they're led in stars tonight.

we talk of myths and constellations.
our thoughts have fled to the stars tonight.
wellownedbkup: (Default)
"wordplay." it's supposed to be puns, spoonerisms, malapropisms, etc. basically you taking on the english language. i set out to do something completely insane. look up "contronyms" on your google. you'll get a couple of websites about words that have their antonym AS ITSELF. examples include "cleave," which means both to adhere to and to separate from; "left" as in to leave or what remains; "bolt" and "fast" which both have to do with leaving and with standing still. are we clear here? good.  shape based on the word "cleave".  Discursive means to move from topic to topic coherently... or to move from topic to topic randomly. Discursive
poem under the clickety click )

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