Hello Tumblr! I wrote some prose last which I’m happy about because I’ve only been able to produce poetry as of late. If you’re in the mood for some lesbian romance (kind of) there’s this. I also finally managed to write something about the work I do here with street kids in South America. It took a lot out of me to write this piece. So yeah. I’ll be heading to a...
Monday morning for 12 year olds
The rubber of her broken chancletas does little to protect her feet from the scorching tarmac. She stands unfazed between four rows of traffic, her box of lollipops clutched in one hand and the other she thrusts into car windows, only to be batted away by impatient commuters. Steam rises between the wheels of honking minibuses and she has sold nothing today so she won’t go home tonight. ...
I’m not sure what it was about her that made her stand out from the others. Perhaps it was her hair, the way a few strands escaped her bun and blew around her face in the breeze catching the sunlight. They all wore the same blue shirt tucked into an ankle length brown skirt with smart sandals over grey socks. But there was something about the way she trailed behind the group, eyes wide and...
This morning we were walruses, fat and immobile Lethargic and content We stayed in bed until afternoon with Cathartic intent At one you arose and made me pancakes And a vodka Martini I mowed the lawn like my mother used to do In rain boots and a bikini Last night you were a blue whale emerging from Ocean depths I was a thousand plankton sucked in by your Gulping breath You folded my delicates...
No my love, don’t furrow that brow I know what you have heard But the time for us is now Part your hair straight down the side We won’t take much but pack the towels Soon as they’ve dried I’ll put a flower behind my ear And from my painted eyes I will indulge in one final tear Tell everyone, make it known The die has been cast The marching wind has blown What is left here...
You should have called.
I’m going to pick it apart Scratching at the paper To find the secrets hidden beneath the ink Unfolding each letter Until they lie side by side In a broken thread That I will wear on my finger like a remembrance bow I will chew on the flowery prose Roll it around on my tongue Swallow your metaphors And spit out all that was in bad taste I will question every question mark I will remove...
On one of those blistering nights In Montreal January winds blowing Last year’s snow in our faces We stood giggling and shivering In a tattoo parlour Perusing fonts and casting Nervous glances at the artist As he washed down his shawarma with A tall Heineken. She told me she wanted the word “Veritas” On her ribcage To remind herself that the truth Is always on her side I...
Lure me to shady corners then Stretch and slither down my body Shed your skin along mine Swathe me in your chassis Surround me and squeeze until I am struggling for every breath Then swallow me whole.
Face to face.
My entry into whoartgos’s Anon Challenge. Apparently if we were to ever meet I would turn into some sort of weird fangirl goo. Lovely. Your words are heavy on my tongue and threaten to spill out onto this table between us in the final confirmation of my fanaticism. I can’t look at you. I have travelled miles to know at last that which was hidden behind a screen, the curve of your...
One Line on Him
Last night he split atoms with his tongue, pulled me apart, particle by particle, until I was but a splatter of fissile dots ornamenting his bedspread.
I am of sand Rock rubbed raw Dulled around edges Til dust Tiny specks moulding Coalescing to Form my sandpaper skin Adorned with seaweed and Seashells that change with the seasons My heart is but a piece of Blue glass Locked in sandcastle turrets Beware for with the coming tide I will disappear
My piece for Noelle’s Anon Challenge. 8th place! :) 8pm: I stand in front my mirror pulling on and off the same sweater. I’m wearing too much eyeliner. 9pm:I have changed the desktop of my laptop to 100 composites of you. 10pm: My thumbnail is a bleeding stub. My eyebrows have been plucked to non-existence.11pm: I sit soaking in two inches of tepid water hacking my hair off in severe...
I have always found peace by the sea. By standing at the shore and gazing out towards distant horizons, in recognizing that my perspective is deception, there is no real beginning or end to the ocean, and that somewhere, at any given moment, another soul, as different from me as could be in language, dress and custom, yet the same, is gazing at their piece of the ocean, perhaps thinking about me,...
Did you wash these vegetables with bottled water?
The waitress looks confused for a moment and then answers in broken English, “Yes. All the vegetables washed well. Very clean.” The customer rolls her eyes behind decorative lenses and sighs, “I’ll just take a coffee.” She waits until the waitress has walked away and says loudly to her friend, “I really don’t get why no one here speaks English properly....
Hot Chocolate Hugs
Your breath fills my airways like Chimney smoke Fingers trace the bumps Along the length of my Spine with the wonder of A child touching his unwrapped gifts Your lips linger on My inner thigh Your tongue runs along The brim of your favourite hot chocolate mug Your fingers dip inside To capture every last drop My moans are the crinkling of wrapping paper
I am him. →
Laughing, you slither down my body like a drip of condensation on a cool glass. I am freezing but you won’t let me put socks on because you say that seeing me sprawled out on top of my grandma’s quilt wearing my socks makes you think of that time you walked in on my grandfather on the toilet wearing only his socks, and this image is sure to dry you up and leave me blue-balled and in agony. So...
My fingernails are shredded from Scraping the bottom of the barrel I’ve got a mouth full of blood from Biting my tongue The soles of my feet are blackened from Walking in your shoes My bones ache from Bending over backwards My hands are chafed from Holding my horses I’m losing my balance Out on this limb They said curiosity killed the cat And I should just let sleeping dogs lie Turn my...
Anonymous asked: What does your name mean?
We had been lying in bed, examining a worrying crack on the ceiling, holding hands and talking about the future, when my stomach let out a comedic growl. Laughing, you rolled out of bed, pulled on one of my sweaters and said you were just going to pop out and grab us something to eat. That was around 7:30. By 9:30 you still weren’t back but I didn’t think much of it, distracted by my...
I find pieces of your heart everywhere. Often just tiny morsels, I gather them up with greedy fingers and collect them in a shoebox which I keep under the floorboards. They appear in the strangest places. Under tousled sheets, after sweaty tossings, you mumble something which, if I can decipher, interpret correctly and appropriately respond to, then I might be led to another piece. I tripped...
One Mississippi. →
I think it was the storm that did it. I stood on my balcony watching as it painted the sky silver, shivering in my underwear, head tilted to the sky in anticipation. I counted the seconds between lightning and thunder just like my father taught me. Somewhere between one Mississippi and five Mississippi I called you. Even as my fingers dialed I knew I was making a mistake, my brain scrambling for...
I can easily see that you're a cocky person.
I think he thought it was a smooth pick - up line. It was after class, The Geo-Politics of Eastern Europe or something, he sauntered over and blocked the exit leering at me with what I’m sure he thought was a boyishly handsome grin but which in fact made me think of pumpkins at Halloween, of cabbage patch dolls, of rabid dogs and the mask from Scream. I hitched my heavy bag up on my shoulder...
I was broken.
Take off those mittens Let me take your hand in mine So I can read your palm And tell of all the good things to come. Take off that red scarf And tie it around my eyes Lead me blindly Into your arms. Take off that silly hat So that I can kiss your ears And watch the snowflakes Melt slowly in your hair. Take off that brown jacket And hold me to your chest So your heart can beat...
One line on him.
Three perfectly symmetrical wrinkles appear at the corner of his left eye when he smiles, but only when he means it.
I awoke last night craving the feel of you. You were on the left side of the bed, backing me, stretched out to your full length like a serpent, one foot dangling over the edge. Gone are the days when we slept entwined, in absurd positions, sharing a pillow, breathing in each other’s faces, our combined body heat turning the bed into a furnace all just so we could wake up in each...
I suppose it could be argued that it is not really my fault. I have been led on, I have been promised the fairytale. But really there are only so many times you can walk into the same situation and expect to find an open door where every time before there was a brick wall. The shoulders of your friends only make comfortable places to cry on to a point, eventually they stiffen under the weight of...
He says he doesn’t dance I say good ‘cus I don’t either I’m here to drink until I fall down And then let you make me a believer. I’m here to be anywhere but there To lose myself in you I’m here because here is somewhere I’m here because anyone will do He says maybe I should slow down I laugh and tell him to do something about it This one’s...
I Made Eggs - Poetinside →
My submission to the Prose on Death and Dying Challenge. I really enjoyed writing this. Thanks for the inspiration clover91! clover91: I didn’t expect it to be so tiring. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance and utter exhaustion. I woke up this morning and I made eggs and I remembered to fry the onions first before putting them in the omelet like you taught me. I did not go to work....
Bang, bang, kiss, kiss.
His kiss told me everything I needed to know. He silenced my protest with a violent attack, swallowing my reclamations. I could smell his desperate need for redemption as he pierced my lips between his teeth until they were rouged and swollen. His tongue was heavy on mine, I could feel it weighted down by lies at the tip. I could taste the truth, hidden in the pocket of saliva behind his lower...
Shoulders, rounded and full Burdened with the weight of Nine hermanitos to feed The desire to flee this place But the responsibility to stay Upper arms branded with Regretted ink Hearts and anchors Etched with a dull needle in Barrios at 10 years old to Scare mama And punish padre for Not being there. Elbows become forearms Dusted with coarse, black hair Tendons seem ready to burst ...
A little love.
He doesn’t tweet, tumble or share But he prints out all of my poems And staples them to telephone poles.
I’m awoken by the sound of our apartment buzzer. You’ve lost your keys again and so I am forced out of bed to let you in, cursing as I pad across the freezing tile. Babe, carpet is for old people But what if we have kids one day? Isn’t tile dangerous? Kids?? I play a little game with myself to guess how drunk you are, scale of 1 -10 : 1 usually involves singing and 4 a.m. fry-ups, 10...
I walked home from the club last night, ignoring the half-hearted dissent of my friends as they crowded on the curb, pairing off into taxis, seeking to prolong the nihilism in each other’s arms. For them sex and drugs are just two sides of the same analgesic. I didn’t want to be numb any more so I walked. As I stumbled home in my too-high heels, my toes sliding painfully forwards and...
My mother's eyes.
My mother’s rhyme and Reason tells me I should salvage Pride and forget predilections. Her disappointment always was the greatest Punishment. The raising of those hands which Moulded my very being To pinch the bridge of her nose Between furrowed brow Over hazel eyes That change from green to brown Depending on her mood And right now Are the colour of drowning Those eyes are...
In my country the old people believe that if a bird flies through the house there will be a death in the family. Well today a pigeon was trapped in my bedroom. It flapped hysterically at the closed window obviously confused by its inability to escape, when freedom was so clearly visible. I watched it for the longest while, paralyzed on the other side of the room. I knew I could easily open the...
3 minute love poem.
I spent the day in your pocket Curled up next to a used tissue and a dime As you strutted around downtown I went bump, bump, against your thigh I crawled through cross-stitched seams And paced around your skin I left an ink trail along your torso From your navel to your chin I came to rest atop your shoulders There with the weight of the world You didn’t seem to notice As I...
2:03 a.m. →
In time I will grow to Find that the difference between Right and wrong Is hidden somewhere in The depths of my selflessness In time I will grow to Learn that being Hurt is no more than a reflection Of my own feelings of self worth In time I will grow to Understand that my happiness Depends solely on my Ability to forgive myself In time I will grow to Accept that wisdom Is not...
Picture Number 22
The truth is I died the day mother brought home the parakeet. Do you remember that thing? It was all the rage among the ladies of the club at the time to keep exotic birds in the house. Hats with fruit and exotic birds were the fashion. Mother made us promise we would not let it out. We did anyway of course. The poor thing would fly in desperate circles around the parlour, crashing into fine...
Picture Number 48.
I took a bear to bed last night And he had me on my knees I took a bear to bed last night And now he just won’t let me be He tore my favourite gown to shreds He made quite a mess indeed I did enjoy him so I will confess But now I need reprieve I took a bear to bed last night And I fear he will not let me leave.
Picture Number 18.
I thought that maybe If we sat for long enough You would see That I meant those things I said I thought my veins would spell out My wanton needs in scribbling Desperate blue That my heart would beat louder In its epidermal cave That my need would become As naked as I was But what truth is there In flesh and bone?
As her feet kick at the cluster of daffodils poking their hopeful yellow heads through the cracks in the pavement I think to myself that there have never have been two things as beautiful and as undesired as her and daffodils. Like a stubborn weed she has set up permanent residence in my bones and any attempt to rid myself of her seems to bring her back tenfold. I thought last year would be the...
A stone is a stone until it is a rock. →
poetinside: I believe in signs I do not know if they are the universe’s way of Guiding us towards our true calling Or if they are just our subconscious Seeking validation for our deepest desires Through the attribution of meaning to random Occurrences. Or maybe these two are the same thing. Whatever the case may be I believe in signs. I don’t believe in time. This rope...
It was you who figured out that Hi-liter and glue on wooden desks Made for rad tattoos We peeled them off and stuck them To the backs of our hands I caught you eating your snot once But I never told anyone Even though everyone told everyone Everything then When I fell that day And you carried me To the nurse’s office Whispering in my ear Telling me not to look Because it always...
There is no air Only a choking panic In and out Each breath less arduous than the next Behind oversized sunglasses I stare And try to remember What it was like when I had you When I didn’t want you this badly I smoke a masochistic cigarette I am taunting you With each pull I am calling you to me But gone are the days When you cared Whether I live or die.
The feel of it, hot and heavy on the top of my head once, sometimes, twice a day. I left it running yesterday when the phone rang. For almost 15 minutes while I gossiped it fell continuously, circling down the drain and disappearing. While I was brushing my teeth this morning I counted, 4 minutes from start to finish. That’s almost 100 litres. Just to brush my teeth. I woke last night with a...
You: “Babe, we’ve kind of been in a dry spell lately.” Me: “It’s drought season.” You: “I think it’s time for planting.” Me: “I’m letting my fields fallow.” You: “But the seed is going to waste” Me: “It’ll keep.” You: “But the equipment is beginning to rust.” Me: “Oil it...