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Maybe Anne Sexton Was On To Somethingconsider your car's steering wheel in your grip
as you turn the key in the ignition and the smoke
starts to sputter—you can't smell it, yet, only ink
under your fingernails and that half-full glass
of vodka whose twin burned a half-lit smile
on the face in your fogged rearview mirror.
consider the first time you'll look in a mirror
and see old eyes—the world's babyfingered grip
around them pinching crows'-feet when you smile
your forced smile—through your exhaled smoke.
like a death-echo of youth you'll grab a glass
of mediocre vodka and stain your lips with ink
from a thirty-cent black pen—the same cheap ink
you used for your wedding invitations. the mirror
will be your muse—that villainous square pane of glass
that confronts you with your reality: you've lost your grip
on your metabolism and all those cigarettes you smoked
made your mouth look like rotting corn when you smile.
you'll close your mouth, and at least then the sadist smile
will abandon you.
I Only KnowThere are at least
thirty-seven thousand ways
to get from here to there.
where your body fits
next to my body, your breaths
match my breaths; your
paradise, sanctuary, utopia-
surrounds my escape.
where you and I are not
the same; where your edges
break against my smooth,
your rises coalesce with
my falls, your
d i s t a n c e s
clatter against my presence.
thirty-seven thousand ways
but I only know one.
I only know the way the thumping
of your heart leads to the pressing
of our lips-
I only know the here and there that
the you and me.
He looks at me with smiles
crystalline in eyes as big as the sky
but more blue.
He may be fascinated by
but he doesn't love anything
as much as he loves
He wears joy on his hands,
and his mouth opens wide to the sky
when it rains.
I wish anything was
half as beautiful to me
as everything is to him.
Untouchedquestion marks rest
on his parted lips in eternal curiosity -
unconditional love's open-mouthed kiss;
flower petal cheeks
and poster child eyes for the hopeful -
I pray he never sees the world for what it is.
in the distance, fadingi never said my goodbyes,
one rainy night
out of my window,
rain puddles, pine trees
the night slowly froze everything,
ice humming its way
into my lungs,
skies breathing snow.
when you wake up tomorrow
frost will cover the tree branches
and i will be gone.
things i wish i knew why you follow me like a ghost
though i let you go hoping,
that you'd find your way out of this
but you linger in shadows
you fucking haunt me
and it hurts
[more than leaving you
Ruthyou were tired and stagnant with your
bones piercing through your skin.
your body was a war zone.
black & purple bruises splashed across you
like blood on the concrete of the place you
could never call home. your parched mouth
& crooked little-girl teeth were never sanctuary.
the innocence was brutally beaten out of you
until you were brittle.
you lived in Germany your first 6 years
and then moved to Latvia.
you existed in a place they called a ghetto.
that dual-triangle on your left arm defined you.
it was the reason your scabbed lips couldn't
whisper prayers to the heavens, begging God
to save you from the mean men.
you were 8 when
i could be nothingsome days you look at me as if i am
glances studying my face like a road map.
but mostly, i find your eyes stuck in the static
of the pavement, or lost
in the clouds
gathering before lightning.
and we never promise anything, just share the air like strangers
when we don't know what to say.
(it always ends with a silence more desolate
than broken trust.)
you said this is the calm before the storm
but what if
it never slows down
enough for me to notice
that there are days when we can exist
without doubting every second. you have a tendency to whisper
too quietly, leaving room for me to imagi
why we cannot sleep at night.i.
we have grown so accustomed
to wearing our masks
we still wonder why
the night sky
is calling my name
and i find that
i cannot close my eyes
my corneas are stars
and i'm falling
rusted and fading,
forever switching owners
forever out of place
loneliness is a disease
the world is infected.)
i don't understand, but i don't need to.I feel like i don't give you the things that matter
i've always prided myself on my ability to conjure stories and
words and at the drop of a hat, and i've spun countless tales
about things that are out of my control and aches and ghosts
and that time we weren't us.
when it comes to you there's never enough.
never enough of anything; words, time or love.
because nothing is enough to sum this all up, and i feel that
this is the best feeling ever and it would lose something
if i could wrap it up in a sentence or a novel
and do it justice
thats what makes this so special
cause i used to think i understood myself
and that i knew i was all over the place and constantly running
to things i wasn't even sure existed.
but you slow me down to a pace where i can see the outlines
of trees and i can breathe again. i keep reaching to grab your
arms or hands or waist to make sure you're still there
cause i'm terrified you'll disappear.
but you're not.
and i'm not.
you should know that i'm not comfort
internalwe had a code, a way of telling the other that our mind wasn't stable that day
'i feel like smashing all the plates in the house again today'
not so secret; not too clever
but it worked
you said it every single day for two weeks, and it was always followed by you tossing your head back to gulp down half a
bottle of rot gut. i told you to stop it, and you tried.
it lasted two days.
then it got worse.
worse, worse, worse. i started to wonder if you were just getting more 'you'.
maybe you were just an inherent fuck-up, and it was hardwired into your dna.
god, you really were more than just unstable.
but you were delicate.
god dam this world makes me mad sometimes. everyone is too busy trying to stop
people hurting other people, that they don't notice those hurting
i noticed you.
no-one else did though.
no-one ever fucking does.
they get married without a wedding cake-can you hold it against—
a sycophantic apparition in the daylight
you've got patent leather heels toeing through the ash
he's a blight in the night with sky stained black
ink and glass slashed in the middle of a map
in the pouring rain
waiting for the call
where there's blood there is love in a
casket or a house that was a museum before
and a store or a bed and breakfast
in the guise of a business arrangement
instead of splendid cavalier
he's your romeo and you're his new perspective
wrapped in contract wax and gauzy continuity
alas, i cannot swim.and you over thought things. you stared at the concrete, and the cars, and the way the light reflected off the passing green car. you imagined how it would feel if it hit you. they're just thoughts though, right? nothing more. you tell yourself, "everyone thinks these things sometimes."
you take an extra long sip from your coffee cup, seeing if you can wash your thoughts away.
you spill your coffee on your shirt. a chain reaction, a subtle change of scenery; you don't exactly know what to conclude from this event. you reach into your pocket to pull out your white handkerchief, only it's red now. your hand is bleeding. you don't remember this happening, but then again, you don't remember much of anything. you make your way towards the stretch of the city. you try to let its stomach swallow you whole. is this you? are you growing old? you can't tell if you're dotted with dandelions or soaked up in the city's sweat. you are no longer the man you thought you were, & this can only mea
there are no cars in the streetsi seek distance and i find it
in the cold air
as i walk
with no direction, gasoline
lingering in the streets like bad perfume.
she swears i smell like death
when i come back inside,
for a minute i believe her.
i exhale oily shadows and when i catch my reflection
in the mirror i have no face, screaming
i try to scrape off the emptiness
with broken fingernails.
and when she tells me to calm down
her lips aren't moving.
myths and the things that really matterin a season of wavering will
and ripe regret, I was born
too old - into a fragile world
of butterfly feathers and
springtime secrets, tied tenderly
around hollow hallucinations and
carefully called a "dream"
they promise you things
when you are too young to
understand the monsters under
your bed are really fragments
of you, left to disintegrate
in the dark. they say: you
will touch the world, you will
know the stars by name, you
will be our deliverance from
all the things we were not
you will be strong.
but they don't know, no,
I am a yard sale:
I sold my heart to a boy
with lilting lies and eyes
that looked human
Conspiracy withinConstantly looking over your shoulder,
as you walk away from
They are following you everywhere,
hiding behind every corner,
and they are out to get you.
Waking up from nightmares
of your own heart betraying you again.
why is history repeating itself?
You are running now, chased by memories,
haunted by mixed emotions
Having trust issues with your own mind,
because what it tells you makes no sense.
Corrupt feeling spreading like poison through your veins,
your arteries are forever clogged with doubt.
But you keep running, afraid to face the facts,
suprised by a war you started within
DistanceYou saw me for the very first time on a bright summer day when there was not a single cloud in the sky. You were amazed by my sparkling green eyes and my pure white skin, and I seemed perfect to you. But you had been taught that perfection does not exist, so you doubted it.
Ever since that day your eyes followed my every movement. You watched me from far away, absorbed by the beauty you thought I possessed.. You were so sure that I wouldn't ever notice you, that you couldn't see I already had.
I approached you myself one day, curious as to who you might be. I introduced myself and started to talk. We both asked questions, none of us giving
Goodnight Enigmatic SongShe was the song you hear and, at first blush, don't like.
Well, you don't know how you feel about it so you keep listening in an attempt to discover how exactly you feel and then you reach the end of the song and you realize, you don't like it; you love it.
That was Grace.
She was my coworker and she was my friend.
We carpooled together, I drove and she slept most of the way.
"Don't get much sleep at night, do you?" I asked her, catching those drooping lids mid-descent.
She looked out the window streaked with rain; it spoke in percussive touches filling the car with quiet overcast conversation.
I felt the warmth of her smile in the corner of my eye. The blur of her hand reached at the window to feel the cold of the droplets.
"When I was a girl, I used to race these. I thought it was funny the fat ones always won," she giggled and I imagined her as a little girl in the passenger seat then, legs too short to reach so kicking, and hair messed in the bac
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More