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Friday, July 8, 2011

Poem

Mountain Poem



I am a mountain.

I tower over the world and grin a giants smile to the crowds around my feet.

My super hero height scares all the other mountains.

I stand at the top of the earth and scream volcano sand at passer-byers.

I ate the town below me and spread my arms across the sky.



I kicked down the other mountains so I could grow. I never need another rock to pull myself up on.

When the sun comes up the moon complains about me. But I don’t need any friends, I can grow on my own.



No climbers dare try to conquer me.

My rocks and ice reject their gear.

I splinter bodies that leave handprints on my stomach.



I am a mountain.

I gather all the bones of the valiant, chew them and shower them into ash clouds. I am the cause of the ice caps melting and the volcanoes imploding. Grey skies reflect my skin and my lava blood boils the Earth’s core.



My superhero figure crushes the world around me and throws the clouds to the ground.

I dig my fingers into the soil and only grow bigger.



I am a mountain.
Each fiber of my rocky surface glimmers in the pale light of the belligerent moon. I do not need friends to grow. I can defeat life on my o

Poem

War



Hello.

Remember when you stuck yourself?

How you wiped your memory clear of that burning in your throat?

How you bit your nails until they bled?



You are not beautiful.

You are something else.

And although you are told differently, you know it is your fault.

Alone you are a monster, blindly running into walls.

You reach out to touch sanity, only to be pulled into chains of desire.



They did this to you.



Hello.

Remember when you pricked yourself?

How you sat under firelight and watched purple circles saw off reality.

How you slipped into unconscious masterpieces?

How you chewed pills till they were dust?



You are not different.

You are something else.

And although you are told differently, you know it’s your fault.

Inside you are twisted, spinning your insides to breaking points.

You grind your troubled into your teeth and keep your thoughts to yourself.



It's time to break your legs.

It’s time to mean what you say.

It’s time to beat away that poisonous feeling and love your body.



You are at war.

Poem

Uncomfortable Situations Regarding the Female Anatomy

I
The sand is hot between my eleven year old toes. I can feel the sun burn on my shoulders start to sting, but still I sit in the pools of salt water. My brown hair sticks to my cheeks and I take a hand full of wet sand to my face, examining the texture. My new yellow bathing suit shimmering as I stood up to move back to my blanket. I turn as my sister screams and points to me- "She's Bleeding! She's Dying!"

II
I hold my hand up as the teacher lectures on. I squeeze my knees tighter and closer together, until my legs are a pasty white. She's pretending she doesn't see me waving my arm frantically, I'm silently pleading. I see her beady eyes scan the blank faces. She stops at my pained expression and nods. I stand to sprint out of the room- and the fire alarm goes off. I'm stuck in an orderly line, the stick figure girl on the bathroom is just out of my reach.

III
I'm leaning against the door in the inside of the Red Arrow bathroom. The boy I'm supposed to be kissing right now is sitting awkwardly in the sparkling red booth, wondering why I began hyperventilating in the middle of our dinner. I lock the door and stare up at the crumbling ceiling. I hope he isn't smart enough to see me- unprepared. Sand-paper-towels and one leg on the wall, I try and hide my red shame.

IV
The one day where I don't lie to my male gym teacher is the day he questions my facts. "Didn't you have this problem last week, too?" "Oh God."

V
The next time I go to a crappy "punk" show, I'll make sure to bring backup.

VI
"It's the middle of a show. REALLY?"

VII
I take my time during "my time", and don't enjoy it when somebody is repeatedly hammering on the door to the only bathroom on the campground. I am washing my hands with a grimace and I want to kick this woman over and over and over. I open the door to the ugly old woman and growl "Some people still get their periods, bitch."

Poem

Hospital Hate

In between my stomach and my back is an explosion that pulls my intestines down to my toes.

It’s raining and I can hear the cells in my brain pop.

My body is in shock and I’m reaching and reaching.

I can taste the morphine in my veins and I don’t like that my left arm is on fire.

Where am I?

I am going to die here.

I am a receiver. The nurses change the channels when the music is too slow.

The nurses listen to my body.

Infection.

Tubes in my throat suck my nine lives away.

I fall asleep.

Where am I?

Cocktails are shot directly into my heart, making me polka dotted.

I’m underwater behind my chest.

I can feel my lungs fill with tremor.

Don’t go.”

I’m being airlifted out of myself.

Don’t go.”

Whispers from my pillow case.

Wake.”
I hold onto my fingertips

Poem

Survival

Living about this flesh eating apocalypse is infecting my shotgun.

Bone and dead skin under a human scream- she tasted of madness.

There, together, wandering skull graves are hungry plagued creatures.

I know her bite will shatter you.

I know her transformation will destroy you.

Through a soulless groan is a headshot.

Piercing the city above her newly limp body

are excited moans of the dearly departed.



We tried to save her, but her little strength was torn limb from limb.

Now we must move on.

We can chase undead rotten flesh.

We can follow the wretched dark.

Push the biting mobs out of our way and run.

Together.

We can survive.



The brain matter beneath our feet is an unstoppable evil.

Taking corpses by the hands and placing them on the streets above.

Like hers.



Which vicious thing will try to steal our minds tonight?

Stop wondering if her re-animated body, stiff and rigid,

will collapse against our hideaway.

Leave her behind.

Stay with me.

Or she will be the one to take you.

Poem

To My Childhood Bully

You are the ink stain on the coffee stain on the shittiest metaphor ever written. I know the real story behind your “battle wound” and I’m done humoring you.

Years back, when pigtails stood high on my head, I was the only one who could pin you to the ground and spit in your face. I was the only one who could put one foot on your chest and call you a dumb shit. But girls aren’t supposed to cuss. And girls aren’t supposed to fight back.

Well I’m not a girl.

I didn’t cower behind you because you were skinnier than me. I didn’t ask for your help because I knew you were too weak.

I’m not a girl.

And you are a sad excuse for a bully. Hand over your GI-Joes and plastic guns little boy because you don’t deserve them. You droopy faced, birth controlling, sheltered puppy. Stay in the back of my closet with the melted Barbie Doll heads and unstuffed teddy bears where you belong.

You don’t scare me kid. You think you can send me back to my training bras and high heels? I don’t need height; I tower under you at a massive five foot one. I don’t need spandex support; I’ve got duct tape. How much did that bad boy persona cost? Did you buy your ego all on your own?

I’m not a girl. I’ll break your skull in half. I will wear you down to the bones and spit out your limbs at your feet. I’m ready to kick until you see sideways. And I won’t back down till the front of my size 6 Dr. Martens are permanently tattooed on your forehead.

I’m not a girl. I’m the fucking wild one. And I am a better bully than you.

Poem

Enjoy the skin you’re in.

This is not the end, we will live on, grow old, die strong.

Every day is new.

And those kids are alright.

They listened to the church radio play it’s gospel blues and we can kiss under the moon.

Love the skin you’re in.

Because in the end the sunset is just another song.

In the end we are still writing our songs in the chalk covered roads.


And they called us greasers. Rebels without applause. We are creators. With weapons of mass construction we build a frivolous future. We are loud. With rasp in our throats we yell our prayers. We are trustworthy. With chlorine wet dreams we sing each other to sleep. We are monsters. With red lips pursed we curse.


And down the street under a light two girls stood. In spray paint jeans, holding arms over their heads they pray to the revolutionaries to bring them pain, bring them anger, bring them bloody knuckled heart break.


We all remember endless nights with smoke between our teeth, ear melting music and broken mirrors.


We are not the end. We ride bra-less, flawless and armed for attack. We live on. For the kids on the back of the bus, for the kids with fire in their hearts, bullets in their chests and scars on their thoughts. They will live on. As long as our teeth are barred,  we will die strong. Every day is new.