I haven't written in a long while (lollygaged even), and the only person to blame is myself. Shame! Below are some poems from my analog notebook that I decided to type up. Maybe it'll get the ball rolling again. Two of them are a little bleak, the poems, that is. But they were also written at deep and meaningful moments of pain. Best time to write, if you ask me. Keeps things fresh, raw even. Pardon the food metaphor. Okay, anyway, here it goes...
When the path gets bumpy
everyone gives up on you eventually
your heart, your hurt
too cumbersome to carry
tonight he chose beer pong and bimbo blondes over me
tonight he called me impossible and stormed out the door
a cloud of single dollar bills hovering above his head,
raining down stripper glitter and drunken disdain
tonight he tried to chase fantasies that neither of us will ever catch
tonight he laughed at me
my face full of mascara-streamed tears and dog-tired despondency
eventually, you give up on everyone
Favorite Thing
chocolate covered peanut, floppy bat ears,
white trick paw, stinky little dog breath
you are my favoritest thing in the entire colossal universe
knee-crook warmer, lip gloss thief, ice cube fiend
you lick the slat from my sweat, the hurt from my tears
front door bolter, chin rester, blanket burrower, acrobat
you are an unconditional ray of sunshine and delight,
a blinding beam of mischief and mini mayhem
sneezy mc sneezerson, yeast drunk drinker,
slightest small noise growler, lover of dirty panties
you're the funniest little dog I have ever met
Roscoe Pete, Roscoe Pico, Pico de Roscoe,
Roscoe Peterson Mamani the third
I dedicate this poem to you
Chunks
this must be what losing yourself feels like
curled up on the bathroom floor
a lump balled up in the back of your throat
ready to be hurled onto that cold yet calming porcelain rim
and willing to stain your nicest pair of black satin pumps
the ones with the bow on the toe
the ones that you once loved so deeply
chunk by chunk
your personality
gone
chunk by creamy chunk
your uniqueness
gone
rainbow colored bile
spewen away
your sparkle diminished
just takes one last drive heave
and all your being is gone
you're a blank slate
empty
ready to stand up
to wipe the mess from your chin
willing to straighten your tightly clinging dress
and join the rest of the party
this feeling must be what yourself once lost
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