intrusive thoughts

its been a month already, don’t you know

and while I try my best to audiate away

what happened

spending every second minute hour day week

playing music and singing endlessly

somehow

I always come back to the thud/thud/thud

of your fingers on the bar

to the ring/ring/ringing

in my ears

like the aftermath of a sad soprano’s solo

(you yelled so loud)

to the sloppy slush sound of my brain

colliding with my skull

as you

rattled me round

like so much sand in a maraca.

 

 

and somehow

No matter how many times I sing

or scream

or beg

my skin still sinks back into the form of your

hard heavy hands

on my face on my waist

that feeling of being frozen as my insides melt

a puddle in your greasy gritty palms

as you gather my legs into yours

your knees leaving dents in mine

 

 

And some nights

when I’m still trying to scrub the smell of you

out of

my skin my hair my soft palate

the trickle of water down the curve of

my face my waist

reminds me of the ocean that poured from your seafoam eyes

while you did everything

and

the smooth oval of your face

intrudes into the blank space behind my eyes

 

 

and once again I’m singing endlessly

frozen as my insides melt

with the sloppy slush sound of my brain

bashing against my skull

as you drag my face to yours

and our foreheads clack together with a click

and my hair is a puddle in your greasy gritty palms

 

and the ring/ring/ringing in my ears

is the only distraction from

the feeling of each of your fingers

reaching around my face like spider’s legs

your middle finger digging into the back of my ear

(could you feel the thud/thud/thud of my heart)

as you rattle me round

like so much sand in a maraca

every second minute hour day week

since last month.

 

 

safe (2)

I brace myself to race myself

force yourself up the stairs.

(its been too long)

you know full well, just tell

Let him know not listening is disrespectful

who cares that he’s the light of your life

the only reason you smile

(he has a wife)

get past the kind eyes that leave you tongue tied

Be the strong woman like everyone always tells you to.

I don’t need your charity, just for clarity

I could’ve done this myself

(with what money?)

maybe i just want to taunt

others with how well I get by in the cold.

none of this comes out in our roundabout though

just the sunshined scent of your skin

(cariño mio its you)

nullifies what I had within

i cry instead of yelling.

just let me be! don’t do this to me

my mind is a steel seive

( you’re amazing)

all brave no cave what a lie

I turn into a little girl in front of you

this is a little city quite pretty

but its one giant hell

(I’m just a puta)

if people knew you bought me things too

this would not end well.

i feel so dirty please don’t think I’m flirting

I’m spaced out on a flashback

(who would trust me?)

I brace for a chase as you get up from your chair

But suddenly you hug me.

what do I say as the world melts away

I press against you, trying to melt

(I’m flirty, just like the dad I never had)

all these words I’ve never said try to leave my head

I bite them back

(I)

you’re saying words but my thoughts chirp like birds

(love)

my arms won’t hold you but in my mind they do

(you)

(I just want to feel safe with you)

Greasepaint (Memories)

Slinking back home

crawling into my bed

curled tight, finally alone.

dialing

smiling

crying.

Our eyes are red

as you scream

even though I tried to not make this a scene

I just wanted to be held

you wanted to be listened to

Our love, once of a seamless weld

pristine sculpture of the perfectly woo’d

in an instant, felled.

wailing

flailing

dying

It’s been a month since our implosion.

I’ve a new paramour

and you’ve told Cupid, “Nevermore”.

I remember, that morning in May

when we were first together

Endless messages, speaking every day

thinking it would be forever

that our souls would be pressed in lavish ballet.

At night I dream of you

Dabbing on your greasepaint with a cloud-white sponge.

Lighting your oval face with a hasty grunge.

Even just once, I wish

I could have held that pyramidal cloud

sweeping paint across your nose with a swish.

You are always  in my heart

Countless days you made me smile.

Please, why must me part?

Little bear, return to me

Why can’t things be like they used to be?

When I was young and wild,

And you loved me like a darling child.

Now you won’t even look at me

Bitter as rotted black tea.

I reach out, and you ignore

Splattering my heart, animal gore.

Little bear, you taught me what love felt like.

That heat that burns like a pig iron spike

in the brain.

Come back to me, dearest friend-don’t let this line be cut.

Mine is the hand eternally outstretched–but

I fear yours is the hand that will never be held.

(You’re so cold without our love)

Cotton (From down the Hill)

“Come pick cotton husks

the misses’ refuses to

Please help us

We don’t know what to do.”

 

I walk down, obligingly sweet.

Singing along to the cardinal’s tweet.

Bopping my feet to an imagined beat

Not knowing it was you I had to meet.

 

I arrive, peel apart the cotton husks.

Dust caking my fingers, thorns pricking my hands

I work patiently, lungs soon filled with saccharine musk

Suddenly, you burst in, a Conquistador in a new land.

 

You greet me, and I reciprocate.

You smile, but I vacillate.

I, nervous, contemplate.

What to say to avoid your hate

 

We continue working, trapped in the same tiny office

You, tapping away on keys 

Me, sorting plants, cotton threads filling the orifices

inside my nose and lungs as i split seeds.

 

We make small talk

even go so far as going for a little walk.

You scream  when we see a snake, though I don’t mock.

You glare when I demurely ask about the doc.

 

We’ve realized, we speak the same, soft babied voices

We both bite our lips when we contemplate hard choices.

Melanations cover our oval faces

And everyone says we are made of the same gentle graces.

 

Say hi to him for me, I say, close to tears

“I will”, you say, eyeing the huge pile of cotton, amazed.

My heart races, my mind overwhelmed by fears.

You go home to him, worried, stymied, dazed.

 

I’m done picking cotton, ma’am

The Missus is completely surprised

On the tabletop lies a pile larger than a lamb

I leave the office, soul vaporized

 

I walk up, back home.

My mind has gone to roam

Thoughts as fertile as freshly tilled loam

Dark thoughts, my soul has lost its centered zone.

 

Do you fear my sensuality, or just me?

We aren’t that similar, are we?

Do I fear you, or what you can do?

What can I really do to you?