| 3.28.2007 |
| Poem .17 |
I'm gonna be real honest with you here.
Half the time I really don't know
What, or why I'm talking.
But if you listen real hard,
Maybe something might stick.
I am so full of shit
That sometimes I actually believe myself.
And I'm really, really surprised that
God hasn't struck me down yet
For pulling wool over the eyes of the entire world.
When I tell stories,
Reading between the lines isn't enough.
To get the truth you have to turn my words inside out, upside down and backwards.
Because every conversation is just one enormous cryptogram.
I see honesty as an elusive winged insect
Which, once caught, crumbles in the hand,
Losing it's beauty forever.
Because dissecting the truth and revealing the ugliness inside
Only illuminates our desire for the exquisite emptiness of lies.
So I take the truth,
Weave it seamlessly into a delicate fabrication,
Embellish it with whatever details my imagination can fashion,
And then wear my cloak of deception until it's worn out.
I call it haute couture.
But don't get me wrong.
I'm not saying I like what I do.
I hate the fact that my beauty isn't even skin deep.
But sometimes it's necessary to indulge a fantasy
When reality is just too hard to face.
I'm honest more than most people realize,
It just that hardly anyone believes me anymore.
All I can say is that this is real.
I will never lie to you in a poem.
And I know that most of the time these lines don't rhyme,
But they're mine.
And when my pen touches paper, it closes an electric circuit of genuineness
Where charged word particles surge from my brain to the page and back again.
So that the synapses between you and me seem smaller.
So that's all I've got.
And I can promise you right here, right now,
That as long as I'm here writing these words,
I am telling the absolute, unabridged truth.
You may not quite understand it,
You may not see it at first,
You may not even like it.
But it's only worth what you paid for it. |
posted by Little Red @ 4:42 PM  |
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| Poem .16 |
Sitting on the sidewalk
Rocking out to the sound of footsteps falling on asphalt.
The rhythm of walking keeps my heart pumping
And my pen scratching on paper.
I'm counting this community
Tallying the number of people as they pass
48…49…50…
Searching for a familiar face and finding…
Only strangers.
This hard concrete does nothing for my posture,
And I wonder what it would cost for these numbers in my head
To just stop.
And I sit and I slouch and I count to
52…53…54…
I've had more than my fair share of lovers.
More than I deserve of cuddles under covers
Of boys who won't discover that I'm not like all the others.
That somewhere deep inside,
Under this skin, behind these eyes
Is a girl who knows she lies when she says she never cries
Because these numbers in my head
61…62…63…
Make me wish that I could be a little less concerned
With how big this world is and instead come to the conclusion that
Concrete is not comforting compared to the arms of a friend,
And blue lines on yellow legal pads is not art no matter how much I want it to be,
That an old man, his wife, and her sister are so much more than
68…69…70…
And I sit here on this sidewalk.
And I am acutely aware of the fact that I am utterly alone in this crowd.
It's getting late.
I stand and stretch my stiff limbs and head home.
I walk with the paper safely tucked between my arm and body,
And the pen nestled behind my right ear.
But the shuffle of my own shoes on the street sounds strangely unfamiliar.
As I wait for the red hand to give way to a green man, I notice another.
A boy, maybe nine or ten,
Kneeling in front of a folding chair across the street.
His eyes scan the crowd as the pencil in his left hand makes a mechanical motion,
Ticking like a human metronome.
The light changes and we make eye contact as I walk towards him,
And I know for that one second, in one hash mark on a page, at least to him
I count. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:42 PM |
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| Poem .15 |
Imagine.
You and I are standing
At opposite sides of an enormous sinkhole.
We've walked across miles of desert,
Weathered blinding storms,
Scorching heat,
Brutal winds,
And somehow survived.
There is a still silence here.
Not even a breath of wind to encourage or dissuade us.
This is our decision.
Ours alone.
Ours together.
I've been inching toward the edge.
Every step was taken only after careful deliberation.
I don't know if you were as cautious as I was in coming here.
Nor do I know your intentions.
I fear my own.
Looking down, I can't see much.
After a few feet, the hole becomes pure blackness.
No one knows what lies at the bottom.
I long to find out for myself.
There are no more steps to take.
We're at the edge.
It's only a matter of time now.
How I wish you were here
On my side
Instead of miles away on the other.
I wish I could ask if you'll jump with me.
I need to hold your hand and know that I am not alone.
I can't wait here any longer.
Curiosity and my desire to be near you are begging me to leap into the darkness.
But if I fall,
Please promise me that you'll follow.
I know this is my choice to make,
But don't make me suffer alone.
I know that if I fall without you,
I will crumble upon impact,
Shattering into a million pieces.
And if you fall with me,
We can hold each other on the way down,
Ready to land safely in each other's arms.
This lonely landscape offers no hope,
No sign of life is to be found.
My only choice is to take this leap
Because I can't walk away never knowing
What secrets lie at the bottom of this great chasm.
I think I'm ready now.
I've made up my mind.
Holding my breath,
I stretch my arms out like wings
And prepare to take the plunge.
3….
2….
1….
I'm falling. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:41 PM |
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| Poem .14 |
There was a new guy at the bar last night
Well, at least he was new to me.
(Thank you NBC.)
He spoke with a smoky Carolina twang
As he proclaimed,
"You're the cutest thing I ever did see."
Good to know, dude.
I asked him a question,
It had been bugging us girls all evening.
"Are you really married to a Britney Spears impersonator?"
Jason had told Lauren about it,
And Lauren told the rest of us,
So it must be the truth.
It was.
Or, at least, he said it was true.
His wife made a living looking like Britney Spears.
Lauren says he could pass for KFed,
But I disagree.
He said he does Jerry Lee Lewis down in Branson.
That explains the hair.
Trust me, it was amazing.
Abby said he's 31,
And that he told her he wasn't married.
He wasn't wearing a ring.
She said that he said
That he just tells people he's married.
The Britney thing sure makes for a good story.
I noticed when he spoke to me
That there was something familiar about him.
I couldn't put my finger on it.
He reminded me of happy times,
Of creativity,
Of sweetness.
There was something exotic about the way he smelled,
But I just couldn't place it.
It hit me when he kissed me:
It was Christmas.
The man tasted like Christmas.
Okay, I know I must sound like a complete
Raving lunatic, but please,
Bear with me.
Here I was,
Telling this stranger that he tasted
Like a holiday.
"Well, it's better than tastin' like beer and Jäger."
Okay.
After several minutes of trying to save face,
I decided that he tasted like molasses.
(Molasses goes in gingerbread…
Gingerbread means Christmas...)
It didn't help.
But he looked like sunshine,
Like California sunshine.
Apparently this also only made sense to me.
He was tan,
Slightly aging,
And that bleached blonde hair gave him the surfer look.
No one else agreed.
He asked me to take him home,
But I couldn't do it.
Not because he was married,
Or because I was tired,
Or even because he was way too old for me,
But because I couldn't sleep with
Jerry Lee Lewis,
Britney's husband,
The gingerbread man
Who looked like sunshine
And tasted like Christmas.
No one would believe me. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:41 PM |
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| Poem .13 |
Today I woke up
After a ten hour nap
And I still felt exhausted.
I had two new text messages
From two different guys
And I had no intention of replying to either.
I skipped my shower,
Fearing the effects
Of the dry winter air
On my already too-sensitive skin,
And instead washed the sleep
From my eyes in the sink.
The reflection in the mirror stared back
Challenging me to try this time, to
Make this day better than the last.
I threw on a sexy blouse,
Sexy shoes,
Sexy jeans,
And did my hair and makeup to match.
But I left my house feeling every bit the frump.
I got to work and began my routine.
But something was missing.
There is no joy in accounting,
No thrill in organizing,
No more zest in opening the mail.
Not even my eighth cup of tea could energize me.
Tonight I'll go out with the girls.
We'll play dress-up
And flirt for drinks
In a lonely bar
With lonely patrons.
We'll see old high school friends
Who got fat,
Who got knocked up,
Who got ugly.
There is no love in liquor.
I'll drive home alone
To my empty bedroom
And its empty bed.
And I'll sleep cradled in my own arms
Until my alarm goes off
And I get to do it all again tomorrow. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:40 PM |
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| Poem .12 |
Smile a bit. Just for me.
For once let go of the burdens
Holding you down and
Fly a bit. Just for you.
Spread your wings and soar like
You were always meant to
Sing a bit. Just for them.
Show them the music inside that
Sometimes only you can hear then
Cry a bit. Just for him.
Let him know that he meant
More than he knows but don't forget to
Laugh a bit. Just for us.
Remind us that you're the funny girl
Who was never afraid to
Glow a bit. Just because.
You're too amazing to let your spirit fade
Into the crowd of those who've forgotten how. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:40 PM |
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| Poem .11 |
Hold me.
Just a few minutes longer.
I want to make this vulnerability last.
Press your chest close to mine
So our hearts will know their match.
Wait until I fall asleep and softly whisper
All the things you can't say when I'm awake.
Tell me your secrets.
Pour out your hopes and dreams to my sleeping mind.
Some part of it will register,
And I will love you all the more for it.
As I lay safely snuggled in your warm embrace,
Kiss me tenderly.
And I will dream of you.
Hold me until we are no longer two bodies
A massive tangle of arms and legs,
Until we are nothing but
One heart,
One soul,
One being.
I want this night to be a turning point,
Changing the direction of our lives,
Making everything different than it was before.
I pray that I don't wake up the same,
That from this moment on, life has meaning,
That life is poetry.
So hold me like you've never held anyone before.
In sleep, let us learn to trust one another.
In dreams, let us never part. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:39 PM |
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| Poem .10 |
The lonely flower stands staring at the sun,
Leaves like palms outstretched, praying for rain.
Waiting for the life-giving water to pour down and quench its soul.
Its roots hold tightly to the ground below
Believing that this, beyond anywhere else, will give it the best chance at life, Hoping that the soil here will not be stingy with precious nutrients.
The bee flies bravely from its hive,
Searching for food to bring back to its family.
As it hovers over the field of grass, one lonely flower catches its eye.
It lands on one of the delicate petals of the flower,
Which breaks on impact, sending the bee crashing towards the earth.
Broken wings and shattered dreams are all that remain of the bee.
The flower weeps at the bee's demise,
Bowing its head toward the tiny insect.
With no hope for rain, it crumbles in a heap of leaves and petals.
Its stem empty of water and hope, the flower dies next to the bee.
The sun forsakes the two fallen creatures, and retreats behind the clouds,
Which mourn the deaths by raining down grief, belated. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:39 PM |
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| Poem .9 |
Eight years ago I dreamt of you.
I was standing in a field on a cloudy day,
Admiring the mountains in the distance.
You walked toward me from the house by the lake.
Eyes so blue they turned all else grey,
A face more beautiful than any angel,
And you spoke with a voice that could sing me to heaven.
You played cards.
I was thirteen.
This is irrelevant, I know.
But I knew when you kissed me
I would be yours forever.
It started to rain, and you carried me to the house.
We made love in the hammock on the porch,
And you told me you'd love me until the end of time.
I slept in your arms until the sun rose.
You had to go inside for a game, but you said you'd return.
I will never forget that last kiss as you went through the door.
I sat in the hammock for hours waiting for you to come back,
All the while clinging to my last piece of you
Your Ace of Diamonds.
Then there was a horrible storm,
A ravine,
You on the other side.
I had no way to get to you.
I knew it was over.
You left without saying goodbye.
When I awoke I was alone in a strange place.
I never knew your name,
I can't even say I'd recognize you anymore.
But the ache in my heart remains.
I search for you still, eight years later,
Looking for the boy who promised me a lifetime of love.
I have your Ace of Diamonds. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:39 PM |
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| 3.27.2007 |
| Poem .8 |
The pictures are proof.
The music brought me here.
I stood outside and listened
For a while
Then came in and found
What I wasn't looking for.
My heart beats with the drums.
The melody surges through my veins.
I am transformed by the pauses
Between the notes.
Those milliseconds of silence
Where I fill in the gaps
And let the music take me away.
Out on the street its thirty degrees.
Strangers meet
Hookups are made
Fights break out.
It's cold out there,
But in here your eyes keep me warm.
Your voice draws me away.
Away from the chaos
Away from the world.
I don't hear words,
Just that pure, sweet tenor
That leaves me breathless.
The swirl of cigarettes,
The flashing lights,
The deafening roar of five hundred friends
All sharing the same moment.
It's what keeps me coming back.
I wake up to the smell
Of booze and smoke,
My head still aching from last night.
Half memories of things I did,
People I loved,
And money well spent. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:34 PM |
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| Poem .7 |
Unwind the string.
Have a friend hold the end.
Wait for the wind.
Jump and throw.
Then run.
As fast as you can.
When you feel the pull,
Stop.
Breathe.
Unwind the string.
Not too quickly.
Just enough to give some slack.
You are flying.
Over the trees
With the birds
Kissing the clouds.
Your soul is finally free
To float to heaven.
If you come back down,
Will you tell me what that's like?
Because my feet can't leave the ground.
My mind can't fly with you.
My heart is fourty six inches from the earth
And falling. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:32 PM |
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| Poem .6 |
Goodbye my love.
I'm leaving you.
I can't survive another broken heart.
I worked so hard
And fell so fast.
I loved you like you'll never understand.
Put down the phone.
Just let me go.
We both knew that it wouldn't, couldn't last.
So sleep, my love.
Don't dream of me.
We can't move on if you won't let me go.
With one last kiss
I'll take my leave
And let them have the life that they deserve. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:31 PM |
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| Poem .5 |
I will be
A punk rocker,
teenie bopper,
hip hopper,
show stopper.
A skanky ho,
average Joe,
average Jane,
your Kandy Kane.
A superfreak,
Techie geek,
Super chic,
So to speak.
I'll mistify,
and stupefy
while I belie
your naked eye.
I can't be swayed,
Won't be delayed,
I'm not afraid
Of your parade.
Cause I can be
A master key
Who'll make you see
The "perfect" me.
But what am I
Without a guy?
Without a man
To satisfy?
Lonely. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:31 PM |
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| Poem .4 |
The dolls sit with their soulless smiles peering out through the glass.
I stare back at them and wonder if they're happy in those fine dresses of silk and lace,
Or do they secretly weep to be free of their prison of dusty shelves in a locked cabinet?
What song would the Madame Alexander Bride dance to at her wedding?
Would the Christmas 1998 Barbie hang the tinsel on her tree?
And what about the old rag doll? What stories could she tell?
With so many questions unasked and unanswered,
I simply admire the collection for what it is,
Nevermind the inaccuracy of the proportions,
Or the flawless and unnatural skin and hair.
These dolls are nothing more and nothing less than perfect.
I stand here in front of them with all my imperfections bared for all the world to see,
And though I may never be as beautiful or cherished as they are,
I can walk away. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:29 PM |
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| Poem .3 |
In just one moment,
On one rainy day in April,
I believed in love at first sight.
And it took just one hello to melt my heart,
One touch to forge a connection between us,
And one lonely wave to say goodbye.
We spent one day apart before we spoke again.
And with that one conversation I began this journey.
Im taking it one step at a time,
Hoping that my destination will be better than my starting point.
Because I cant bear to have my heart broken one more time.
In one short week you have become my number one.
The one I miss the most,
The one I care the most for,
The one who knows all my secrets.
And I would give anything to see you one more time.
So dont make me wait one more minute before you tell me how you feel.
Dont let me stay up one more night missing you.
Dont let me spend one more day without you,
Because if youre not the one for me, then the one doesn't exist. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:29 PM |
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| Poem .2 |
I wish someone would paint this feeling
In acrylic on canvas
Or oil on wood.
I need someone to make this feeling permanent.
So that I can put it on the wall and see it when this night is over.
And when I look at that painting
I'll see more than just two naked bodies entwined in a passionate embrace.
I will see careful brush strokes of peach and tan
And suggestions of something that looks a lot like love
I'll look at it and see what might have been if we had given us a chance.
I'll see peace and hope
Trust and understanding.
Lovers and friends.
Or maybe I'll look at it like you look at it and see nothing at all.
I wish someone could paint this feeling
Because I know that tomorrow we'll both wish it wasn't here.
But if it wasn't just something created by you and me
If it was something that some artist dreamt up
You would call it beautiful.
It wouldn't be something you'd regret.
If it came from any other source than the two of us, it would be something you might be proud of.
I want someone to paint this feeling
Because I want to see it every day and remember
How it felt to be held by your arms,
The beauty in each secret kiss,
The miraculous coming-together of two people so different that no one would believe it if they heard it was true.
Someone has just got to paint this feeling.
Use a brush
Or a pen
A pencil, crayon, or marker
Or maybe this keyboard will do.
I am writing this feeling so that I will never forget it.
So look at it.
Call it beautiful.
Because it is. |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:29 PM |
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| Poem .1 |
God loves a sinner.
God loves a sinner.
They say that God loves a sinner
But not his sin.
God hates that.
God can separate the sinner from his sin.
The people he loves from the acts he hates.
But we, we humans…
We find that separation awful hard.
We don't see a difference between what you do and who you are.
So I'm a whore because I can't ever say no.
And I'm a slut because I refuse to be ashamed of my body.
And I'm a tease because you can look, but you can't touch.
Man hates a sinner.
Man hates a sinner.
I say that man hates a sinner
But he sure as hell loves his sins.
Her sins.
He traced a trail of tender kisses down my back
And he held me like he'd never let me go.
His words lit a fire deep within my soul
And I still burn.
I am consumed by this passion for the man who taught me how it feels to feel love
To feel safe
To feel beautiful.
When he looked at my naked form I saw the unmistakable awe of a man in the presence of sheer beauty.
But now,
Now that the night is over
Now that he got what he wanted:
My body,
he's happy.
He doesn't know that he's got my heart and soul, too.
Because for me, that was not just one night.
It was eight months of wanting
And waiting
Hoping
Praying that one day he'd look at me and see more than just a shy, stupid girl.
It was the culmination of eight months of work
Working towards a goal I always knew I could never reach, but for myself I had to try.
And you look at me now with pity.
Because I was just too stupid to understand how it could never work
Because we're just too different
And you're just too fucked up for a relationship right now.
I am a sinner.
I am a sinner.
You know that I am a sinner.
I did it with you
For you.
Why can't you love me? |
| posted by Little Red @ 4:28 PM |
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