For posterity, or something, a few old pomes I think aren't absolutely horrid...
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To begin with, a rare rhyming pome. I can't tell if I like it, but it rhymes.
(Written 2/12/1990)
let us go then, you and i
away from this wasteland deep
go where all you see is sky
and angels watch o'er our sleep
this place of ours won't be too far
i can almost smell the air
all we do is wish on a star
and soon we will be there
so let us go far away from this
where we can at last be free
and i will sleep rememb'ring a kiss
deep where no mortal eyes see
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Here's a super cheesy one I wrote in Santa Fe, with the raw pitiful emotion only a 15-year-old female can feel. My broseph made it into a song that his band performed, I think.
(Written 10/30/1987)
i look out the window
and see your face
then it's gone
tears fall like rain
when can i see you again?
why is the world this way?
always the punisher-
never the punished
i want you with me
i need to feel you next to me
your love keeps me alive
where would i be without you?
life is so confusing
why lock people up?
too young to make a difference
too young to vote
magic age-
twenty-one
but what of sixteen?
why?
how can you be good
and happy
when the government considers you
dead?
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Here's one I wrote about mild schizophrenia, a few months later.
(Written 1/15/1988)
i have voices
echoing inside my head
not mine
there's someone
telling me i'm nothing
just an illusion
CRAZY
my nightmare has returned
it wants to control me
something inside tells me to let it
let it run my life
destroy my sanity
if any is left
i must know
am i crazy?
or is it all in my mind
is it the life i've led
is it the way i see
the lies i've told
or is it all a lie
has my mind really gone
am i really insane
help me to sort out my mind
help me to be sane
to be young again
young and innocent
while
amidst the confusion
a baby cries
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About a one night stand.
(Written 2/7/1988)
it begins,
frantic touching
confused kisses
cold fingers, feet
stripped bodies, minds
making quick love
or fast fucking
"thank you"
it ends
as suddenly and hopeless
as it began
"goodnight"
goodbye
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About loneliness.
(Written 5/21/1988)
*of someone*
i don't know what you see
yet i find myself looking for you
i don't know how you live
yet i'm always near your home
i don't know your views
yet i always miss you
i don't know your smile
yet i think of it and am content
i don't know your voice
yet i often hear it call my name
i don't know your touch
yet i long for your presence
i don't know you at all
yet without you i'm lonely
i must find who you are
so i may be whole
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A self portrait of sorts.
(Written 7/11/1988)
*i, me, my, solo*
so you want to know me, then i will tell you who and what i am.
i am the void. i am the moon. i am the sky. i am the sword that severs. i am your coffee. i am the first lucky in a pack of cigarettes. i am the last country conquered in a game of war. i am the last building to fall in the end of the world. i am the pen you write with while it runs out of ink; the pen you toss aside in frustration. i am the song that you hate, but gets stuck in your mind. i am the wood you burn to start a fire; the branch broken off a dead tree, the burning flame, struggling to remain bright and alive. i am the first bite you eat in the morning, the food you enjoy yet take for granted. i am the dream you remember when you awaken, yet forget after you've spoken. i am the broken ring in your pocket, the one you put back together when bored. i am the teacher who put up with you in high school; the student alone in the front row. i am the quiet between songs on an album, the dreaded silence, the momentary lull in time. i am the tear you prevent from escaping your eyelid, the pain felt but not seen. i am the table centerpiece hidden by food and ignored. i am your looking glass. i am you.
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About a memory, but it might have been a dream. Who can say?
(Written 2/27/90)
i'm remembering. it was in a bathroom, and the walls were covered all over with red and blue and purple and yellow and orange and green hand prints. i was running in circles trying to fit my hands in every spot that someone else had once painted there, and i was thinking about you. i ran all around until i lost my breath and lost count of how many hands i had already splatted, so i opened the door and walked about thirty-five steps, and you were still right where you used to be, and you were still laughing at the drunk bum that somersaulted into the flowerbed and passed out. it wasn't that funny, really. but still you laughed until you couldn't breathe, and your body shook, and you still kept on laughing until a cop took the bum to where he could sleep on a bed, then i started laughing and you stopped. jumping into flowerbeds to sleep and be part of nature so to wake up staring at the polished boots of a cop must be a very frightening experience.
you're still laughing.
still laughing.
laughing.
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On an old lover.
(Written 10/9/1990)
i heard you want to see me.
why?
is there something left unsaid
that you wish to voice?
i thought we had said all there was
and more yet.
no, i don't very much
want to see you.
you make my gullet swell
you cause my fists to tighten
my fractured brain to hurt
again.
i find it hard to breathe
when you are near.
i smoke a lot
if you're around.
my feelings turn off
my voice catches an evil twinge
i chew my nails
look into my lap, away
bite my lip
scribble on good paper
and above all
most important
i almost cry.
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An attempt at optimism.
(Written 10/11/89)
oh so wondrous
when you reach the point
where you've lost all hope
for humanity
when you decide there is not one
worth smiling for
living for
and suddenly
out of nowhere
you see a face
filled with such beauty
that you smile
without even realizing it
and remain content again
for a time.
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Another attempt at a self portrait.
(Written 10/19/89)
i am arabian nights
cambodian daze
i am starving little people
in a melancholy haze
i am the prostitute on the corner
the mother with her child
i am the pristine little mormon
gone absolutely wild
the sheltered little rich kid
the slovering, insanely lonely bum
i am the bully in the fourth grade
that hit and called you dumb
i am the sun that blinds you while you drive
trying to cause a wreck
i am the shades you wear to shield the glare
that hang around your neck
i am the lively happy hyper girl
that always wants to play
i am the sickly dying body
just waiting to decay
i am not a moron or a genius
i am not a happy girl
i am not here to please anyone
in my stinky shallow world
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Another attempt at optimism.
(Written 5/19/90)
*hang on; keep watch*
if you could see the sunrise
from your blue balcony
observing colour coming to life
night's orgasm,
you'd think differently.
if you could hear rainfall
outside your barred window
glorious drip-drop-drip
of summer's first rain,
you'd smile at it.
embrace the storm;
grieve it's absence.
for the thunderclap;
nature's tantrum.
lightening's screaming light;
her last word.
raindrops falling down;
her cry when it's over.
rainbow's rich spectrum;
her humble apology.
take in these fits of nature;
hang on; keep watch;
learn from observance.
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About a relationship at it's end.
(Written 5/15/1990)
*stagnation*
you have become habit
all too soon
i pace your floor in frustration
habits are hard to break
you pamper me materially
trash i do not need
and each day brings more gifts
you're the ring around my finger
they say a marriage turns habitual
it usually takes a year
it's been a long hot three weeks
i tire at the sight of you
you encourage my smoking habit
i smoke you through with each stick
inhaling your skin and bones, dry
exhaling your soul, ashes ashes we all fall down
the problem lies in one small fact
i've never broken any habits
they stay with me, reminding, constant
and you're my habit to break, tomorrow
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Same story, different pome.
(Written 5/15/1990)
i sit on your couch in the dark
your eyes aim toward me, i avoid
sipping on some alcoholic concoction
(i won't care about you at all)
you wonder what's bothering me
only that you are here and i am
i reply some useless lie, "nothing"
(and i won't care about you at all)
smoking the tobacco you buy me
wearing your clothes, dry, hanging
eating your food; stale, cold, artificial
(i won't care about you at all)
i lounge on this hard sofa
red bulb swings overhead
you skim your music collection, humming
(and i won't care about you at all)
your kiss chaps my wet lips
your touch burns on my cold skin
you crawl up beside me, questioning
(i won't care about you at all)
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About Las Vegas, NV.
(Written 5/22/1990)
heat, like a furnace;
boils my blood
dries my throat
can't get enough water;
bloating my stomach
yet still needing more,
more
i'd light this city;
land of decadence
palace of lights
all of it
i'd light it on fire
but the sun beat me to it
this city;
drawing people like flies
come here to get rich
winning the lottery
electric lottery
sucks people dry
dry
this heat;
streets of flame
boiling the air
not enough water
to put it out
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On hearing about a friend's demise.
(Written 6/19/1990)
screaming;
as loud as i fucking can
then i realize
i forgot to open my mouth
but in the corner
your hand beckons
somthing else
open a beer
and forget
"did you hear what happened
to him?"
no. and i won't. so shut up.
shut up.
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About apathy.
(Written 6/26/1990)
rat in my hand
explaining the importance of stale beer
(only so the carbonation doesn't get him)
i don't care
at least he's talking
so you sleep in your hole
small overpriced flat
while i sit waiting
for the moon
the longer you sleep
you said
the younger you look
(only because your eyes are closed)
but you better get up now
there's only one more beer
and i'm not going to the store
alone
not with the heat
turned up high
outside
not without
you
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