I have words.
hear me.
Hear me.
Hear. Me.
Category Archives: poetry
fucking ironic.
she dreamed of being the perfect housewife,
with a white picket fence
and cookies in the oven;
neighborhood children coming round
and happy laughter and rising above
that white trash, low class background.
instead what she got was a broke down,
brown and metal fence
and some foodstains on a woodgrain
and 50 extra pounds that made her feel
so fucking small; fucking ironic.
what a disorganized clusterfuck she was,
no amount of education could make her talk pretty
oh but she wanted to – oh how she did.
she dreamed of being elegant and graceful,
and six feet tall and singing lullabyes
to tiny babies swaddeled with love;
so she settled for fur covered sweaters
and slobbery kisses for the nights when
the wounds wouldn’t heal.
she stared in the mirror every day,
and told herself to be stronger than yesterday,
that she was beautiful and brave
and that she could do today; she could do it.
living in a house of cards on the top,
waiting for the wind to blow
for the cards to fall – no trick aces,
no secret plays –
just a little girl dreaming of perfection
that she’ll never get even though
she wants it so bad she can taste it –
but sometimes who you are and
who you want to be are not the same.
she’s never gonna be high class –
just another empty version of
some shitty town’s white trash.
aster.
rise up from the ashes of who you have been.
rise up, i say to you – rise up, rise up again!
let the person you were stay right there –
let it live in the dust of yesterday.
the flames that tried to dwindle you to ash
could never destroy all that you are –
so rise up – lift your bones out of the dirt
present them to the world so white and clean.
never has anyone been so beautiful as you –
you were never so blue as those flames
just a hued aster in some faraway field.
skeletons.
we all have skeletons in our closets,
with strong bones and socket eyes
that can look straight into your soul.
we all have a door thats locked,
with cannon loaded, gun cocked
in case someone tries to open it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
there are skeletons in our closets,
wearing grandmas sweaters
and little knit socks with bows.
maybe they’ve got belts
around their necks, like the ties
dad gets on fathers day – if hes around.
those bones rattle and creak,
and we know it, yes we do.
we know it, yes we do.
skeletons that can last a lifetime
preserved with the kind of booze
served at frat parties and clubs.
tastes a lot like a yes, no sound.
skeletons like ghosts, follow you
live in every closet you ever had
try on all your favorite dresses
and wears your favorites shoes.
they dress just. like. you.
have the same hair, same eyes.
and we see it, yes we do.
we see it, yes we do.
skeletons sit in the backseat of cars
and watch you in parking lots
they can touch you,
in places you didn’t know you could be touched.
but they’re just bones. just bones.
and bones can be buried,
and bones can turn to dust,
and dust can be wiped away, clean slate.
and we know it, we know it.
beginning to end.
Horse trailers make me cry and
you can fit a lot of memories in a wheelbarrow.
hello life,
hello life.
A hundred different songs
can feed a hundred thousand souls
In a club, in a car, on a bathroom floor.
Sorrows can drown in a whiskey
no rip currents needed.
hello life,
hello life.
Biscuits and gravy
not a single one can save me
planted southern roots
but they point north and west
and all over this goddamned place.
hello life,
hello life.
Settle in and settle down
but never settle for less than love
Show up, don’t show out
beautiful places and spaces
really weren’t created for that.
hello life,
where have you been?
What does it feel like,
to have your soul crawl out of your skin
What’s it this week?
Meth, crack, pot, heroin?
hello life,
sing to me.
make it the one about life
after death and what comes next
make it about snow and Jesus
and things like Heaven.
hello life,
hello death.
the lies we lead.
She says he says mean things
and the man in the nice shirt says
you have to get out or he’ll kill you –
eventually;
then he goes home in his nice car
in his nice car to his nice shirt
and his really nice wife –
and hits her because his coffee
isn’t just so
and of course,
dinner’s cold because
he should have been home
a few hours ago;
What a beautiful life it is
to live a double life
as a hypocrit..
Girl in a tight red dress
asks him where he’s been –
has he been out drinkin’ again;
Pointing fingers makin’ points;
slammin’ doors rattling paper walls..
He wasn’t, but he’s goin’ to now
cause he can smell the cologne
she’s tried to hide –
and it’s not his..
So he goes out with his best friends –
Jim and Jack and tells her
to go to hell in a handbasket.
What a beautiful life it is
to live a double life
as a hypocrit..
She was a
dead microwaves.
Her words were cold,
like ice on a grave
but it’s hard to heat things
in a dead microwave.
She wanted to speak,
words and words
and feelings and emotions,
but it’s hard to dig them out
of the dirt once they’ve been buried.
She choked and she coughed
and she spit them out
the best she knew how.
She started a fire,
she didn’t know how to put out.
An electrical fire,
would have caused less damage –
or maybe throwing a toaster
into a lightening storm.
She was a disaster,
two steps from the edge.
The risk kept her sane,
but safety called just the same.
Stop it, stop it.
Stop feeling this way –
she screamed but the wind
drowned her out.
Maybe she’d be better off
in a hurricane with a band-aid
instead of a boat.
She could patch the last scratch
right before she went down –
they’d find her drifting
over the edge holding onto
a dead microwave.
they said she was different.
she wasn’t always brave,
nope, not nearly at all.
she was afraid –
of a lot of things
some big and some small.
she wanted to be that girl
broody and moody
on a bar stool listening
to Friday night music
and she wanted to be that girl
with her hair flying
while she’s driving
to anywhere in the world.
she wanted to be
110 million different things
a singer, a writer, an mma fighter
she was a dreamer,
a wonderer, a wanter
she was a doer,
she just needed to find
her own set of drums,
so she could march
to her own beat.
so she did,
and so she did,
and they said to her –
who are you,
my how you’ve changed!
softly she whispered,
i haven’t changed,
nope, not nearly at all
i’m just a little braver,
i’m not so afraid of things
i drive to bars with my hair flying
and i sing, because i’m a singer
and I write, because I have a story.
I’m a fighter, I’m a survivor
I’m a dreamer, a wonderer
I want what I want
I do because I can
Most of all,
I am who I am
and who I’ve always been.
phoenix.
in days long passed,
this place would have been
filled with smoke
now it’s just got
a bunch of old souls
listening to sounds
so loud they can’t hear
the thoughts in their heads.
a drink or two or four
and laughter and dancing
and smiles and broody
girls waiting for conversation,
this place,this place
is a wasted heaven –
and it’s beautiful.
tendrils.
He’s like an angry lover
with his hands around her throat
and his whispers in her ear.
She can feel him touching
all her secret places –
her heart
her soul
her thoughts
He’s inside her,
like the devil he is.
He finds the cracks
in her heart and rips
and rips until she can’t
find enough pieces
to make half of a whole.
He tries to suffocate her
in crowded rooms
and it’s so hard to walk
across the parking lot
when he’s dragging her down
like a ball and chain
around her neck.
No one sees.
No one notices.
She’d scream but he’s got
his hand over her mouth
and he forces her words away.
They can’t see him,
they can’t feel him.
But he’s there all the same.
She can hear him laugh,
when she tries to escape.
When she tries to be stronger
bigger
better.
One day he’ll kill her
If she doesn’t escape.
If he doesn’t let her go.
If she can’t shake him –
and she’ll have to do it alone
because no one sees
no one notices
no one.
