Hate me. Banish me. But never say that you don’t know me.

I am the person from birth that you never unveiled.

 

Do not say that I have never loved you.

I have loved none but you,

 

or tried to love none but you. It was not me

who betrayed you. It was the child inside

 

who must go away not to hurt you.             The hurt is seeping from fingertips,

breaking up small food in stomach.

 

Believe me, I’ve not become me yet. I’m trying

to, but

 

you are here with my replacement, another girl like me.

What does it matter that no one can see my monsters but me.

 

There is nothing about them that speaks.

Nothing says joy, but it is pulsing chinks.

 

Put yourself in a blue box. Say nothing. Say nothing to your monsters.

Ship yourself away. There is nothing outside the blue box.

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To love

He tried hard to forget. To love is to destroy. But he could not but think he’d rather fade into the earth than give up his love, it was so fresh in the ground. It niched itself in the dirt, the pressing of moss and mold inside the root cellar, where his love grew further, twisting into bricks, into an obsequious display that poisoned him to the touch. Everyone knows what it is to hold something closely and have it bite you.

The Puppies

Two puppies lay at my feet.

One brindle and striped like a tiger

The female is a lovely gray. It is she

that is striking. Her face so small, her legs like flappers.

she would be a beautiful dancer, but

how frightened of every little sound!

I took her out to the front yard and she heard wind chimes

and skirted back to the door—I took them out together once

‘til two pit bulls barked

and Luna dived under a parked

car

The first time

I coaxed her out with a treat. “Come here, baby.”

The second time, “Get the fuck out of that car!”

 

anonymous 231 said a man grabbed her privates on a subway

(why do we use that word… ‘privates’…they are not private)

i was grabbed

he grabbed me

a schoolmate grabbed me in a classroom. In class.

30 people stood, all in groups, chatting

uncomfortably. I can’t remember what I did. Why this boy laughed and reached out and          touched—

cupped

           no—

     eah!

 

I yelped.

Potty training is better. I must softly pet them every time they go outside

or they’ll forget themselves and pee inside.

They’ve done it often. Tejunio will worry his eyes at me and meander

to the door sometimes. I tried to rub his nose in it, and

 he bucked like a wild horse. Like I’d beaten him.

Women envision strange things:

A woman fantasizes she’s in love and gets married and

has a thousand babies while juggling a career.

A woman fantasizes she is on a cruise ship and

there is a murder and only she can solve it.

Occasionally a woman fantasizes she’s at home. Cooking. Or on the street, or

at a frat house. And a man approaches her. A nondescript white man, age 22-30.

A lewd request. A reaching out to touch.

She whips out her gun and shoots him dead like Butch Cassidy or John Wayne.

And the blood and the police come and she says breathlessly

I’d rather go to prison than be Raped! And the jury acquits

the brave young heroine

But the boy’s last name was Cho. He wasn’t older. I couldn’t find my gun.

Puppies

are doing well. They

follow me, they

drink when I drink, watch

me use the bathroom,

eat each others’ meals,

chew up all my furniture

and sprawl on my bed. Luna loves

belly rubs. She spreads her legs and shows the world–

I call it her ‘teepee’

because it looks like a little Indian hut.

I fight this strange urge to touch it—

but my hand disgusts.

I can’t remember how they neuter females.

The Itsy Bitsy Suicide (Long Poem) Pt. I

When my grandmother abandoned me
on a Friday night, I was watching
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

I was on the couch, the small loveseat my father
bought when he moved to Fishers–
It was our weekend together.
Friday, August 20th
2009.
I thought, I haven’t heard from her in awhile. I’ll
call
tomorrow.

My father, never one to push
me, shook me awake that night. Whispered.
Cried with me as he said she had a heart attack.
Her legs over the side of the bed. Small, fat body motionless.
God, I cried. Like my heart had burst. I had put all my dreams
into her, like she was my Easter Basket.

I remember
her touching my hair one Easter, saying
how thick and beautiful it was.

Right now, I can’t explain it. The anger and pain
for a woman I knew only five or so years. Mother loves to
say how terrible she was, how crazy, how…
the list goes on.
I want to forget the list. Tell me something good.
Tell me
tell me that time she made you tea, sewed your wedding dress.
Remember the soccer game, when I made brownies
and she was diabetic but
ate them anyway? Remember when we went to
Florida
Grandpa couldn’t drive well
so she had to? Remember when
on September 26th, 2007 I got
my period, and later you, me, and her
went to Target, bought a 7 dollar t-shirt?

I accidentally put the cardboard applicator in,
and we laughed, like you expect
the Golden Girls to
laugh. With their
bosoms, with their
shiny hair.

Fish-blood

I dreamt it was nightness

dived into the algid pool
  º   —grecian pillars encircling—

º
my blonde, fish-blooded sister
clamped         around my lovely businessman

º
an angler told me
the businessman loved me—

º

but sister revealed
an elephant in her belly
that would stay for two years,
that would keep him locked between her teeth

rupture my dreams

She Boiled the Meat

thenourishedcaveman

Because the distance between her mildewing passion
and his clichéd professions
was too great
she boiled the meat.

She took a dull, overused
blade and pried out her sinewy flesh.
Dropped it in the pot

of water and swirled it with a wooden spoon,
watching the muscle clench inward and then out
as it tenderized,

she didn’t think about the words but the stupidity of words
when bodies and actions speak enough. Her body said
come near me, take me deeply, little things said
I adore you. Are you here to stay?
His body said omigodiloveyou
but he said I don’t like traveling.

It was surprisingly easy
to throw the meat into the pot,
but would it taste good, would
her dog eat it?

Bears & Mist

*This is a draft of poetry, because sometimes my thoughts are in a scramble
On most days, he is Pooh bear with a
Tummy of honey; a bearded
Face that knocks down walls
By chance—she never means to tell
‘Til she does, and he is a mirror
She breathes on until it fogs up.
In that mist, he draws his Other Woman,
who stands a foot below

Silence

188jb56z2t4hqjpg

Like Janus stepping out of the clouds,
this room is silent. Is there anything
bringing me back to elevation,
or do changes batter me to Earth,
eat up my chest until the moon maligns, “No more!

Ze cannot rise! Rest, my child!”
But I always rest. I’ve slept these half-days.

What I need, my fingers whisper while clutching
eyes and necks,
Is tender kisses on cheeks. Ribbons that wrap ’round 
myself and another, and lips that don’t force. 

They always tell me god is an entity

I like to ask people what god looks like
and they always say the same thing—
God is an entity.

Not a man or woman but a thing that nurtures and surrounds us.
He—no, it is calm and complacent—
No! Not complacent…

Powerful. Powerful and benevolent and merciful. Never-changing.
They hold onto their breath before telling me this.

A boy (he was very smug as he looked at me) said Absolute Truths lead humanity.
Don’t you believe no one should be killed? That murder is wrong?
Some people say—
But what do you believe?
I don’t know! I don’t know! Does it matter? I am one
pot on a balcony that could overlook an amazon or an alley.
I need water and sun, and then we can talk about your Absolute Truths.