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| I am
I don't feel like
I'm waiting for
I am not
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| Kevin told me to write.
He wants to see me soaring through some horizon,
lifted
by what i can do.
He pictured me
tumbling through the pollution,
wished it upon me that i'd rise.
I love him in ways that make me double over.
Today i heard a song.
My loneliness throbbed through every second.
do i thank him for that?
do i thank myself?
and how?
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| The whole scam starts innocent, oblivious.
She's inching toward you,
smiling.
And then you realize:
You fell in love
all that time she was talking
like it was nothing
you forget that I make little moans in my sleep.
She is
smiling
skinnier;
you picture her nipples.
Guilt follows you around:
I become its trailing infant child.
You can't stand to see me outside my cradle
accumulating more chances to blame you
for looking away, even for a second.
Drunk and curious, your subconscious
leads you down an unexplored alley
and you are robbed of your content
again and again
until you return
and you are nothing
but a turbine of disappointment.
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| She told me she was embarrassed.
Embarrassed. In Spanish, you would think it would be
"embarrasada," but that means pregnant. You would think
it would be "embarrassed" in English, but that means invaded.
She told me she was embarrassed
and the old shame rippled through my blood.
Invaded. In times of war there must be conquest
the inexplicable stamping out of something precious
provided there are those too weak to protect it.
I wanted to tell her everything, wanted to admit
I couldn't draw a map out of there if I wanted to
that violated sense that puts you on an uninhabited island
where you expire if you don't learn quickly
and if you survive, you're not really sure how.
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| kinkygirlx, did you just want to read some poetry
but upon violation of the blogging community's terms of use
you were stricken from all cyber-testimony
moments after you came upon a stranger's writing?
Two of my own friends took advantage of my teenage sister in just one short weekend!
They touched her everywhere they could:
her skinny pale legs, the scar that hovers
over her bellybutton like a moon. I was drunk, asleep in my bedroom.
kinkygirlx, does the x mean a kiss
or x as in the first in a sucession of typically capitalized x's
to denote in pornographic material not suitable
for the poor celibate cherubs under 17?
They rubbed her small breasts, her once broken collarbone,
still slightly jumbled beneath the skin of her left shoulder.
kinkygirlx, are you really young enough
to be just a girl, a kinky one at that
one that likes strange or even violent sexual encounters
enough to make it her publicly known name?
My sister isn't familiar
with the dialect of no she needed
to chaperon herself in such strange situations
to descend barefoot from the leather couch and hide
where? under the kitchen table? in the crumbling fireplace?
kinkygirlx, do you like poetry
despite the fact that you spent so much time making porn?
did you always fancy yourself a sylvia plath
or an anne sexton, swathed in spray tan
fuck me echoing through your swinging tonsils
the thumping more and more like a warning?
If i could pick anybody to love my poetry,
it would be the other poets
it would be you, kinkygirlx.
In her own sister's living room
they touched her as if to say, Beware.
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