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[note: It's not that I didn't like poetry before March this year, it's just that what Iittle I've found I don't really like and don't feel like putting it on a webpage.] Drive Changing lanes, or highways? please take me so far away. I never want to look back-- rearview mirrors are for happy people and I'm only happy, when driving; looking forward to you. I Am Your Paper Doll I am your paper doll. After you've punched me out, colored me in, and waxed on my half smile, I taste my mother's pain. She washed our dishes, changed our sheets, and kept her tongue stapled to the bottom of her mouth. Between the shadowed days, I watched her suffer through the happy suburban life, eyes lifeless, face plastered... Mommy's eyes scanned me like an old photograph, and she sang lowly as she worked, forever doomed to serve. no opinion, no voice My father's little punched out doll, stripped thin and trimmed and colored in. But I'll give you paper cuts. If I Could Paint Your Body if I could paint your body I'd paint you midnight blue slow brush strokes over muscle, while mixing me with you I'd kiss your soft lips emerald and finger paint your chest I'd lick your neck bright yellow I'd breathe with each carress you're eyes--they don't need painting or color of the sorts but i'd tickle your sides light pink with all the coats i could afford and I'd warm myself against you always caring--never cold and trace the heart within you not red; of course it's gold. Joints we; curled up; joints, twisted, smoked-- turning the lights down turning the ceilings gray, turning our minds inside out. curled up; sucked in; little homeless children with houses. And bent knees against our chins. can't you see, I'm not asking to die. I'm trying to live. burn in; blow out. |