abcprincess (abcprincess) wrote,

some new strange shit that's been popping into my head. not very interesting but what the's my journal, who cares:

its you me or him

i shimmer sweet saccharine,
i shudder as you spread.
i was watching for holes in quiltwork,
i am leaning into your crotch.

you carry yourself on fine threads,
you gargle with salt waters.
you eat danish on Tuesdays,
you were the first to spill jam in my lap.

he left when you were eight,
he thinks good riddance.
he walks towards cotton candy clouds,
hes not looking up.

i cant remember the taste of peanut butter when i sleep.
you curl like the cut-edge of an avocado.
he can go fuck himself.

no sweets today no sweets today no sweets today no sweets

And this one that doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me yet........trying to fuck with catch phrases but the actual form of the poem is fucking with me....happens like this sometimes....have i mentioned i'm drunk right now? hmmmm.....

Catch-all, interrupted

its the new improved tattooed you
arising out of the cab!
(you curl like the skin of cut orange.
you rhyme with nothing.)
shed that second brain in just two weaks!
(open your door--light varies its beams
two by two, marco, wear ark you?)
ready, set, shimmer.
(and so she kept me clenched in her palm.)
(there seems a deep mystery in his DNA.)
feeling lucky? take a bite out of Barbie.
(just watch any child with crime,
sooner or later the torture begins.)
refer your medicine. eat your friend.
a cock a day keeps the doctor away.
(and yet i dont believe its the net
of glitter above
that calls to you,

And remember that evil ex girlfriend i had...what did i call her on LJ? hmmmm...*thinking*..will have to look this up..can't remember....i guess these were written with her in mind......


Before the night has set, let me just say thisWhen I wake in the morning I will still think of you, of the times we have been naked on my bed, on yours, how the light has played so many tricks on me before, how Ive seen things that arent there or shouldnt be and how I wanted that curve in your back, arch in the hip, turn of the lip to be real. The sound that comes out of your mouth, your innerwhateverwhen you cum and how Ive played that in my head over and over when Im bored or upset or waiting tables and not liking the people that eat salmon and grits. Let me just say this before the night takes over.
That you will be the first thing I think about in the morning. Whether it be raining or not. And especially if its cloudy. But I will not come to you when Im sorry. I will not walk that slow step over and kiss you on the cheek. I will not know what I have done wrong. I will only know the awkwardness in my jaw, the taught in my teeth, the grind in my hip. Im sorry. I cant promise these things to you. I have nothing to show for what I know or have done or might do in the future. I live on words. On those deeds that mean I dont always say what I mean. And I cant explain anything. Before the night has gone, let me whisper what I mean. Let me near what I know is you or what Ive made you into. Because this is not about me. Its about the night and how I can live my whole life waiting for it to set or rise and now that its near, I dont know what to call it.

The Holidays

Holiday I

Ive flown to florida for thanksgiving
with my recently titled ex-girlfriend.
We wake at five a.m.
Its her twenty-seventh birthday;
a security breach in the airport
and we wait five hours to fly.
The night ends with me crying in our bed.
How is it that some holes are never
filled? You try rubber bands, paperclips,
staples, but somehow you are only
like a magnet: attracting random objects.

Holiday II

Like a magnet attracting random objects,
my entire family arrives at the door in one group.
I lock myself in the bedroom to write
but its no use, they want me to come
out. Its been three years. My hair
is red, my body fuller. My cousin
has brought her girlfriend of five years
who just had her stomach stapled.
She only eats squash. And I look
at my ex in the chair across from me
discussing tattoos with my grandfather.
Im fantasizing a way to get her in the bathroom,
sit her on the counter with spread legs,
my mouth a butterfly.

Holiday III

My mouth a butterfly,
I speak softly to my moms best friend
on the phone. Her husband is dying and my mom
has called her in the middle of the meal.
But we talk about nothing and I think
of spinach and stardust. Are we really all from
the big bang? This spinach doesnt taste fresh,
and I cant say anything to make this woman
feel better. My four year old cousin falls on tile
(no stanza break)
The Holidays, page 2
and starts crying. My grandfather has moved
to the couch and is rolling a joint. And some
random man paddling a kayak screams
happy turkey day at us on the screened-in porch.
My parents live on the intercoastal.

Holiday IV

My parents live on the intercoastal
waterway between this world and the next, that other.
Here, I am too old to be told
what to do but too young to not need that
kind of advice. If my ex wasnt with me,
me and my mom might sit in the kitchen,
me on the counter, her looking through
the cabinets, and discuss my life: how I am too
good for this girl that does not love me,
that if I write this poem, someone will
write back. But I cant get it right,
I still use a lot of words
signifying nothing: I have flown to florida
for thanksgiving with my recently titled
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