Howling at the Blue Moons

Christina Strigas

It happens seven times in nineteen years,

that random falling into you

and not wanting to get up

from your howls.

It happens more often than I

would like to count in my notebooks,

either the third or fourth full moon

in one season.

It is how the effect is pulled by you

directly into me.

You can look at the incantations

as paragraphs of my life

I omitted. You can examine

the subdivision of a year

and ask me to show you

more of my skin,

but I was drunk.

Filled with regret

and remorse,

guilt

and sex appeal.

Every additional full moon

moves my days into nights

and I feel you on the tip

of my tongue.

Year after year

nothing changes

but the wrinkles

on our skin as we track

down the moons

like vacation spots

or business trips.

What a view from the top,

what a…

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real life

it takes a toll on you

to wake up

and make breakfast

carry on like nothing

has changed you.

you’re supposed to be the same

person you were yesterday.

but so much can change in a day

and altar your world

into a new dimension.

the one you never imagined

you would be on.

real life can be an illusion

and a denial up until

it weaves its way into

your world and captures

you in its net. you’re caught

now. you can’t shake your legs

or arms. you’re stuck

to swim on earth

or drown in hell. or both.

poets think they know

everything with all the

chips on their shoulders

wearing them down. they

know absolutely nothing.

they live in dreams. real

life is just another

way of killing you slowly

without knives.

In the Middle

Once I was at the end of the love song

crying for years because it was over

before it even began. We were caught

loving the wrong person. I immersed

from my drowning and swam to the

beginning of the line. I sailed across

your poems and floated on your words.

You sent them to me by mail, on out-

dated postcards, you wrote them on

the back of my hand with your

fingertips. I sent you magic and

illusions with one needle on your

arm. We lived in a movie and

recited Shakespeare naked in bed.

You were not even close to being

who I thought you were. I was

too much for you to handle back

then, wanting to do everything

and doing absolutely nothing

about it. I climbed Mont-Royal

in heels and you laughed at

my absurdities. I was spontaneous

and explosive, until I wasn’t anymore.

I bent backwards on words

and the power of your hands.

Now I’m in the middle of something

that will change me forever.

I will never bet that girl again.

I have to be someone I thought

I would never be. Life throws you

these wicked curveballs

and I am catching them,

ready to be stuck here

hoping that it will not get

worse. All this hope

for songwriters and poets

but for a regular woman like me

it’s a waste of my time.

Forget

It does not matter who forgets who

or who lives in the past.  The moment

is all we have, switching gears to

satisfy our needs. I left my heart in

the parking lot, it happened so quickly

did not even know I was going to quit you.

I meant for us to last like that movie

twenty years of longing and never having.

I meant for us to be together in my head

not in real life. It can never be, so why

risk my sanity? I spent so many days

in the hospital, I know one day I will

ask for help. I hope you answer my call.

I hope when you see my name on your

phone, you won’t get scared of the truth.

I have these knots in my stomach

my heart, sometimes I can’t even orgasm

because I’m blocked, stuffed up on life

bleeding sinus pills. I wipe your scent

off of me, when all I want to do is inhale it.

You want someone else

I can never be her

I have known no one but you

and this is what heartache tastes like

at nine fifteen in the morning,

I have to run

to another life

but one last hug

you forgot my present again

and I am coming to believe

I am the only one who gives

again and again.

This is what I am made of

a lifetime of silence

spurting forth words

for you to read.

The Mist

Christina Strigas

I should keep up with the news

but my wifi is out of control

so I am cutting it up

slicing it into quarters of my life.

Less and less of you

more and more of me.

I disrupt my life on purpose

and see through the mist.

Who can ever give you

all you want? Not one

person. I never met

that person so I find it

within myself and

marry myself. I’m

cheating on my husband

with myself. He knows it

too. I can touch myself

and cum in seconds. No

rendez-vous, no dates.

I can believe in myself

and not others’ version

of me. Even if I have twenty-four

hours to live

I can stare at a ceiling in silence

I have plenty of practice.

I will take my secrets to

the grave. No one

can love me the way

I want. So I will contine

talking…

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Imagine

Christina Strigas

img_3550No, not the song

but my mind

when it alters in perception

of what’s real and surreal.

I do not know what to say

to you…

was I what you imagined?

better? worse?

shall you compare me

to every other woman before

and after? or not even close.

I kissed a guy in 1991

at some club in the middle

of a song and it was magical.

Vowed I wouldn’t do it again

and it was only on our

fourth date I gave myself

to you. A present.

And even if you never

think of me again

and if the one that broke

your heart

broke everything else

I know that what we found

in a few hours

was enough for me.

I do not have to

keep on telling you

that my thoughts

trail back to you.

even if you have moved on.

even if life has to be…

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