The hues of light around the anger

Every day is a blur of the one before

and the one before that

and the one happening now.

I am changing the date on my journal

to keep track. For a while there,

I stopped.

I felt darkness around the

days of the week and months.

I feel this abyss will never end.

I don’t know what will save me from

the days. Nothing really. My coffee is warm.

The longer I stare out my window

at my lilac tree, the colder it gets.

You wake up and want my attention

you make me coffee. You know how

I get weak when you speak my

language of love. It’s still a cloud

in my heart. It could be grey one

day, blue another, white, moving

silently and then you crack the mirror.

I’m out of my skin, I’m shedding

a new layer of your anger.

so I have to drag myself out of the earth

and walk on planks.

You want me

to love you and I do. In the way

I should not. I know better by now

but the clouds never leave, they hover

and expect me to be my best self.

I’m writing and spinning out of control

over hatred, you’re making me tired.

Let’s stay naked in bed

create our own clouds

dissipate the anger with our skin.

Even fantasy has holes

we refuse to mend.

Ingredients on being a poet for #WorldPoetryDay

not so sure I’m genuine, like a stone

or genuine like suede or leather.

not so sure I’m a poet like Plath

or a wannabe poet. I hope to

inspire then I rage forest fires

in my head. I hate to admit I’m

a poet or a writer at a party,

seems like the music lowers

and the spotlight’s on me

and god help me as I blush

and explain the ingredients in my

words.

I listen and smile while drunk,

and claim to be horrible

at cartwheels, but once upon

a time I  was a dancer in a show

’tis true, once upon a time

I made cocktails for breakfast.

 

The ingredients to being a poet

is simple:

-1 ounce of vodka, ice.

or

-1 shot of Jack Honey (or half the bottle in my case).

a pen

paper

silence

and add some spice (chili for heat)

salt for the demons

pepper for the earth angels

dig deep for the money

there are holes in all my pockets

poetry does not sell

but my soul

is up for grabs.

9.99 a pop.

Update

https://www.facebook.com/Christina-Strigas-463462840492529/

Hello all,

Hope everyone is well. Recently, I joined Instagram and from there have been introduced to a whole writing community that supports my work as well as getting published with http://www.451.press/ an innovative new publishing company from California.

It has been a crazy ride thus far, even if I don’t sell one book, the amount of support for my writing is overwhelming. I joined Facebook to further promote the publishing company and be part of this exciting movement with them. We share our work, our poetry and our love of words. Please check out our poetry page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/451presspoets/?ref=hl

and check out some of the amazing writers 451 Press is in the process of working with to create poetry books.

Who reads poetry books? People that love the flow of words. I continue to buy them and support the Arts.

The illustrations in my book are being created by  Kate Theodosiou, a visual artist http://t.co/Ouvg5ujgjn from Cyprus.

Looking forward to sharing my book of poetry with you. Release date is June 22, 2016.

All my best,

Christina Strigas

 

 

 

 

poems

have some poems in my pocket

under my skirt

between my legs

along the highway to the city

writing them in my head

in my bed

everywhere but here,

i’ll come back sooner or later

but they take control now

and my notebooks aren’t empty enough

and my love is not as full as i want it

so i drown it

add some ice to it

and shake the shaker with

instant cosmos on the table.

i’m the best suburban downtown barmaid

around,

my heart never ages

you look like sisters and other lies

i hear.

oh, come on, you know the drill

the thrill

you can find it anywhere else

but here.

poems set me aflame now

let reality burn down

to the ground

i won’t call 911.

i’d rather be a ghost.

I see nothing but love

and even that covers itself up

and hides from this painting.

leave my blindfolds on

i like it that way.