Ode to Bukowski

Christina Strigas


People think it is easy to sit all day and write,

but what do they know of working and not making any money?
They would think it absurd, an absurd comedy out of a play. Waiting for a book deal.

Waiting for a reply to a magazine.

Waiting for rejection letters.

Waiting for no one.
Years of this. No partner would accept this kind of relationship. I hate
myself. I hate those

so-called poets

who get book deals.
Why do I suck?

Why must I collect

rejection letters. My

poems tell no one’s

story but mine.
I am so poor, I am so

hungry. At least I have

my music

record player

books

typewriter.

I will be dead one day

and everyone
will finally know
I was a poet.
Not that I even care what

society thinks about me

thunderstorms ache.

trees cry

sidewalks shake.

I write poems to make…

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My Young Heart

 

It has no age
it feels as if you
grew ice in your heart
a magician constructing homes
out of broken hearts.

You wanted to love the parts
of me that no one knew existed.
It is hard to live
in a hidden world.
I never understood how
graveyards worked.
You could have killed me
with all the love and romance
as if teenagers had nothing
on us.

I wanted to know why
but these questions
are never answered.
I suppose wanting someone
with a heart
that matched mine
was too much to ask for
and I know that now.

See how my young heart
has no wrinkles?

See how my young heart
professed my love
to you? And all you did
was nothing.

You accepted it
and never gave me yours.

My young heart aged
and now it needs
a kind of love
only strange girls like me
require.

I can never go home now
it does not exist anymore.
All the furniture is gone
all the memories are packed
in used boxes with labels
of time and place
that I will not even look at again.

Erase my young heart.

Let it break over and over
as it is accustomed to doing.

Every Woman

Christina Strigas

I am not every woman
I am an extraordinary one
because I am not a beauty queen
or a wanna be a porn queen
no queens live inside me.
Also, I am not into princesses
who claim to not carry their crown
but act like they own the internet
with no graceful words.
I like to party and suck words out of worlds.
I live like every woman
managing love and kids
and work and asking the mirror
why do I look so tired?
I don’t ask who is the fairest
that question stopped at seven.
I am weird and quirky
and I eat in bed.
I like to read books
and watch the sunset
pull dirt out of sentences.
Pouring my heart out at cashiers
is what I do best.
I keep the lid on at all times
and laugh out loud
at slang and such nonsense
to keep us guessing at how
everything changes.
How long has it been since
you loved me?
I am right here.
I am every woman
and man.
We all want the same things
only we ask for it differently.

Can you endorse me?

Dear friends,

I’m starting my freelance career on this exciting new site. Can you take a minute and endorse me on the link provided below, please?

I will be working on a few poetry books and editing them if anyone requires any assistance do not hesitate to email me.

 

Thank you!

All the best,

Christina

 

 

https://www.peopleperhour.com/endorse/p/MzZmMDc2MTg2ZmEzNjBlN2QzN2Y2MDVhODJkMjdlOGU4ZmVlNzE1Yi05MTkwNTg%3D?rfrd=1829858.3

Ode to Bukowski


People think it is easy to sit all day and write,

but what do they know of working and not making any money?
They would think it absurd, an absurd comedy out of a play. Waiting for a book deal.

Waiting for a reply to a magazine.

Waiting for rejection letters.

Waiting for no one.
Years of this. No partner would accept this kind of relationship. I hate
myself. I hate those

so-called poets

who get book deals.
Why do I suck?

Why must I collect

rejection letters. My

poems tell no one’s

story but mine.
I am so poor, I am so

hungry. At least I have

my music

record player

books

typewriter.

I will be dead one day

and everyone
will finally know
I was a poet.
Not that I even care what

society thinks about me

thunderstorms ache.

trees cry

sidewalks shake.

 

I write poems to make a living

rejected

artist. A few times in my life,
I had great connections

with the homeless
the poets hated me.

but not as much

as I hated them.

Infliction

At the time, I was nervous

for living,

when no one else

 

wanted to talk with my mind.

You have no free time

to sacrifice, nor do I.

 

All our time is filled up

with taking others for granted.

Yet we talk on the phone

every couple of years,

and become friends

 

over preferred lovers.

When  we were lovers,

we loved each other,

we lamented our skin

 

As old lovers do.

It never gets old. Your skin is my map

home.

Time makes clouds

of us all.

 

I have no hard feelings

over deleting you

It is merely a word. Define it.

Gone, evaporated. Hack me!

 

The moments are in hearts

reliving the kisses

and the touching

 

every spare day

I spent it all. Poor again

loveless;

Childless.

My story on Wattpad

Hey guys,

Check out my story on Wattpad, just joined and having fun writing. Are you a member? Let me know what you think about this social media platform?

So far I am just experiencing with the writer in me and the stories, but I found there is actually a poetry section. Who knew?

I will be taking a summer break, be back in September.

Enjoy your summer.

Follow me on Instagram for my story and adventure in real life as I explore Greece.

 

Take care of your heart and soul. They are precious.

 

Much love,

Chrissy xx

Click on link below:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/bwrt2pGhZE

Ariel Poets

The exciting part about social media is networking and meeting like-minded people, especially if you are a writer or poet. A writer is a poet.

I first met Alexandra Meehan on Twitter. We have never met in real life, but our souls have probably met before. We became friends and we have come to appreciate each other’s poetic styles. I approached her a few weeks ago with the idea to open an account for lovers of poetry. We are both immensely inspired by Anne Sexton and Syliva Plath, who are two women who wrote about their turmoil life experiences. Men and women appreciate reading these two poets because through these women’s tough eyes the shape of humanity and relationships unfold in unique, female, poetic voices.

The pursuit of writing is an on-going struggle for writers and poets, especially women. Since Sappho, women have come a long way in poetry, but still struggling along. Emily Dickenson and Christina Rosetti are female poets who are world-reknowned and admired, but Sexton and Plath are still not a household name. In America they are. Just pushed aside for contemporary crap. The dark side and mental illness that haunts their literature takes too much of a front seat. Deconstruct it. Their brilliance shined among all. It seems there is so much more to their writing– to being women– that continues to fascinate us.

We created The Ariel Poets account on Twitter to further explore the inspiration that Sexton and Plath have given us throughout our studies of English literature. To be honest, when I was a young graduate studying English literature, in downtown Montreal; at Concordia University, my professor of modern literature did not even have them on our reading list. I discovered them on my own, like a deep secret you could not contain. That was the early 90’s. Ironically, Alexandra’s college experience has been similar, whereas the only poem ever covered was “Daddy”, which according to her, was not even taught properly.

 

Alexandra Meehan and I hope to inspire you with this account. We want to combine our efforts in writing, and give you some inspiration so that you never stop writing or reading.

No matter how a poet dies, it is how they live that matters most.

We both admire the bravery in Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath’s writing style, and the brutal honesty.

Our Twitter account: @ArielPoets from:@ArielPoets
Thank  you so much for your support,
Christina Strigas and Alexandra Meehan

http://www.alexandrameehan.com