Categories
Poetry

don’t bother

to call me, I blocked your number,

don’t bother to search for me, I left your city,

don’t bother to want me, move onto the one from Ottawa,

she’s closer to home. Don’t bother to create new blogs

to scare me, it only makes me think you’re insane.

Don’t bother to come here, my city is dead.

Don’t bother to pretend, I see through your

disguise. Don’t bother to text me, I delete

and forget. Don’t bother to read me, it’s old

trauma news. you need a new fix, a new

supply and I’m so cold now. it’s like i’m

dead, i’m not even breathing. you knew

me once, don’t bother to bring up the past,

i’ve dug a whole in the train tracks.

isn’t it better this way? i can read books

i can leave my phone under a car seat

i can stop caring, looking, being your drug

you so easily replace me, from the one one before,

after, and now. it’s the present. you better

make your move, message her, tell her

all the lies, trap her, entice her, do

your dirty deeds, it’s the only way. i can’t wait

to be forgotten. please forget me.

don’t bother to find me. i’m in a new life.

Categories
Poetry

poetry

Categories
Poetry

in the room

sometimes all i want to do is

be in a room with you

with a lock and no key

just us

a piece of you meant only for me

a moment where no one can

see how the light does not come kn

how the darkness tells us

what to not do

we know how to break the rules

how to be bad and good

at the same time

room 616

room 239

room 109

room without me

room without you

it’s a poem

I love how you

touched me.

before, after

and during

Categories
Poetry

Time

no matter how much time passes

love is in the kitchen

cooking a new meal

adding the same ingredients

while you watch my hips

move up and down

this track of life

no more poems

are for me

they have always been

about you and your lies

while your family goes to dinner

your wife throws you a surprise party

buys you your favorite cologne

and you only want to change my mind

with more lies about my beauty and heritage

I will never get over you

or under you

I’m merely another number

while you are the only one.

I won’t believe anything

from your lips.

I will recreate the kiss

in my head, in my bed.

Categories
Poetry

I am so excited that Coffin Bell Journal chose my poem, “Dead Wife” for best of the Net 2020. I am attaching the link to it. Please leave a comment. https://coffinbell.com/dead-wife/

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Books christina strigas confessional poetry dream men Poems poet poetry streams of consicousness thought words writers writing

i took all my books out of the way

i made a path for you to walk into

but you send me cryptic messages

i can’t understand. i’m not that smart

i think in beats, rainbow schemes,

i want to finish writing this poem

before he gets here and breaks my

silence into too many questions

i avoid answering. i removed my

poems for you, made you walk

straight into my heart and pull

it apart with my own weakness.

i never should have trusted you

with that one secret, you haunt

me with it, pass it around my

air like a ball. you’re playing

with my vulnerability. i tell

you to fuck off instead of good

night and in the morning you

wonder why i left for work

so early and we don’t talk again

until the following day

where we start over and forget

the past. it’s what we call

staying married these days.

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artists book of poetry Books christina strigas confessional poetry dreams Poems poet poetry streams of consicousness words writers

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.

Categories
Poetry

Masks

everyone is wearing them now

before this pandemic we wouldn’t even know

the truth from the lies

how lovers should understand more

how lovers should never be bored

with each other. with their skin

yet here we are in masks worn thin

and we have not even left the house.

You’re on my mind, like a song that plays

a guitar that keeps bleeding.

a flower constantly blooming

all the impossible events

like skies that cry

words that matter.

You know what I mean

when I don’t mean it.

Yet you make me feel like a coccoon

stuck in one phase

or a glass butterfly

that never changes;

a gift from my birthday

you never wrapped up.

You should have done all the things

you meant to do.

not merely talk about them

drunk one night

that doesn’t count.

Categories
Poetry

writing is

a rush of adrenaline

straight to the soul

whether you like to admit it

or not, drinking is the solution

to reality. guilty of feeling

too much for you. guilty

of loving too much of you.

all that is apparently true

is not. I know what it means

to feel your sting of jealousy

when you mean to be sweet

and delicious. It’s not me–

it’s you. You have it all wrong

when I promise nothing.

I can make you love on the

rocks

balance on your

bed with one foot.

all the tricks you

asked me to do

I didn’t even want them

all I want

is what you can’t give me.

Categories
cemetery christina strigas confessional poetry death poem Poems poet Poetry

Use me as a Motif

Listening to subscribed channels about loving myself

is probably more harmful than actually loving.

You can abandon people and they are still in the dark

even if I research the best methods of unloving someone

it can’t be done. Rooms wait for people to walk into

and as long as I wait for you, you can’t come in

to see me.  It’s fine.  I prefer it that way.  Death beds

are such beautiful places to end up in. Heaven

is a place you described once, while I wasn’t

in the room. I can see you there talking to her

and pretending I don’t exist. It’s fine. It’s not fine.

I’m absent from this part of the story.

You can use me up until I say no more. It’s coming.

That day you dread.  Death sucks up love at will.

You can go about your silence. It has no guilt.