To Love

Did you forget what it feels like to love?

You would prefer to hate the past

and blame me for all your wrongdoings.

I am an open dart and your hands

the weapon. You did forget,

say the truth, you pretend

to love me. I see through it.

I lay down awake,

but I was a cliche dead

inside. I cried and you watched

me, sending others to comfort me

while you left

silence

destroyed us once again.

I knew this would happen.

I am a witch after all. Love

has a way of pulling you apart

when you close it down.

I can detach, this is my power

I can run, this is my ache

I can stay, this is my mission

I can order for two

and only be one.

All the love you promised

I mopped it away

with the urine stains.

Did you forget what it feels like to love?

I can no longer remind you,

for I forgot what it feels like to love.

I do answer my own questions

I am a poet

after all

and my dog needs me.

Poets sleep awake

Photo by @dan_cretu from Instagram

 

I need my naps

I am a modern poet

in semi-deep sleep

never fully awake

dreaming about pre-raphaelites and the Rosettis

still thinking

in all the colors

you left behind.

I hug you close

yet you disappear

into orange clouds

and sunset lawns.

I want to forget

the long trails

to your heart

and climb up

your mountain

to kiss your eyes

to sleep.

Alas, I slumber awake.

Awake, yet not.

Les Enfants Terrible

http://www.femininecollective.com/les-enfants-terribles/?utm_campaign=crowdfire&utm_content=crowdfire&utm_medium=social&utm_source=social#2195478619-tw#1497834079543#2195478619-tw#1497834330095

 

Hello everyone,

 

Excited to share a new poem with you. Click on link above. I am also excited to announce that I will be a new member of SD, (Sudden Denouement) a first rate literary collective.

 

Much love and gratitude,

Christina Strigas

 

 

The Fire of my Storm

Inside my chest

is a raging child

she buckles up her seat belt

and waits for the accident

it is coming

it always does.
I remember her at six

how the piano freed her soul

and anger burned her wings

in burial grounds

where her mother met her fate.

This storm inside her at sixteen

tore apart all her friendships

these addictions to people

taught her about toxicity.

Now at thirty-four

she sleeps alone

and waits for the shores

of her youth to be

taken by the roads she missed.

She is a calm wave

waiting for her destiny

and lightening.

Spilt Wine

Start the night with wine

in my hair, on my dress,

in my stockings

brand new shoes

bare shoulder

and a few broken

apologies. I saw it

coming too,

and just watched it.

Kind of like life

that was yesterday.

Tonight,

now another bar

another jazz singer

singing the blues

under copper tiled ceilings

and feathers in her hair

you’d think it was suddenly

1920 art deco Paris.

But no,

it’s the house of Jazz

in Laval, Quebec.

Hanging with the girls

who sold my life away.

Do you pay the bill?

Cosmos and red chandeliers

blue bottine in the vitrine

and it’s a wonderful world

in here.

The only thing missing is you

with me.

It makes me cry

you’ll never see

what I see.

Not even pictures

do it justice.

Rita called me

she’ll be 20

minutes late,

god damn Montreal traffic.

It’s fine.

I’ll order another Cosmo

write a poem.

Listen to the jazz singer

and lament

you.

Healing Hugs

 

Everyone needs some healing hugs

that connect us all

without a touch.

One body to love

so hold onto

your mystery

clasp it like a lost key

embrace the wrongs

don’t make them right.

Let your soul flow like your hair on a naked body

want no one

ask no questions.

Sleep poets and dreamers,

do not ask why, do not,

don’t let the bastards get you down.

Are you aware? Are you asleep?

Keep driving, don’t stop at pit stops, they suck you up and never let go of white souls

-Christina Strigas

———————–

Photo by @antoniodjanikian ———————–

#fridayfuckery #longformfriday #streamofconsciousness

#amwriting #christinastrigas

#poem #poetsofig #writing #freeversepoetry #poetrycommunity #poets #poeticsighs #montreal #lovepoems #wordporn

Never Tell

I can never tell who loves me anymore

they like to rehash old shit

from five years ago

when I wasn’t the same person.

They like to pretend they know me

because they read my poems.

I can never tell who needs me anymore

they live their own life

without calling me

or texting me a simple hello.

I can never tell who wants me anymore

they don’t say “i want you”

they ignore me

and make me feel useless

and hated.

I can never tell the time anymore

it keeps on making my future

unattainable.

I am losing my witching powers

and becoming too normal

I dislike people

and only want them one on one.

Groups are killing my spirit

eating up my leftovers

and wiping their mouth

with glee

at my destruction.

I just can’t tell anymore

if love

is real.

Live my life

I want to be me but you keep on repeating

how my world is not yours. I want to be  you

but you keep on explaining how hard

that could be, what with my wings

and my brains in the sky.

I want to be someone else

just for a day

these blues in me

keep singing.

I bust out once in awhile

and go to the hotel

and stare at the window

and wonder what happened to us.

It’s three o’clock in the morning

and you’re actually sleeping

through my existential crisis.

Again? yes, again and again

I knew you could never handle me.

Why do people who say

“I love you” want you to change

in ways that are not in your nature?

I say “I love you” and can define why.

I love the flaws and imperfections.

I see the world in an absurd way

in a theatre with the playwrights

who made it so. Ionesco weeps

with me too. We all discuss the marvels

of how hating someone

is still loving someone.

I don’t know how you came

to use sex and art as your bullets.

I caught them in my mouth and with my pen

and looked at you to see the love in your eyes

but it wasn’t there.

I still love you though.

I know I don’t deserve it.

I’m wicked now.

A human weeping willow tree,

churning poems for no money.

If only we could be rich

off of words.

If only you cared for me

more than what you claim.

Loving me is difficult I know.

I thought you would smash all the pictures

along my wall

but you only added your photo there

and now I stare at emptiness.

I embrace cupid

and this horrible frightening love.