In the bones

Most times I try to hide it under my grief

but when I think of how eleven years pass

and how scientifically the skin and body

becomes all bones and maggots, this

freaks the fuck out of me. I think

of how his skin once touched mine and

how his love made me feel completely

human. Most days, I struggle to get

out of bed and feed my medical

condition. I hate the daylight

it sucks up my dreams. I hate the night

time, it eats up my worries. I hate

locks, they control me. I know how

my mind works under this umbrella,

it takes hold of all my bones

and caresses them while I’m alive.

You are not scared of death

he had told me, while lying there

dying from a freaky accident

that he should have never

even had. It was my fault,

I wanted him to get me

a burger and fries at eleven at night

on a slippery Montreal night

and the police officer said

all the things you don’t want

to hear, while waiting for

your husband and the food

and the love he will bring.

Death has holes.

The funeral was a blur

as are the memories now

and the sound of his voice

which I have long

forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Physical Pain

I met you at a time when I felt lost

and all the physical pain

collided with my emotional state.

You were the last person in the room

to approach me, and the first to notice.

I told you a story about how lovers

were stuck between all the worlds

they created and you rolled your eyes at

me. Oh, God, you said, another poet.

I’ve never met another one, I said.

Don’t fall in love with him I told myself.

Although I knew I would be the first

to fall for your dark eyes before you

even noticed mine. They were

as dark as my thoughts. You’ll

break my heart and I’ll lose count

of all the ways you want to love me

and other stupid thoughts kept

pestering my brain. shutthefuckup my brain.

I just want to get over someone

so badly, you said.

Me too, I said because it didn’t sound

so pathetic as (well step right up handsome

I’m the one). It’s funny how my mind

says one thing and my mouth another

or my mind thinks one thing and I type another.

No one really knows me then.

They just think they do.

I went to the bathroom and you were gone.

I thought that was just perfect.

A perfect ending to an awful night.

I had concocted all these ideals

that you were  the one

and other such bullshit

but in the end

you were  another character in my poem

I never knew.

I scared you with my witch eyes for sure

and other such nonsensical thoughts

raged my brain

of why men leave me.

 

 

 

 

Lordy

I was thinking about

you are too loud

in my silence,

You’re a cross

between a rock star

and a supermodel

as if spring is in the air

when winter has a few songs

left to play.

I will admit

I do not fall into cliques

or rules

because I make my own

and burn them after.

 

I pull back for my own sanity.

 

Understand you are so wild

that no one

can hold you down for long.

 

Lordy, you are raw talent

combined force

of a drink and a coffee

of a poem

you read a thousand times

a song you can never

stop listening to

and the car crash

you relive over and over.

 

Lordy, Lordy

I make up words

sounds

and some people call me a savant.

 

Shut off the world news

and caress my disturbance

it cannot bear concealment.

 

I recited this to my husband

and he nods his head

because he was watching me write it down

shook his head

and said

you are so fucking gifted.

 

I am envious.

 

Don’t be, I said. I’d rather sit and watch

the news and not listen to

my mind

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

 

Hello everyone,

If you’ve read any of my books, I would appreciate a review on Goodreads and Amazon. Click on the link above to see what I’m reading and my reviews.  I have tried for the past few days to add the Goodreads widget to my blog, but I feel so lost in cyberspace, not even youtube tutorials help, so I suppose it’s not meant to be. However, I feel that Goodreads is such a useful social media site for writers and readers to share their works and opinions on books.

I am always honest in my reviews and don’t believe in fake praise.

I have received some invitations to review some poetry books from authors I know, and I am going to be posting some of them up on my blog soon.  If anyone is interested I will consider reviewing some poetry books if you want to email me at christinastrigasauthor@gmail.com

To review novels, you can email me and we can discuss.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

All my best,

Chrissy

 

New chapbook

Hey lovely souls of WordPress & bloggers,

 

I am so excited to announce that I have put together a chapbook and it will soon be released by a publishing company run by my poet friend Chris. I will slowly reveal the details as soon as I can. Just know, that my book is going to be one of the first released under this company and it brings me great joy to share with you some new poems that I practically wrote in forty-eight hours straight. Hardly ate, hardly slept. Wrote the words like waterfalls.

I am on the first draft right now, and I will be editing and working hard to create a chapbook for my readers. I dedicate this chapbook to all of you who read me and support me.

 

I want to thank you for reading and commenting on my work. Without you guys none of this would be possible. My passion is writing, and I have written books and I am still working on a novel…however poetry is closer to my heart than anything else. It is that instant downpour of emotions that comes out. Sometimes it’s not personal at all, it could be the news, a conversation I overheard, a dialogue, a word, all these inspire me and help me to write better.

 

Thank you for being here with me.

All my best,

 

Chrissy x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ticket

I said,

stop the car, I need to vomit.

What’s wrong?

Must be something I ate.

I ate words.

His words

for breakfast

lumch and a québécois supper.

I told the police officer.

I never drive down this fucking street.

I wanted to be thrown in jail

but she let me go. Who knew

that being a bitch really worked?
I can’t sleep well.

I feel like I can’t write anymore

and I fear my secrets have a way

of becoming my only company.
What do you think Simone would do?

Is everyone knocking on his door?

Why should I care?

The line must be long

intense with chatter.

I struggle with letting go

holding on too tight.

I kept chains and locks

for him

but he cut through them

with penstrokes, cockstrokes

brushstrokes, I made up words

with flair and desire.

The full moon is in my heart

beating inside my chest

where he once rested.
There is someone else for him

so many lovelies

all colors, nationalities,

pageant show beauties

all for him.

She has brand new shoes

and purses to match

his ego.

I stumble around bookshelves

wander through poetry sections

take a look

at legends and death

peeking under glass bottles

from the wrong side.
Miss, be careful out there, it’sslippery. 


I thought it would be different this time.

I thought he could love me

for the right reasons

but a million poems

cannot make up

for all the lies.

I will stomp the grapes

write my name on the bottle

and dedicate

a book to him

so he could throw it out

and never know me again.

Drive carefully.




The Pitch

I want to pitch you some poetry.

Take my batt out and swing it

hard in your direction.

My intention is to love you with it

to make you feel whole. I know

you are broken, it’s such a cliche,

true, you might be rolling your eyes

at me, as I do to you.

It’s fine. I have conversations

with you in my head.

You advise me on what Alan would

say, or what a dead rock star wrote

in his poetry book. You are too smart

for the public, the masses, your lovers.

You use the same lines

over and over

and I see that you are not

capable of loving me

the way I loved you.

I love you so differently.

I love you so perfectly.

I love you so absurdly.

I can love you until I close my eyes.

I bought you a gift

I imagine how you would open it

and look at me with glee.

I cry for you.

I have no illness, no anxiety,

I am pretty normal

except I’m a poet

so that makes me see the invisible.

I can see the lethal toxic world

and I could handle it.

I pitch my life to strangers

and they listen.

The same way you listened

once.

It hurts and makes me sick

to not ever see you

talk to you

but death

is like that

it makes it surreal.

I write in my notebook

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott-Fitzgerald

on the cover. Ironic how that was the book

I read when I met you.

Poets can pitch words

poets can wear mitts

throw them around for fun

for games.

You did it to hurt

and I can never

wonder again

what you’ll wear when I see you

when your face is gone from my world.

Ouvert

I am open for

take out

sit down

read my menu.

I have books for you

poems

and I baked

what I promised.

Everything I write

is set in ink

or pencil

to be erased

or deleted

from the entrée.
My main dish is

an epic poetry dance poem

combine them all in one

or choose

à la carte.
I brew specialty coffee

for you

my lover

latte

cappuccino

espresso

all black

for your heart.

no sweetness.

no honey.

Pure bean

the way you desire.
After the bill

follow me into the kitchen

and remove all your clothes

to put the fermé

sign on the door.
No one can disturb us now.
Bon Appétit.
https://youtu.be/u7K72X4eo_s

Crystal Soul

It is not fair when you say

you would love me forever

and then never show up to prove it

words are just pebbles

and love is just the ocean

but actions and gestures

are the steps

to make my heart shake

my soul has already

been spoken for

do not ask to conquer it

for it is futile

worthless, unattainable

it has been claimed before

I was born

before you were born

my soul has travelled

endless waters

to come to me

I am sure others tried to claim it

for it is truly

a crystal soul

you can see all the shimmering light

if you step close to me

you have to almost

walk through me

to appreciate the glitter

and the reflections

but so far

no one has even attempted

to open me up

once-almost happened

twice-I ran home

and now

I wait

for my other light

to complete me.

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Vodka-Poetry-Glass-Hearts/dp/0995186537/ref=redir_mobile_desktop?_encoding=UTF8&keywords=Christina%20Strigas&qid=1482065013&ref_=mp_s_a_1_1&sr=1-1

 

to read a collection of my poems published and unpublished check out my link above.

thank you for reading my poetry.

Burns

Nothing feels normal

when you love with an ache

in your chest. a longing

that can never be fulfilled.

distance can be mathematically

calculated

it’s so easy to memorize the formula

of two cities

but emotionally inaccurate.

i started off with coffee but ended with vodka

i try to be good

but i think of all the ways to be bad.

especially with you.

i do hate the feeling

of never seeing you

and lost in illusions.

who knows if it will

happen again

quite so universally perfect.

we can plan it

but i will lose my mind

and no one can tell

i’m not  fine. i lost my innocence

a long time ago. you had

nothing to do with it.

best time to leave

for New York

is when you’re young.

as i did at sixteen

only i should have never

come back.