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.

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Tell me a lie

It takes you way too long to find me

as I sit cross-legged on my hard wood floors

anticipating your entrance.

So please tell me a lie

about all the women that haunt you

when I’m not around you.

Tell me how your first love

is not me.

I am listening with my eyes closed.

I want to feel the lies as they

stab my heart

and soul.

Tell me how all the other women

are meaningless

tell me how you are not married

and have no children

either.

I will believe all the tales

as they rise as high

as the skyscrapers.

The only way to live this

fantasy

is through more lies.

 

I am waiting.

 

Big Bang Love

You think I am a word whore?

You think I fall for poets?

(Even when they claim to not be one).

 

Thirteen point seven billion years ago

we were nothing

until this violent explosion

I can compare to you

and your

entrances and exits into my heart.

 

The high density and temperature

would have made us orgasmic in seconds.

Your big bang love is me playing the piano

without reading notes,

while you watch me and write the lyrics

to the tune. We can encompass this

origin of

space

time

matter

energy

and continue to expand this universe

we share

from the force of only meeting once.

 

You know I am not that sweet,

you know I am not that easy.

So stop believing

I am like the others.

 

All I care about is that undecidable element

of how an open highway

the sky

and music

can fill up my mind with poems,

but you

have that extraordinary ability

to do it with one look.

 

 

 

 

Band-aid and Bruises

It is a dream you are selling

to the neediest girl,

about fancy rides in cars

admiring every part of her body

pretending she is the only woman

on earth that matters

besides your wife

and numerous lovers.

All these band-aids and bruises

you cover up your roles

like a thespian.

Tell me have you discarded morality

as much as you profess?

Have you discovered the ego

is the only thing worth stroking?

Have you forsaken even god

to kiss the devil?

I am too old for fancy cars

and precious poets

who claim to

love me from afar.

When I was eight

I covered up my bruises

with band-aids

they healed.

Now they are invisible.

Who can see the cuts now?

Truly not you,

with your line-up of women

at the door

and your presumption

that I like anyone you have ever met before.

I am not even close

to anything you think I am.

I have not been married three times,

I do not have children from different men

I loved.

I do not have a mental illness,

I do not care for the car you drive

or the clothes you wear,

I do not care about the money

and what I have in my life

I cherish

I hold dear.

And what I’ve lost

I hold even closer.

Your tricks do not work with me

so stop trying.

 

Water Under the Bridge

I thought maybe you were different

but anybody can say anything with conviction

tell you that you are the most beautiful

the most talented poet

that your words speak to my soul

and everything you never believed in

becomes some ethereal proof.

There is not enough

water under the bridge

to forget how her lies

twisted me up

and left me vomiting up my guts

on words, on hatred

on putrid ideologies

of muses that do not exist.

I give too much benefit of the doubt

when I am not even a lawyer.

She can eat you up and spit you out

a lover,

she can see how a and b equals

her own fucked up perceptions,

the people I once loved

still love me back,

still want me,

ask to be forgiven at funeral parlors

through silent texts,

by changing how their darkness

strengthened their light.

But no need to search for you  anymore,

download any app you want

you will never see my name there again,

for

someone who is toxic

someone who is a devil in disguise of an angel

is the fruit that spoils.

Change your name again

create a multitude of accounts

I am  still me

one account

one love

no one can break through again.

ever,

women like you

make me lose faith in our power

and our sisterhood.

 

Never

I have one word answers

to statements

that do not get me

trapped under the snow

or hitting trees

speeding down slopes.

I am not even close

to being

who you think I am.

Over a coffee,

I aim to not impress you

with my silent eyes.

Over a drink,

I aim to not impress you

over my drunken innuendos

and real batty lashes.

I never

ever

get a grip

on reality

for if I do,

I will let it control me

in ways that anxiety does.

I would rather live in my head

be in control

half of the time,

accumulate speeding tickets

burn notebooks

and still

you would not be impressed

by my recklessness,

or my playlist

or my grocery list

for you care only

about the softness of my skin,

how I never age,

so, I do suppose,

in that

I could finally impress you

the most.

How you want to seduce

me with your lies,

your brilliant skies,

your magnetic eyes,

all under poetic disguise.

My dad whispered how he loved me

in my dream last night .

You care not for my poetry

or my dark eyeliner

all you care for

is my reality

to be yours

naked

under strange sheets.

I prefer the smell of fabric softener.

My dad said the words

I longed to hear. 

Even in death he knows what 

I need to hear. 

And still I can never be yours.

 

 

I was asked

I do not read minds

but have paid others

to tell me where my jacket is,

the size of the sword

above my shoulder,

the scent of the candle

you lit in my absence. When I die

I will come back, I know I am

one of those that linger, watch,

observe the present

for signs of the past,

think of the future

for split seconds.

I can be such a tart, a well-balanced

meal,

a sour drink

your favorite slice of cheesecake-

you be the warm apples

and I will be the pie.

Top us off with the universe’s ice

cream and dabble in bizarre

metaphors

while I am drunk off caffeine.

Yes, too much of it

and hence the trivia questions,

the sleeves of tattoos

with no meanings.

Angels have no wings

even if you call me one

I know you poke fun

with your poker face. Lies

are convincing,

deceit a shaded charcoal

of my first art class. Yes,

I rode a motorcycle

and was that girl, with a sketchpad

and a journal.

I was asked to write

a poem

about myself

where

nothing is true

I do that already,

I replied.

I lectured on Canadian Literature

I have done more

than you googled

or is written

so much goes unwritten

unsaid

announced

so much is detached

from this microscopic world

of fine hairs.

I leave mine messy

and forget my brush

on purpose.

What happened

to all those questions

you never asked?

Speaking of

You can speak of how scientists
discovered the latest
drugs to cure
our consumption
of designer’s broken secrets
falling sweetly
into their billboard lies.

You can speak of how your friends
love your wife’s smile
more than you know
or how you read only
books that teach you
how to captivate a girl.

You can speak of nothing

you truly want to

but I love what you say
all the nasty words
hurtful darts my way
it keeps me exactly
where you want me.

I am full of Modern Poetry
inhaling the true ones
like alcohol
reading masters and servants
listening to vinyl
before it all began
this rehashing
hashtag nonsense
urban dictionary well
lift me out of here
submit some poems
get published
like it means anything to academia
and Professor Moore.
They have their own clique
of refined words
and diction.

Wake up and kiss me
I sleep naked
for your seeds
to grow inside me.

You can speak to me
anytime
any place
but you never do

for I don’t want you to.

Books not written

It will always feel

like you are losing me

as soon as you get too close.

Today I wanted to stay home

and write all day

and tomorrow

the same

but what silly thoughts

are these?

Trust me, that as soon

as you need me

it’s time to let me go.

Can you cut off

all the media?

All that noise?

I can.

I have.

I will.

I must.

Can you track me down

to see how I feel?

Can you close in on me

from everywhere?

Surround me with your strength

disarm me with your gentleness

the gap between the two

obscure

wide and approaching.

I see it from all angles

of this square

or that circle

or whatever you want to

call a shape within my mind

within a form

within an outline of my love.

For if you have my body

it comes with a soul

united.

Others can separate the two

discuss politics like sports

stir wet and dry ingredients

simultaneously

but I can save the day

with my frosting abilities

my inner sparkles that shine.

Soul and body

not that hard to disconnect the dots

that are invisible.

Reading Little Prince

again,

it appears life needs no explanation

while I was boarded up

with nails

until  you

resurfaced me.

Believe me, I have always

known how to walk into a room

full of people I know,

the trick is to do the same

with strangers.

I have always known

everything about me.

He reads my eyes and

that in itself is another

book

not written

(yet).

IMG_7743

Full Bloom

Crumpled up two pages

a rarity in my hands

most times I do not come up for air

as long as it takes a song

to start and end

as long as I make this pen bend

to my right and wrong.

I can detox my body

add ginger to my green tea

bring back my mind

with Rumi, silence and obscure poets I find.

I can revive my soul

writing until my notebooks are full

and the cardboard back cover will do

any blank space filled through and through

page after page of nonsense, raging like a bull

(you can come in and out of my room

I won’t see you, I’m in full bloom)

creating an inner world

with hotel rooms on fire

sex acts, food, conversation, attire

vivid characters’ desire

as she spreads her legs

feeds her need

with his vibrant seed.

I know the joke’s on me

of how could she write

such pornography?

Erotica from the Greek eros, I recount

and my real name

my real picture

forget it, it’s a bloody game

deconstruct me

the nature of literature

serendipity

carpe diem

in vino veritas

deux ex machina

professors’ voices reminding me

of tragedies, endings, motivations

mere words

to stop the critics, the academia, the vultures

the turds

you know who you are

and you might think you’re a star

but no one here gets out alive

and if you haven’t heard Jim say

it then get back to the past

listen without judging

take that fucking dive. 

Tell him a tale

wipe a tear

off I sail

do not leave any tracks

hard to tell the lies from the facts.

All I know is that I’m in full bloom.