Fall apart

I’m holding on

only to

fall apart

over and over

until all

my limits

are made

into poetry.

Until all my body parts

turn into your leaves

of grass.

This is my sanctuary.

How I love your roots

that pull my gravity

toward your earth.

All the steps

to your street

are silent.

You know how

to hurt me

with no dirt.

I sent you my love

in a sealed package

you ripped through me

instead of opening me

up gently.

Who cares where i live?

My middle-aged craze

I have never changed

I have always been in crisis.

i flushed my cigarettes

broke all the bottles

all I have

is this pen

and paper.

Most of the time

it’s all I need.

other times

it’s what

I hate the most.

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June second

the lights are red, but i want to go up

into the sky. drive right through

the pink and purple all night long.

this is my porn. you text me

your naughty, i’ll dream

in the fucking clouds. it’s june

second, two thousand and fifteen,

remember the 80’s? i relive them.

another full moon? do you

really care all that much? stop

howling. i feel it in every cell.

you’re fucked up.

I think my imagination

is so wild

even you

would run away.

but, you stay, you

make me believe

that the sunset

was a masterpiece

and the darkness

its palette.

the moon controls us

like love, we’re

helpless

to its pulling effect.

catch me tonight at

nine pm…its’ my son’s

award ceremony,

but i’ll still be falling

from the sky.

don’t forget to look up

and extend your arms,

even if you don’t see me.

voices

i woke up to the voices again

after all that drinking and St-Henri parking

in front of the usual side streets

with bearded hipsters

open door lofts

stolen dreams. Coming out

of Cayenne and Pepper

sexy shoes and leather.

i don’t know what i was

thinking when we had those

shots, those drinks,

wine, and i didn’t smash

into you at the street

corner, looking like

quite the classy whore,

there was some white lace too

enough of it to want to see

underneath. no more questions

about my ass

my poems

just listen to my voices,

or ignore me.

it’s what you do best.

i ran out of cream

have to always catch myself

as I fall. my arms

are comforting

my words free me,

it’s the only way

to breathe from the place

you make it hard to breathe from.

what distance? you’re here,

what time? you’re on it,

what sky? you’re staring at it,

what sex? we did it.

did you have enough of me?

trust me, i know,

i have had just about enough

of myself too. i can’t blame you

for leaving me, i wanted it,

it’s my island

i want to be alone

on it.

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?

My first amazon review by Christine M. Sepe

http://www.amazon.com/review/R37ZOYSLXPGZVO/ref=cm_cr_dp_title?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00U2XYHRM&channel=detail-glance&nodeID=133140011&store=digital-text

Thank you Chrissi for your amazing review. I am really humbled and touched that you liked it that much. Reading it was kind of surreal and I kept on thinking is she talking about me? Weird and exciting to read it just because you actually got most of the nuances and enjoyed the sex scenes, which I loved writing. My second book will knock you off your feet and be full of erotic scenes. Got to get to that so back soon.

Shout out to her blog:

http://chrissibliss.blogspot.ca/

Enjoy your day lovely people of the blog world.

Christina

Electric Fence

My eyes are not that dark

I won’t scare you away

with my aura, supposedly

you like my scent

but

have you read me

to the point

where the back of your throat

is so dry

that only my

mouth on yours

would quench that thirst?

Never answer my questions

you should know more about me by now

but you stopped listening a long time ago

too far to know that it is best

to keep away from my electric fence.

I need so much “space”

that cliches are my t-shirt slogan.

He reads my book lying in bed

you are not in my head, just my book

you are not in my book, just my head.

I tell him I loved him more

when he loved me less

he says

I can never stop loving you

when the dark and the grey meet

it makes my insides corrupt

bare, existential

reciting Sartre like Shakespeare

confusing my philosophers with my poets.

Do your thing and write, do your magic

and love me with your gift

give me yourself.

I can still pirouette

on hard wood floors

so many talents

you will never know

and others that get buried

under the snow.

Sleeping naked is

how we were born to be

put on our clothes

and hide under labels

undress it all

digress from poems

and music

art

walk in a garden, or the

streets at three a.m

where I’m most free

in the deep night

not scared of anything

even in New York, Athens,

Rome, Montreal,

the night is where I find

the parts of me

I forgot about during the day.

I must confess: I am more attracted to

cities

than people.

In this I know I am not alone.

March 10: My book release

http://www.amazon.com/Crush-Paranormal-Romance-Christina-Strigas-ebook/dp/B00U2XYHRM

To my followers and the amazing people I love to read,

Tomorrow is the day my book comes out. Above is the link to amazon and below is my blurb.

Blurb:

It was love at first sight when Maria met Jack on a beach all those years ago. But when Jack suddenly disappears, Maria is thrust closer to Hunter, their long-time friend, taking them on a journey that changes all three of their lives forever.

Maria is a lonely young woman who finds love and acceptance with Jack, a free spirited musician. In Maria, Jack finally has the girl of his dreams by his side. When Jack introduces Maria to his best friend, Hunter, he feels an instant connection to Maria, but he buries his feelings—along with his secret that he’s a vampire—for the love of his friend.

Set in Saint-Tropez, Crush is a vampire tale with a twist. Spanning decades and delving into the past of each character in this thorny love triangle, it is about a woman who must choose between the man she’s in love with and the man who is her soul mate. Adventure, love, romance, and vampires all collide in this unique novel filled with powerful emotion, heartbreak, and the question of undying love.

I never thought this day would come. I have self-published with a co-author a trilogy, and yes, holding your book in your hand is exciting, but this ebook is my own project and thanks to MuseItUp Publishing I can easily say that my dream of publishing my own book has come true.

Thank you dear readers and writers so much for reading and following. Your support means the world to me.

Christina

Crush

My new cover for my book is out. Tell me what you think!
Thanks so much for all your support.
Book will be out in October.
Big virtual hugs from Montreal.
Christina

IMG_6214.PNG

Waiiting

Sun is burning through the thick layers of my skin, into my very core. The air is thick with averting eyes and hardhats. Trucks, cars, vans all waiting to fit their purchases into trunks that are made too small. Here I am, in front of Ikea, sitting on planks of wood that will be assembled to make my clothes feel comfortable, pretty to look at. Sweep the clutter away. Organize my mind, refresh my life with order and iambic pentameter.
I am waiting for you to put air in your tires and the strangers around me are smoking, talking, eating, working and my bum is sore. The worst part is I forgot my sunglasses and as usual my phone is dying, which means I have to stop writing, and after the battery dies and the words are not stopping, I will regret that I forgot my notebook on the kitchen table.
No one will read it, nor open it out of curiosity. No one seems to notice, but when I type it orderly and edit the sentences before I publish everyone notices. Waiting is good for the soul, it gives me time to think about not having to be somewhere. It gives me time, point finale.