real life

it takes a toll on you

to wake up

and make breakfast

carry on like nothing

has changed you.

you’re supposed to be the same

person you were yesterday.

but so much can change in a day

and altar your world

into a new dimension.

the one you never imagined

you would be on.

real life can be an illusion

and a denial up until

it weaves its way into

your world and captures

you in its net. you’re caught

now. you can’t shake your legs

or arms. you’re stuck

to swim on earth

or drown in hell. or both.

poets think they know

everything with all the

chips on their shoulders

wearing them down. they

know absolutely nothing.

they live in dreams. real

life is just another

way of killing you slowly

without knives.

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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

Sunday Musings

I woke up to write

before the coffee, the sunrise

it was words that fancied my skin

to forget my dream the moment my eyes opened.

What is it that makes you want a woman like me?

Your list is long

and everything you say

makes me reevaluate my life as if it were a spreadsheet.

I know you only want to use your knees to spread my legs

my arms

across yours. It is what I want.  I really do admire

how you are so quick to the point.

You do not miss a song, I know I hate to text

and read way too much. I am quiet and methodic

concentrate on the typewriter as if it loved me back.

How could we be here?

People dying from cancer, heart attacks,

and I’m aching for you. It is not a myth,

or a legend, it is how my heart wants

to be pressed up close next to yours

with no fabric between.

I am not anyone special, trust me.

If you lived with me, you would see

so best to elevate my status by

being silent of all my defaults

eliminate my errors

by not telling you anything

more. I will keep it for my poems

my books, my next life.

This is what writers do,

we beat ourselves up with words.

The difference between us

is distance

yet all the words

you refuse to share with me

I know them already.

 

 

 

 

Intensity

I need the intensity

of going all the way

giggling like a teenager

I do not think I ever grew up

I may look mature

but I told you I feel seventeen forever.

I speak French too much

lose out on the English tone of your voice.

You have all the adjectives I admire in a man

and all the selves that blend so well with mine

we could be like a fine wine

but

do I have to be more precise?

I will not tell you exactly

what you do to me.

let us just say that what I say

is only a mere quarter

of the pull you have

on me, it may be magnetic

kinetic, aesthetic,

diabolic, angelic,

it may get deeper

or not.

Who cares to analyze anymore?

This is just a poem

about layers and layers

of clothes

being removed.

Clothes that turn into words

in a magic world of make believe.

 

Take out the checklist

do I match?

Probably not,

too quirky, too neurotic,

too poetic, too real.

Praise nothing about me

I am vile

disgusting

worthless

useless

I have my period

I hate men

Women treat me horribly

out to stake me

waiting for my breakdown.

You can see how this poem turns out

who seduced who in the end?

who really has the power?

Chrissy, what the fuck, I say to myself

get a grip of yourself

I realize my head is stuck in books

and I never saw a tiny ketchup bottle,

I may be sheltered

but you have no idea

how much protection

I need from the real world.

I just live

by my own heart

and I will die by it

only, this time,

I will have

no regrets

only wishes.

How I want

only you

to grant it

to me.

But sadly, no one can.

 

 

 

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.

Hideaway

It does not matter what
I say to you
when you bring
down the pain
and hug it
like a newborn
needing to relive
every spiteful word
she said
by
taking down
picture frames
to create new ones.
It does not matter
how I see it
because my green eyes
ignite you.
I feel your
sadness now
when you ache
empathy
encompasses me
that’s how I’m made
with loyalty and heartache
with knowledge
and truth.
I can see through
screens
cracked mirrors
I can write in your mind
trace your body’s shape
on top of mine.
I let you in now
it’s too late
to change fate
anyhow.
I can feel the walls
caving in
and I
can let you be
but, mon amour,
know that
no matter the state
you’re in
I can handle
you.

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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).

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