stalker

screenshot her

put her in a folder

save her just for us

forever zipped

then she's all ours

wouldn't it be nice?

wouldn't it be

true love

if you awoke

in your home

saw so many 

scraps of me

littered about

a stranger

couldn't tell

if it's my place

or yours?

freckles

cheap cliche trope

last night I

dreamt

a photo

of my father

at a strip club

holding 

the 10 of cups card

and my child self

by his side

last night l

dreamt

a photo

unreal but

for in my

sleeping mind

awoke

to draw

the chariot

reversed

myself

reversed

my wheels

in the air

awoke

to cage

trapped in

my mother's 

body

my mother's

figure

disgusted

to be a cheap

cliche trope

lazy writing

incomplete 

character

no brain

   no body

      no life

that's at least

fully mine

to grow up

with those

parents

hated so

and grow up

to basically

be them

or be

everything

they said

I would be

because of them

take the credit

it's all yours

no escape

daffodil daily

want friendship like we had in college,

when we could and would drop everything

to be together to do nothing. back before

we had started actually living. how life

was transient and we knew our lives

would somehow be completely different

in four years, but didn't know how different

a white lie guy

got the 7 of wands. getting so many 7's. i'm a 7. a chariot. 7 of wands feels like when people say a guy will need a stick to keep the girls away. there's so many of them and one of him. but he has the upper hand. upper ground. stiff upper lip. he can beat them down. he has the power. he will win. he is a winner. but that's the opposite of me. i wore my red troye sivan briefs to feel a little cheeky like an aussie twink. the same confidence as in the back of the kindergarten class i pretended to be a principal observing. anything to not think about my feet so hot and wet in snow boots in summer. anything to not be a little kid. or how i still pretend to be the boyfriend of every friend i've had. always knew i could be a better boyfriend then just did it. till the bottom falls out. perhaps better because i was privy to the girl secrets. am i wrong to step in with my privileged knowledge like that?  they must see it in the cards and letters and gifts and calls and texts. afterall, their boyfriends do. i think every guy who dated any one of my friends should thank me for shouldering all the romance so they could easily get off. i primed her just for you; a thank you would be nice. but instead it's always been resentment. because i now know they saw i was in the sideline waiting. but i wasn't. not really. i was only faking. play pretend. i couldn't get off the bench if i tried. i'm tied down in my fear of anything real. fear of a solid no. i stay safe and secure in playing the part from afar. i'm probably in the wrong. and i worry all the time. the bottom of my life will fall out. one text and there goes my whole life.

day-day-day-day-daydreamer

u & me

walking

outside

picked

a flower

eyes close

we both 

blow petals

in the wind

eyes open

same wish

me & u

the nature of nature

sometimes

knowing how

child fuckers

are treated

in prison is

enough

then i wince muncie

mugwort floating on top of tea. always lemon

and sugar. hot water. 7 of swords reversed, again.

composition book for journal. bits of my dear days

pasted in-between. routine is a ritual.

                                       ritual is a spell.

                              a spell is enchanting. 

the air and fire. the earth holding up. twin snake.

it's always been there. even back when we lived

by train tracks. a whistle outside an apartment. 

split rent. a candle flame. she likes the smell.

even then she said i could be a real poet. i believed.

picking our rooms. picking out paint. children drunk. 

feeling so grown. cheap wine. hard floor. wood floor. 

feel this tomorrow. music faint from a laptop.

battery dying. open windows. across a laundromat

it's was closed the day we moved in. then one day

i was sober and washed a load with a first husband there.

my aging body

skin sagging

        weight of decades
    cellular degradation 

    loose, not tight

round belly
            well fed
    wobbling, swaying
    for the first time

  almost searched
breast lift
            and ozempic
    but didn't
        but i almost did

    till i remembered

    no obituary
        no funeral
ever used the words
    "great tits" &
    "six pack"
to honor the dead.

    we all will be decaying
someday & i'm just half way there.

i won't surgically 

        cut out my wisdom

won't take a pill 

        lose pounds of memories

     earned crone 

    just like my foremothers

 this body is all mine, 

            i made it while 

     i was living a full life.

happy girl

This year was the first year

I felt I could become a happy girl

again. How do feelings get hurt

if feelings have no nerves?

The cause of sunburns-

is it the sun that shines or

        uncovered skin?

Where did the surprise 

     of it all live beneath?

My autopsy, will examiner remark

    "Oh my God! Look at all the scars on her feelings organ

    they hurt her feelings time and time again!"

Of course the people around me,

        known for years,

    wouldn't act different

        would not suddenly be different
    wouldn't strangely talk different

    than how they always had.

What did I expect? I, who

    always boast seeing patterns

        all the time.

            But perhaps so.

This year was the first time

I felt I could become a happy girl

again. Why not them too?

sorry I love you (an amends)

let's talk man-to-man

how some men still do

      even if we ain't men

& eat sugar till it feels

     like we may puke

drenched in laughter 

like a pink nose pit

      in a kiddie pool

our heads on our chests

our hands in our hands

     our mouths reading

  our ears listening too

   no longer pretending

  our eyes are still shut

to the fact that I love you.

if crazy dances in my skeleton

She sweats syrup

and I can taste it

from here.

She drips martini

and I act in ways

can't explain.

She taps instincts

and I had thought 

gone years.

Forever addicted

   to feeling good.

fucked me up one side and down the other

She's brushing her teeth

putting makeup on in the car

cause she's been late to

everywhere she ever went.

She drives two hours to visit

a Muslim ex boyfriend 

every weekend. She is not,

but pretends for Ramadan

and Eid. For her eating disorder

and gifts and an ex boyfriend.

not for piety or discipline

  -even if that's the reason she says.

Keep her body, blond & blue eyes

And her children secret for him

Tells me he hardly ever hits anymore

Really, he hasn't spit on her in months

In fact, he's only called her a whore

Not that it's any of my business 

Afterall, I'm just a friend.

Upon meeting her some joke

    Was she named after the hurricane?

But I know,

     The hurricane was named after her.

In a literal, not literary way.

She's so tired. Scared to say no

to one weekend, two days rest &

in the dark does she remember 

what I said when she wakes up

to him on top of her again?

father's day

I'm just another white woman

who free-based cocaine in

a musty basement while

wearing my peasant dress.

"Don't let me do that again;

I like it too much." I said

to Darnell,  a felon sitting

next to me. At the time,

he seemed fatherly. 

My surprise when

he kept his word.

As a kid, Father's day 

was a strange holiday

people put in the way 

of my summertime fun.

At the time, I thought

I was the only one

in my class without 

a wonderful dad.

imagine those headlines:

     "First disappointing father

      found in Indiana. President

      to request full investigation."

His notable absence

was his greatest gift.

Strange fruits, the apples

of his eye, me and

an inconvenient half-sister

whose first name is all I know.

That and a handful of prison visits

so I know how to act 

for prison guard

and criminal alike

and how to barely flinch

at the inevitable - when they try

to hold my shaking hand.

June 14th, 2024

Today would've been her birthday.

      She would've been 37.

I remember because Flag Day

      and she was so patriotic.

But it's not her birthday anymore

      And she won't turn 37.

Where is her country now

       when the solder is down?

things that spread

    peanut butter on toast
my legs in any chair
 
    at a table, a lovely spread
that catchy summer tune
 
    cops who yell “stop & spread it!”
germs, gossip, lies, & news
 
    wildfires in california
according to the news
 
    arms with five-foot spread
an anxiety rash on my hand

    tired girls spread eagle
invasive ivy up a fence
 
    a heavy, floral bedspread
on our king-size bed
 
     myself, spread too thin
and my love for you.

ode to my husband who cooked dinner tonight

ode to my husband who cooked dinner tonight

dirtied all four cutting boards

burnt the squash

spilled flour on the floor

somehow got butter on the door

and at the end of the meal,

though he cooked dinner,

it was he who reached over,

he who held my hand, 

and he who said 

"Thank you, my love."

when I had thought

I had done nothing.

a walk during lunch

thinking about my jealousy

for man I don't wanna meet

fisherman reeling in a catch

out a man-made cement pond

so, he got some of your time

why does it gnaw at me so?

look! male ducks fighting 

must be such a hard life

covet what? not like I could
offer better than he would

pond fountain stirs algae

air smells green like envy

my life isn't welcoming
of time to take or to give

a wet and empty backpack

on a well-manicured lawn

probably should change

wearing red shiny shoes

mirrored window buildings

for only staff; no kids inside

a sunny hour not wasted

I spent the time with me

honey, who does it better?

    Honestly,

    how does it feel

  when your 

       grown man

       ex boyfriend 

       soulmate

       second rate

  is trying

        so hard 

        so poorly

              to copy 

                  me?

for me,

      it feels fucking great.

violet and fuchsia are just two shades of purple

i didn't understand betty boop's appeal
till i saw a few of her cartoons for myself

most her life, my mother sought approval 
from a pedophile, she too old when they met

pregnant, my mother was a goldilocks
making a little girl, mini-her, just right

she was a compulsive liar, as is now known
a fact unadmitted till she was years dead

unable to defend or bend, her truth is gone
but i've grown to embrace and love the myth

how she loved african violets, blooming in neglect
the window sills of dry-dust dirt, but still alive

or how i love fuchsias, opposite, petals wilt
need tender care, need expertly wetted roots

prickly violets and pensile, fragrant fuchsias
she couldn't be soft and i'd never be hard

took decades and death for me to realize we
just two shades of purple, no better, no worse

navigating rapids no longer mine

in a canoe listing water and the vessel sways side to side taking on more water i am fighting currents with a teaspoon to hold back my feelings.  i'm engulfed in feelings i cannot name and i do not like. sometimes its hateful, i barge in like i'm king kong  and like life is new york and i am clutching a classic beauty in my fat, hairy fist. sometimes it's sisterly, for people seem to be in a former life of mine i remember but do not miss. sometimes it's loving, and i believe these are phases and in a few years, with a ton of growth, it will be like rip van winkle waking up.  come to my house, i'll put out a nice spread, my life perfectly size to come inside. that's not real though. i'm not there though. i'm here.  today, i weigh more than my mother pregnant with me, but i am genuinely happy. i hope it's not the cost of being content, but it may be. cook meals too heavy and nourish all the bodies in my home. even my aging body. i still go on walks even though my bum knee gives out now because it was slammed against a strip club floor too many times. yes. i smoked cigarettes in the bluebird drunk, vomited outside the vid, a 50 year old bartender got me home safe guided by my drivers license (do you think that's against bar policy?) and i woke up thin, keys on top of me, bruises, still on the floor of the doorway; he must have just tipped my body in. through the door and shut it behind. puke pillow, that's how some people die.  gone is that life i do not miss. today is the life i love, but know will end. and for the life i don't yet know - it scares me monstrously so.

a perfect double feature

People I Know with Al Pacino then

Hidden Gems with Adam Sandler

brother films born two decade apart

the chaotic man surviving chaotic life

despite the actions he keeps taking

set place in only a few days, it seems

he almost turned a corner then he dead

we live and sleep and die in the bed

we carelessly made quick in youth.

Sunday with Paul

pull 6 of pentacles reversed

rough house with the dogs

   drink coffee with milk

         watch back to back

    Al Pacino movies

         in a row then

go outside with

      his and hers work gloves

      his and hers garden sheers

always makes sure

i have what i need

              in my size

weeding the garden

trimming the hedges

bees on flowers rubbing legs

laughing when i roll my ankle

ice held to bare skin, not a wimp

pull out a tomato, two zucchini,

      and four cucumbers

it's salad for lunch

           sweet tea 

     made yesterday

chicken salad sandwich too

laundry, washing the sheets

        sweaty and pink take

returns to the library

 watch babies laughing

across the street

       playground in the sun

happy children, playing children,

      talk of vietnam humidity 

packing mud on his body

        at night for a blanket

how did a lil 16 year old boy

survive but knowing

          someday

i'd be his and he'd be mine

        and that was enough.

loyalty

I know I have a vestigial organ

which remembers that family

provides more than any job,

that I'm not supposed to be 

where I'm not supposed to be,

and craves half a Marlboro light 

with a Diet Coke in a can and to 

wipe condensation off my hand

and onto my blue jean thighs.

If I emailed my boss tomorrow

I was leaving, she would post

my job as open and ask when

is my last day. If I told my husband

I was leaving, he would fight for me.

He would be lying in the driveway

in the way of my car. He wouldn't

seek a replacement. There is none.

I was told for so long fulfillment lay

in my career, climb the success ladder;

don't lean on a person. Pick yourself up

by your boot straps. Where to put my time?

Someone fighting for me, with me,

that I couldn't be easily replaced or

someone debating if I'm worth a raise?

got a problem, bro

      got a problem, bro.

everytime i go to write

an email

    a note

        a text

           a lie

a fucking poem pops out;

       scattering piece of me.

there's a leg in his inbox

    and a heart in her phone

        and a head full of myself

       hidden in the back drawer.            

i'm too ugly and fat for a shallow pond

used to feel my marriage was a prison

holding me from all the fish in the sea

yet the more I listen to single people

the more my hope for new love fades

cause they only swipe right if the fit hits

or on the life of the party with cool friends

or his grid matches her grid cause love

life is lived out online and public now.

What I have to offer doesn't fade as fast-

write sweet letters like clockwork, that can

be held by old, frail hands decades from now.

I can cook. I can clean. I can can veggies

grown on my land. Smile at every child I see.

I have assets, the kind I have to list for taxes.

Bask in the summer sun with library book.

Answer each call, each text, so fast, like you

are tugging a shoelace tied to my big toe.

Bake biscuits from scratch, cake, cookies too,

that's how I do, give from the bottom up

so it's all me and all my sweat and effort.

Grow flowers every color from seed to vase

arrange them just to see a smile on a face.

I'm not hot, or stylish, or cool, or anything

What I have to offer doesn't fade so fast

used to feel my marriage was a prison

holding me from all the fish in the sea

but it is a precious safety net saving me 

from cruel catch and release games.

tomboy / big tits / hermit / pleasing shit

He asks me if my hair was red as a kid.

But I don't know; I've been avoiding that girl-

photos of her smile and the reminder I was 

a caterpillar posed to be a butterfly.

Yet, I'm arrested, still in my cocoon a worm.

Nose too red when I cry, and I don't know

how to do make up right, scabby knees.

What's the latest fashion trend? Too much work

to keep up only for the change again and again.

I have a shirt I love older than you; it's not new.

Yea, can't take the photos to show I'm cool,

never wanted too, don't know my hair texture,

what's a pretty package if the inside is trashed?

Finger with the bandaid; it's not giving cute-

I tried. Feel written off, cannot give pleasing.

If I can't give optics, if I'm just me, will you like?

Can't name an influencer; fuck I thought

aesthetics was what Aristotle wrote about

back when it was mimesis, before Instagram,

when it was epic poems not pink hair bows.

Yes, it's human drive to create beauty-

       but what if it is literally JUST that?

With big tits, still good enough for the men.

Dark elbows, never gonna be one of the girls.

not prepared for anything here on out

The poet's job is to penetrate and expose

but what if I am just ivy still crawling

up and over a fence my mother built?

Women who've been sexually abused

have higher rates of constipation because

their pelvic muscles are tight and stiff.

Yet, mother said if a man tries to rape me

to just piss my pants, or better, shit. Disgust him.

A cursory porn search shows it might excite.

Another piece of would-be sound advice

                 but the body physically cannot.

a big man

got my robot mower on 24/7

so my lawn is always pristine

and I have an Invisible Fence 

but the dog still gets out,
grab her by the shock collar

to drag the bitch home

cause I'm a big man

      with a big truck

                a big dick

             a big mouth

            and a bit rich

get my pills in monthly subscription to:

          keep me hard (viagra)

          keep me swole (testosterone)

          keep me awake (adderall)
          keep me going (xanax)

give my parents grandkids
spit lemon seeds in my wife's face

but attend church every week 

                            so it's ok

No, I don't have time to chat

got to get this fucking dog home

drink another protein shake
                       work out
                   muscle and veins

           look at my gainz

then bounce to cocktails

            with powerful men

   I rub shoulders with generals

        the ones who sign off on a kill.

Don't my life look so good?

If you are driven enough

        you could be as cool as me.

silence between friends

Just as I was succumbing

    to the goals and dreams

of every girl I was before

you texted:

"There is a family of turkeys 

I see every morning 

and they are so precious and perfect 

but too fast for me to get a pic. 

Off topic but it felt important to tell you"

but it was on topic, I just never told you about

how I saw a psychic years ago

        she pulled the turkey card

and she warned me about this time in my life

            that I needed to be resilient and strong.

And somewhere in the recesses of your mind

you knew to tell me about the family of turkeys

And wrapped and sent me a gift-

        sister-strength and aunty-resilience

Even though I never told you about the psychic

Even though I never told you about the turkey card

Even though I never told you it was a hard day 

again,

You are a surprising light shining

from miles away on a dark day

and you couldn't know, 

            because I didn't ever tell you.

shock collar

knowing how it ends

I feel guilty I let

a found dog bark play

and run for the few

hours you were with me

now that to do so

will hurt you

a taste of freedom

worse than none at all

so easy to harm when

nothing at all could help

I wish I never showed you

all you couldn't have

another world where you didn't 

know what you were missing

I would know; I grew up in shock collar too.

another awkward guy hopelessly flopping about

Do you think the fictional guys Adam Sandler plays

know deep down inside they are a main character

or do they really not believe they could get the girl

even if it's been written into the script that way?

Cheers! Here's to hoping the storyline

is better than how we really feel inside.

I bled it all out in two days

      Sometimes I think we lost so much truth with translation. Like what if it wasn't that women in the past weren't allowed in holy places during menses because they were "unclean." But because they were "dirty" like of dirt,  of the earth, like of where we began and where we end up? In middle school I knew a boy whose father said to never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die. But I would trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die for exactly that reason. Unlocked an ancient truth on how to survive...why wouldn't I listen? I should be listening and not speaking but that's not what I've been doing.

      I've been wallowing like a piggy in the mud in love of the fantasy. But the bleak reality is industrial slaughterhouse. Nail gun to the head, burn off the hair, leg still kicking, hanging from a hook, continue down the disassembly line. I tried to be hardened and practical but my efforts didn't last a whole week. I softened like cream cheese;  It's seems you should be less lovely. Try not to float when you walk. Have you tried that? Don't be so pretty or interesting. God, don't be smart. Don't exist in ways that makes people want to care for you or adore you. If you could only just do that. I want to belong in the earth not in the factory farm. But I think we both know where I'm going.

     I am formally petitioning God to intervene with a translator or editor to fix all that I say to be kinder and sweeter and clearer at least for a little while. I'm hurting everyone around me including myself and cannot stop. Maybe nothing needs said. Maybe I should and need to quit talking, quit sharing. I need left unread. I have nothing to give. I am borrowing from a child's empty piggy bank. I was bankrupt at birth. 

     I am bleeding like a stuck pig. Bleeding out so unclean and it is "unclean." It's not a translation error. I was born discarded from the start. Don't belong in holy places like Churches and Mosques and Synagogues or your life. I don't need a translator or editor, I need a time machine. Someone call my dead mother. Please tell her I need to be a newborn in the dumpster out back thrown out on prom night and never meant to live. Paint me blue from lack of air. Put nothing but blue filters on my photo. Don't look at photos of me. It's not worth the time.

     For the foreseeable future, everything I touch will be hard. Maybe I can be softer. Maybe not. God, just don't let me make it fucking worse. It's for everything I love, not for me.