charocked
My pen dropped
My words stopped
Stuck in a square
They say they're
Caught in circles
Round and round
But me, I was
Stuck in a square
Hitting corners
Tossed from
One side
To the next
Turning and Turning
and Turning
and Turning
In squares
My pen, my words
Stuck in the middle
there never was a hoop he couldn't reach
up to the sky
dangling his size 16 feet in the air
where everyone could
aaaaah ooooooh!
up he went
until the time
he didn't quite come down
i never did quite feel as passionate as i felt in the cabin that summer
the weather was just hot and sticky enough
for my palms to stay deliciously clammy
for my thighs to stick together as i walked across the room
he was sitting on an old wicker chair that had become to wear
from the times i sat shivering
from the times i still wanted to escape
its been so long that i cant remember if i remember you
maybe we met long ago, and i wrote a witty poem about
a woman's hairstyle or a buzzing chase and laughed
One day we saw a mini horse in our neighbors' backyard. You see, the girl next door rode ponies, and they would come and go just as she did. Sometimes there would be a farm next door, and we would watch from the side window and jump at each unexpected neigh. Other times, we'd see the cars pull out of the driveway. They came back in a week, or a month. The girl who rode ponies was not always here; she was not always anywhere. She was only always where the horses were; where the horses were was home.
i wish i knew i was stunning, because i really am
i turn heads on the street, and in the classroom, too
if only i could have seen myself in last night's dress
hugging my hips, exposing my chest just enough to tease
if only i could have heard myself recite my prose
aloud the words were fluffier than those i had dreamed
i might have fallen in love with myself
enticed by the quirks to which i am blind.
the scream was not expected
i was more surprised than she was
when i found my mouth opened
and my fist clenched, palm spread
outward extending, knuckle twitching
what was i doing! watching my own body
it wriggled in writhed, it couldn't be me
who was that monster who slapped her mother
first a low murmur
crescendo! crescendo!
one bang, two flat sounds
now she's on the floor
shit, he says
that was only automatic
i'm wearing bell bottom jeans just three sizes too tight and my bra is like my mama trying to push up all thats right now i'm feeling like there's a hole in my stomach cause it's been four days two years since i've eaten any sugar baby's telling me i aint skinny or fine and divided into two i can't pick my mind or my body but well bight it. i'm comfortable.
i want to be radical. i want people to wonder what i ate for breakfast and why. i want to cause controversy. when i rise and when i decline, i want to be seen and not understood.
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