Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Mercy kill.
I wrote some poetry that I deemed acceptable to publish. Read, and be inspired, or I'll hunt you down and slap you. Also, I need a title for the first one. Ideas welcome.
I. (labeled pretentiously like a Canto...wee)
Look at me!
Crooked neck
All disproportionate.
My body is off the map
Uncharted scar galaxy;
Starry marred eyes
Missing pieces-
God's physical exercise
In abstract post-modernism-
Not as it was suppose to be.
An incomplete project
Smelling like toxicity of man,
Shoved into a closet of creation
Auctioned off prematurely
Upon His sudden death.
But my mind
Is a beautiful girl
Dancing, jumping
Pirouetting
With enunciation,
However frequently tripping.
My brain moves quicker
Than yours.
Spins me out of my body,
Makes me dizzy
And I have to sit down.
Watching people as they pass
Observe them observing others:
'Too fat.'
'Scary looking.'
'Badly dressed.'
'Diseased.'
'Freak.'
And true ugliness
Becomes something I
Understand.
Partial Hail Marys
Full of Grace and Beauty.
II. Up Yours
You were
thisclose
tonight.
My intestines were herniating.
The disconnected tissue
Of soft belly
Was translucent,
Almost raw.
Sensations, perceptions
All running amok,
Legs shaking slightly.
You blinked.
Stomach meets cold fingers
Taut cool plasticity returns
You make me climb angry pink walls-
Lynn Johnson couldn't break
My ascension time.
¶ 9:55 PM
I. (labeled pretentiously like a Canto...wee)
Look at me!
Crooked neck
All disproportionate.
My body is off the map
Uncharted scar galaxy;
Starry marred eyes
Missing pieces-
God's physical exercise
In abstract post-modernism-
Not as it was suppose to be.
An incomplete project
Smelling like toxicity of man,
Shoved into a closet of creation
Auctioned off prematurely
Upon His sudden death.
But my mind
Is a beautiful girl
Dancing, jumping
Pirouetting
With enunciation,
However frequently tripping.
My brain moves quicker
Than yours.
Spins me out of my body,
Makes me dizzy
And I have to sit down.
Watching people as they pass
Observe them observing others:
'Too fat.'
'Scary looking.'
'Badly dressed.'
'Diseased.'
'Freak.'
And true ugliness
Becomes something I
Understand.
Partial Hail Marys
Full of Grace and Beauty.
II. Up Yours
You were
thisclose
tonight.
My intestines were herniating.
The disconnected tissue
Of soft belly
Was translucent,
Almost raw.
Sensations, perceptions
All running amok,
Legs shaking slightly.
You blinked.
Stomach meets cold fingers
Taut cool plasticity returns
You make me climb angry pink walls-
Lynn Johnson couldn't break
My ascension time.
¶ 9:55 PM
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I feel like I should explain the second poem. At first, it was admittedly just my heart spewing itself upon the page, but as I thought more about it, I realized what it actually was.
Have you ever had a conversation with someone that had no clue how incredibly honest you were being with them in the hopes they would finally realize- no, GET, something that you think has been evading them for a long time? It is the most heart rending experience ever, and then, there occurs a moment where you realize they still don't get it ("You blinked"), and then you move on in discourse, you have to pretend that you didn't really mean anything. And when it happens over and over again, it's more frustrating then hell. Lynn Johnson is a woman who climbed El Capitan butte in twenty-three hours of free climb, and broke a world record.
In short- "angry" yes. Frustration? Yes. A tearfully resigned feeling of loss? Yes.
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Have you ever had a conversation with someone that had no clue how incredibly honest you were being with them in the hopes they would finally realize- no, GET, something that you think has been evading them for a long time? It is the most heart rending experience ever, and then, there occurs a moment where you realize they still don't get it ("You blinked"), and then you move on in discourse, you have to pretend that you didn't really mean anything. And when it happens over and over again, it's more frustrating then hell. Lynn Johnson is a woman who climbed El Capitan butte in twenty-three hours of free climb, and broke a world record.
In short- "angry" yes. Frustration? Yes. A tearfully resigned feeling of loss? Yes.
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