POETRY & ARTWORK

The Honest Woman’s Dating Manifesto

It’s inevitable, perhaps, the wilting of relationships.

 seems like the corners of someone’s eyes grow heavier

as hours pass, weeks, months, and it’s always easy

to stare at sadness or hide from a lover when things become

complex.

It’s always ‘complicated’

as uttered by every person on this dying earth.

and this home turns us

and to us whispers. and we pray silent thoughts in response.

the arms of our whispers begin growing weeds enough

to prune thoughts about love and vows and hysteria

yet –

 as age grants itself to you,

as polished people ponder the various ways to disconnect from yearning,

to stop themselves from tip-toing away from empty beds

to stop themselves from chasing harsh illusions of warmth in bodies

 who lure us into freezing fatalities…

all this and yet –

i’ve felt myself enough to be coaxed by my own heart

into seeking affection from noted illusions.

like sucking my fingers at the mere memory of sweet cakes,

 i recall men.

i recall attention.

and then tension.

i recall silence.

and phone calls.

and illness and tears.

i recall silence.

and phone calls.

and illness and tears.

i recall calling.

and then silence.

and a new start begins cyclical and clinical,

dinner paid for by a new man, by new men.

chasing the hollow outline of heat,

charging at the empty promise of a person worth more

 than a free meal.

 i let them feed me for sport.

and try my hand at getting a grasp

on those good enough for something

‘uncomplicated’…

how women love to hate

i. never want to be pretty. never want to feel clean and nice, be praised and priced for what ruins me, what makes us all attached and detached and hating and hungry for eachothers flesh like, survival of the fittest… woman. sisters, we’ve fallen. out of love with ourselves and eachother. girls, breeding is not our power, love is not our killer and the only thing thats sets us apart is not yeast infections and procreation. girls. i can tell you truth - not behind your back bout your behind and whether you got enough back to portrude, be rude, obsess about comparative features and breed hate for someone i should relate to… never create pain but speak truth. not all that or make jokes about those pockets of fat or how fat my mans pockets be before yours… cuz i know what fat can reach into your spirit and weigh… weigh… weigh you down, like a double dutch game carrying and extra 50 pounds of pain, of emptiness, of self loathing and withholding love from our selves. we should be reaching up to eachother, place our sisters upon shelves and say “you’re not just pretty, you’re perfect” and the air breaths out blowing words over you saying “you’re good enough for the sun to press its lips against your head every day, good enough for the moon to pull you close, pull you from the inside out caressing your fluids like a newborn as you sleep in the arms of mother, of all things bigger than ourselves.” bigger than our brothers, bigger than touched up images on magazine covers, bigger than the things we can give and get from lovers. larger than life, large and in charge and without the empty confindence from getting picked up at bars. you’re more than this. and i’m guilty too, but sometimes helping others is the only way to help you. and i see this relfection with every breath professing and preaching - but girls - i know you. we are the center, we are the healers. what man can stand without a woman to hold him up, i don’t know a single one. but the ones we forget to help up is, you. and me. our ladies, our girls. its an urban war for sure, jerry springer is a general and i sit and laugh as our sisters throw blows call eachther hoes, and its funny. but not really. because if we taught our daughters how to respect themselves as carefully as they inspect themselves for imperfections, there wouldn’t be a springer show cause every girl with a soul would drop any man who had no self control. so girls. don’t be a girl who hates girls, you don’t have to love them but at least be one who loves themself.

Heart-works

Horrifying.

The gentle cover

Of covers exposing your shoulders

I kiss them with honesty

I place them in my bareness

And fall short in my

Heart-works.

I work marches around your face

My eyes run circles

Brown piercing seriousness

And causing you to blush

But I don’t see any redness

In your blackness

Adorable.

The tonality of your voice

Voicing expressions exposing your shoulders

And why you have scar tissue

And a daughter

And addictions

I learn why I have shortcomings in my

Heart-works

And why you sweat so sweetly

Why your breath is harsh, why your mouth

Feels lonely

But is never alone

Terrible.

The gentle cover

Of your hands that cover

My face in the park

Burrowed in touch

Kissed with honesty

And afraid

Unfinished and Untitled

In essence, I will give you my message without pretense - no defense required - i’m just here to confront you with a beautiful opportunity - me - we’ve been half inside jumping this ring around the rosey - i’ve been waiting on that hand to play - a - round - with. hands too deep in pockets when i walk past - i pro - fess. i’m tired of this pedestrian crush, like walking with a Walkman and no batteries - we exchange pleasantries, briefly reminisce over memories and detail our lives in memos we misplaced. enough side walking and side talking, i’ve been too shy for years - four years - to be exact. In fact, i’m ready to let it all lose. no intentions to be obtuse, without excuse - you move me. when you speak i witness a verbal masterpiece, watch a painted word flow through your talented mouth - like a kiss from yourself t yourself and i’m reaching up to taste it behind your back too often. and last time we spoke - maybe it was the liquid bravery or the confident kid in me - i was real about it - “when you drop that girl, you call me”- i said - “i can’t say it won’t happen” - you said - so come get it. i’m sick of acting like i don’t deserve this. i’m as true as a woman can be. i will sex you mercilessly - and - love you endlessly. if you will take this chance on me - you’ll see this lady is a once in a blue moon opportunity

Barnacles, Dirty Barnacles.

inebriated again, but only enough to enjoy it and not enough to stop from bloggin’. had a great time today. started a new and promising drawing and yes, it involves barnacles. you’ll see,

however, today i was gathering the mixed emotions from the previous month and smashing them neatly into a huge ball of unexpected rage which i’ve thrown at my sister too much. realized, apologized and began to cope. bottom line, we attended the blackbirds 80s dance party which i loved for the tunes - glorious beats and sounds - and danced with a real cool Kenyan who looked like miles davis. but what can i say, i’m kinda into someone i met recently so we’ll just have to take it easy and wait and see. i dislike liking someone, honestly. its kinda a bummer to get excited about a guy wanting to meet up for a date and talk (a guy who is actually my type and that i’m attracted to in more than one way) because it means caring - which takes up alot of time and space in my mind. ugh. but it also means a reason to settle down and that dancing is just dancing, it doesn’t mean that i’m easy and lonely. it means that i’m excited… to go on a legit daytime date, show off how awesome and smart and beautiful i am and see if i feel the same about him as i feel about myself, haha! until then, i’ma just hang out, theres no room for footsy until i see what i see… but theres a second potential suitor from prior years who truly trumps all men. we’ll see, we’ll see what we see. until then, i will try to keep this blog art - oriented. you dirty barnacles!