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nervosa, cute devil'thin thin thin
it doesn't matter what i
am wrapped in as long as i look
apple? 55 calories. i will be
as small as my mother's salary
(she doesn't work, yeah ) 55 of 200
for the day if i even allow myself
i keep thinking of pat and the
way his bones stuck out like spider legs
when the cancer came. i keep thinking
of the swing and the way we swang
under trees with stars for limbs.
the way you held my small southern
wrist when you sunk down south to lick-
good kitty kitty. eat up. eat while
i am still enough. i keep thinking of
how mommy didn't say anything for months
when she walked in on me bare-assed
choking on stom
on being a woman'what's a pretty lady
like you doin' smokin' cigarettes?'
'if i fucked you
for every time i've
you wouldn't think i was such
a lady anymore,
and what's a clever fella like you
doing minding my business for me,
i am not a lady-
i do not curve my appetites,
i do not curve through the waist and hips,
i please for my own pleasure,
i soak in my own sweat,
i fuck for my own glory.
tiddly tum, hidden harems and come,
i am the singular player in my play,
i am the prologue, intermission, and final act
every love i have known has been fueled by
my own fury, every discovery dug up by my own
on sitting across from a stranger at davis libraryi wonder if anyone has ever sat
across from you and wrote a poem about you
even though they don't know you.
i wonder if anyone has ever done
this for me. i hope when you go home
you don't wash your hair. i like that it's messy
and long. if i were a ladybug i would like to sleep
there. i would tunnel just beneath the top layer
and shudder my wings to a close and have dreams of fields
of wheat. i hope you can see how this is a good thing.
and i hope you don't change your clothes. i hope you wear
a sweater everywhere you go. i like that the one you're wearing now
is brown and without a pattern. its not ambitious or pretentious. if i
on yesterdaythere are still places in me
that should not be still
a drink and a smoke and
a drink and a pill,
i think and a smoke and
a sink and i spill
a day when i
the missus and the mister
drive calm in their corvette,
her hair protected with a net-
his eyes cast narrow past her neck,
they are not tall where they are short.
and was yesterday
a day when i was
keen of all
a body at a top of a hill must come down
there is no right, or left,
a soul at the top of the hill must
fall and shatter.
small beaches carry my weight
in unreturned breaths,
i carry my stomach and have yet
to frame my b
on skimming the surfacedear ex-lovers,
dear ex-friends, dear little brother,
i have taken all the posters down and my room is a skeleton.
i wonder why you are sad and i am not.
i have taken time and care to grow into these walls
to plant memories here, first fuck
first sleepless night, first question of suicide,
i have collected bones-
here see them in my closet-
i have broken them all.
love was not strong enough to keep me here,
and love is not strong enough, after
new year'sgotcha all loved up on pills
your hair feels sexy and my
eyes are thin and filled
with jelly. you go as deep
as my belly and then go
deeper. i say 'you can be
the steeple and i'll be the
preacher.' i say 'you can be
the football and i'll be the
bleachers.' somehow i was
trying to tell you that you
can have all the glory, you
can read my palms and create
got me all fucked up on pills.
my body eats pain and pukes up
thrills. the thing i like most
about it all is pills or no pills,
frills or no frills- you're still
my sweetheart. and i love you and
god couldn't have made you apart
on getting to be honesti wonder
if you were really drunk or not
when you called me. if that was
just an excuse when i asked you why,
if maybe that made it somehow
seem less strange after all this time.
if you were telling the truth
about keeping everything i gave you.
except for my paintings, which you
admitted that you destroyed. i wonder
how often you take my poems out and
why you asked me what my
warmest memory was of us.
i'd often dream of having
this conversation with you
a year ago, but it was too soon
and we were still in love but
we hated each other. i would have
said, 'the best memory i have of you
is you leaving.' which of c
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big words
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
word to my former self and my former friendsit got old. seein'
you all sad because other
people are happy.
just a thoughtdon't let your sadness
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
on walking with your lover half stoned and deaddo you remember-
all those summers,
different loves with
love was quiet
it was not a
word. it was not
something to be said
or heard or understood.
remember the glances?
the ones that stuck and
held and caused a swelling
in the soul that surfaced in the
eyes and the bite of the bite of the mouth
on the thighs and the drunk and weary restless
nights where salvation was dead but hope was high
because love was not a word, or a scream, or a cry
but a look and a touch and a moan and a sigh
remember those first glances?
before the love, predating love, existing
outside of it, tugging one body to another body
sleep, as an elephant1.
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
love is strange
working through many avenues-
sometimes, it takes a peak
of shoulders through a slim
other times, it takes a year of
friendship and not caring if she
fucked your friends or not, if
your friends loved her
and still other times, it takes a bed
and too many hands and not enough
space and little time to wait and no
time to waste-
and no time to wait.
on dying youngdeath is senseless, and in this
infinite senselessness there is a loss
of words. a loss of hope. a loss of
the Great unifier- the uninhibited
inhibitor, the petulant bird of prey
soaring over all heads, landing and plucking
from our masses the young, the old, the
wicked, and the innocent- the fortunate
and the unfortunate alike.
i have walked myself through eighteen years-
a small, contemptuous age: bent on destroying
everything, and keeping all the rest-
a timeless, weary age, popular culture demands
that these are the best years of life, when you
have not yet known it. and i am not denying
that i have lived-
on getting bydaddy found out i was fuckin
and before he could be
disappointed i reminded him
of the fever of youth,
and he cried
it is strange to live in a house
where there are only versions
of the truth and every soul
hears a different one
understood endingsyou hound my heart
like a song you slow dance to
like a parting you drink to
like a parting that passes too.
you are a still shot
of lips on an eyelid
my eyes remember
you sweeter than i do.
sticky talk slick and tall,
you are the past lovers
of smarter women than
i am. i think that maybe
you are a better
person than me
i want to marry you
go furniture shopping
yeah all that shit
i love that you are so
young. but sometimes
i wonder if it would have
been better if we fell in
love when we were older
because then i wouldn't
be so reckless and you
would have decided who
you want to be. i hope
that one day long after we
it is sad to go to sleep
and be enveloped in a
place where all is well
that i desire to be well,
and then to wake up
in a world where
you don't love me anymore.
it is sad to see your face
grow older and out of love
i throw myself to the whims
of my own small selfishness.
i love you,
but i do not always
know how to do it.
i love you but
i am not sure
that i am worthy.
but i would do
many things to ensure
that you are always
loved by me.
i am sorry
that time takes
awhile to grow into
by the time i am old,
i will look around
and notice almost
everything to be gone
i will wonder
sorryundead undone unloved,
all of these words hold
little value to me
fifteen months and little to show for it
i am just as fierce as ever and you are
just as passionless. i used to love you
for your passion and now that it is gone,
i love a shell
if you have ever loved a shell,
you will understand that every
thing you put in it dies.
cherry rumyou are playing with tape on the walls. my head is on your chest. my stomach curves to your side, you are warm and every breath you take is a miracle. any breath that anyone takes is a miracle. i ask you what you're thinking. you say nothing, but i know better, because i know when you are thinking nothing, and this isn't one of those times.
well first let me describe your room. i am evident everywhere. you bought that flaming lips poster with me, i drove you there and held you back because you tried to cross the street when a car was coming. and you told me something that made me mad, i don't remember what it was, but you said something abou
i just liked the way this sounded in my headmy breath was like dropping cold
keys on a colder kitchen counter. i was gray
with an a for a day when you went
a way. on your own you trumpeted
the clouds and sent for "Los Angelos"
as your mexicana abuela would say-a.
you asked me what
to do with my
mother's china set. throw it away. i said,
burn it. you did not
ask me about this.
kay. babe i loved you a long time
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More