scott prays shit storms
pills kill memories. which does me a great disservice when he tells me what a cunt i have been because i simply don't recall.
scott prays shit storms like jesus walks on water and performs miracles with sand between his thick fingers and bows to the blondest of oracles, while i twirl my hair with a sideways grin.
he rises and falls like a mediocre god, and we trail behind like half assed followers with better shit to do
rises and falls like time taunts and teases, and he hears honey in what i am saying. if honey is poison and poison doesn't kill you all the way dead
i play whatever on repeat tickle his ears with nothing words
wave goodbye, scott
but really, he never moves a muscle.
round and round and round
i am the big fat nothing puddle I know you are dreaming about right now
biting your pillow like it was your mother or corn on the cob
and taking your fist directly to the head board for a ritualistic centering of
gravity
the grievous nature of things brought you round and round and round again
so i like to spin you in circles like an American whore or a rose wilted like your father's
once upon a time erection
i don't have the right to make promises because knoweldge is as useless as a shit storm
and we do the bidding of our penises
our anti penises
i am troubled at the thought of you going home to a bed made of jelly and the smear of egg yolks
on the neutral walls
of your bitch in heat, in the hospital bed losing momentum that was only a veil for the slipping skin
i am not mush or matter a thorn in your piss hole
death only looks good on the barely alive barely there bra and panty set
i try to step lightly, but my lead assed stomps
through a field
of your crumbling insides.
inside and out
i don't like lists, mainly because
they hold me to some shit i may HAVE to do
and i fucking hate having to do anything
but i made a list
of shit
i care nothing about
with the hopes it might make you GET ME, really
KNOW me from the inside and out, even if all you can see are my outsides
because my insides perform miracles on the worthy, like jesus motherfucking christ
at the top of my list
is your dick. i don't care about its size or what it does. i don't care how far it shoots or if it's locked and loaded. i don't care who else or what else it has been in. i don't care how you like it sucked fucked or tucked. i don't care. i just don't fucking care.
i don't care about your lines. lines of words or lines of coke or how long you waited in line. none of it inspires and none of it will be taken into consideration regardless of the time and or motherfucking place. i don't care if you spit a soliloquy that sends me into shock or gives me subsequent STDs. your words bore me. so does your face.
i don't care about your disasters, your disease, or your dying dog. i don't give a shit about you back in the mother fucking day. i don't care about why you think i say fuck too much, or why you think i was a slut from 21-24, or why you think I gained weight over the winter.
hi. i just want you to get to know me. all about me. inside and fucking out.
toys
when i met you
i wanted to possess you, mainly because i collect pretty things
and people are no different
you politely laughed at some of my jokes
and i knew i wasn't your type
disarm your swagger
for the moment, i said
because that's what love is
disarmed swagger, and you
said you would never be my property.
you said i couldn't keep you in a box, fresh, and not take you out to play with
or sit you on a shelf to display.
you got in my face, said you weren't for display
but i told you not to worry
because i'm never that careful with my toys.
god stayed safe
i was angry at god when i called zach
and i asked him to give me answers
we both knew
and i knew it was wrong for me to ask him
since i left him hungover in the hotel room that still smelled like my shit
from the night before
but i had a bone to pick with god
and sometimes zach's voice made me feel like i was
still living
and sometimes his voice made me feel like i didn't need to cry for that second
and for that second i could give god a fucking break
and even though he said nothing profound that morning
i knew it wouldn't have mattered anyway
i just pictured the way he looked at me
when i got to be the one to leave
because he loved me enough to let me go first
and god stayed safe
for one more day
shitty
my ex boyfriend told me that i was exceptional at the most unimportant things
like
poetry
and sucking dick
and i wondered if unimportant meant "things that make no money,"
although, i probably could make more money
with my blow jobs than my poetry
i tried not to listen to him, or
take it to heart,
because he left me for a little bleached blond beauty school drop out (who claimed to be Republican)
when our baby was six weeks old
i told him some pain takes a lifetime to recover from
some of us are more sensitive than others
but, luckily, the superficiality of the conversation occurring over text message
kept me from crying
or really even feeling that shitty.
he called me a terrible mother/person/human
and i continued to do the laundry, without blinking
circles
i am a big fan of things
like suicide
and abortion
and crimes of passion, when it is clear the person on the receiving end was a real a -hole
i did therapy with a kid who had anally raped another kid his own age,
but he told me it wasn't rape, they just called it that. the other boy really did want him to do it.
later on, when the other boy's mom questioned him, he got embarrassed and said it was rape. i asked why he did it in the first place, and he said it was pure curiosity. i thought, yeah, that is not such a big deal, then. maybe you aren't that fucked up.
he was happy to hear it. then i reminded him that i am not society, and there is something that exists called relativism.
and i told him he should fear it.
more than a dick in the ass, anyway.
because sometimes, like god, it seems so real, when
it only exists in small
circles
and will fool you every time
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