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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

getting to know me

and i'm still awake
hands tired from rubbing and wringing
ass tired from sitting
mind tired from this crazy making i've let myself get bent up in
pent up
the direction of a half right thing
with a half seen nobody
somebody, anybody, a body to throw my muses at
flinging them musings out to an ocean of somebodies
they fly from my fingers like cattail fluff

the crouched down hunkering over the screen
searching for a swan song
making my own soundtrack
and writing my memoirs as a blow by blow
so i won't skip a detail
that you, sweet reader, need
to understand the gravity of the Situation
the gravity of this person, this shadow...this Me thing.
nobody comes close
won't you just climb the fuck inside of me?!
i'm like one of those kids who needs a weighted blanket and some kind of sensory deprivation
physical weight to lay me down and hold me there, until i let go just a little bit;
it's damned quiet here and i'm patching up a hole with my sweat and somebody else's prose
flange, prong and poker
thrust it upon me
it's not what i want
but i'll take it cause i'm hungry
i been feeding here on this bitter ration
i been living here on this bony stipend
of gristle and i been laughing
shuddering at carcasses and howling at the moon
i'm making my own fun here and now
and i just would like to have a kind of fun that the laughs all make sense
where we all run around and laugh so hard it hurts
where i tumble down and the spring ground breaks my fall
and the chilly air startles me down deep in that place that forgot how to play
did i miss out on it all?
are the street lights on?
did everyone already go home to eat dinner?
is that what that smell is?

i'll be your girl
my filthy mouth in tow and my sailors tongue like fists and steel toed flight deck boots
i'm a widow...my man's done left me and he's dead to me for all time and what's done is done.
there ain't no going back, not now, not then...not ever.
his train has left the station and said it's final "choo-choo"

it may be that one day
i'll cuss you hell to breakfast
turn around and do you up right whether it's your birthday or not
sometimes like a damn dog that ain't been trained up good
and other times
i'll wanna fuck in your parent's bathroom while they're setting the table for a proper dinner
cause all that performing gives me a fit inside that nothing can soothe
save for being handled and having my fire ground out
it's a jungle in here, boy and i ain't to be trifled with, understand?
i can't explain it
and maybe i'll never be all the way right
and sure as hell, one day my looks will go south along with my breasts and i'll despair
if nothing fills up my cracks between now and then
i'll grow smaller and harder the longer it goes on
and i'll need somebody to make sure i drink my own potions and to water me good at the roots
and show me myself even if i get spiteful
hold my hand and tuck me in when i got a fever that loving won't fix
the things that haunt me might not go away
even if i get loved right and tended like a bread on the rise
i guess i've got my frailties like everyone else and i hate to admit it but
it's dark in here and i'm scared sometimes
like when i was five and needed to puke and i ran and ran in circles until the terror was upon me
and i lost control of my guts and i spilled them in the worst places possible and the bad, bad man yelled and cussed me like i was as rotten as that jar of mayonnaise on the roadside
when he cussed me, spit flew from his lips, hitting me like buckshot and somehow we became connected; somehow his venom got into all the wrong places and messed up my innards
now i'm bigger and my insides hold more
so when it finally (and it always does, eventually) blows
there's gonna be a mess to contend with, boy
and i know it's not your place to clean up after what's been mucked up before you even knew my name
i know well there's no fairness and love and war is fertile ground for turnabout being the closest thing to justice
but i'll sing like a bird
and turn you a phrase in a way that will make you think different than you might've ever had cause to ponder
i can grow the prettiest flowers and fattest babies you've ever seen
i can live on a skinny supply of sleep
and still get up to make you coffee, just how you like it
i can see the green sky on the horizon and outrun most tornadoes and shitstorms of the emotional variety
coming out ahead and miles the victor...to me go the spoils and i don't mind sharing
my casseroles are full of butter and cream and they're succulent like my body
and i'll give 'em both without a thought for wear and tear
because i got that om-mani-padme-hum in me bigger than you'd ever think
being as how i seemed to come out busted
and if i'm damaged, goddamn it, i won't ever be fixed
but i'll smile if you touch my cheek and i'll squeal if you dance me a randy jig
i guess what i'm saying is that things will be complicated
you won't like it when i shout blasphemies at inappropriate times
dare you to walk away when i'm ranting, ablaze with irrational entitlement
or get too drunk and friendly, if you know what i mean
i will scrub baseboards at 4am, singing at the top of my lungs to bessie smith and aretha franklin with my hair in a mess of tangles
cause i'm full of the spirit
and i know i got to sing when it comes on or i just might blow some kind of circuit that's vital to my sustained function
and on those nights you'll just have to dance and sing along
and trust that i know my own medicine just as well as i know my poison
and love me extra for all the times i wasn't loved
and i'll dare anybody to talk bad about my man...fighting words
my penchant is for the unattainable, the unrealistic things that everyone else knows nobody can have....i'm starving for those things
for perfection
for god
for sustained happiness beyond simple satisfaction
for a painless life
for love that's mine all together, mine alone and at my beck and whim
for the man that never came back to do his part in loving me up into a good woman
for peace and fucking quiet away from this whole ridiculous terror cruise
there have been occasions where i crumpled and then came all the way undone
broke wide open like a hurricane sky
a vicious impediment to the harmonious function of the unsuspectors
and for that i'm sorry. i am so very sorry and i'll never forget the pains i've given to any other sentient being.
sometimes i wear cowboy boots with my shortie nightgown
and i go to the grocery store with no panties and unshaven legs
my scent could be bottled and called jezebel and well-heeled ladies would pay big bucks for it.
i'll put on mascara and forget to brush my teeth
my bracelets clangle like a flooze and that's ok because my kids use this as a homing device...they hear mama's jewelry racket and it makes them feel safe knowing i'm close enough to save them from a pack of hyenas or, more likely, the creepy people who look so normal to everyone else. i can see which ones are tainted. that's the sight and voice of experience and i've been right enough times, a little too late, to know i have an ugly gift. the psychic equivalent of the white elephant game.
i teach them things that other mothers, save my own, would never dream of speaking of and when i do i am excited
i have broken ranks, a slave to irreverence, irrelevant
with people i never honestly believed were on the same team as me anyway
because i've seen and done and felt things that those sweet mothers never knew existed outside of hushed whispers about unruly older sisters, newspapers and the antiseptic tales told only by statistics
and caustic news anchors with their coiffures and cufflinks and slipping dentures....
i am an alpha
cut to the quick when i disappoint
i vote and then want to puke
i tried to birth my babies on my own terms but failed. miserably. so i offered them all of me for as long as i could give it and i gave it so solidly that now i need to rest.
i stay up writing until i am so exhausted that my body won't work right anymore and i shake and tears of tired stream down my face but i stay up...just a bit longer
i blow my nose on my sleeve
i am afraid to be seen naked because i feel like a freak. and no, not the good kind.
i have yet to look into a lover's eyes when he's pleasing me...but i want to
if i were a cake i'd be rusted bedsprings and junk drawer detritus covered with silky white fondant and sugared pansies
i am learning how to be an unabashed bitch
and how to apologize for my apoplectic, apocalyptic jabs when they get out and blow up in somebody's face
it happens when i feel i've been slighted, shamed and in that moment, don't know anything about innocent bystanders
real or imagined, no difference. pull the trigger, get the bullet. end of story.

i'm learning, though. and i'm grateful for those who come back...the dear sweet friends who let me skulk on back in when i've been a bad seed. i'm learning how to forgive, especially myself.

i know the glory of waking up to unbearable beauty the day after the disaster and of having survived to survey, purvey and circle the wagons around the young and weak...i have been both young and weak and i will always know the agony of rebuilding and the joy of common goals and shared successes.

my lips shine with undelivered sweetness and lightning bug kisses and words that delight and disarm
when i come i see purple and blue and i hear waves crashing. i fly through the treetops and smell freshly turned earth
i look for opportunities to press my body and flesh against someone else's because it feels so fucking good to be this vessel of love
i'm not ashamed to roll my own tobacco and to let the smoke mingle brazen with my heady spice bouquet
or to toss my hair and be in the limelight...i imagine flowers and sparks flying off me, leaving a trail of magical vapor behind me
shining the pavement and parking lots so littered with butts, straw wrappers and discarded diapers
freshening the breath of the hot air for miles around
even if really, i'm just plain vanilla, just barely holding it together for appearance sake
just me
wallflower on the lam
shabshorn little girl with dirty feet and ugly circumstances pinned inside a thirty-something facade
just looking for one somebody to share my cookies with.
throw me something, mister, will ya?

posted by babaloniyoni @ 9:24 PM  


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