LadyOfTheWrittenWord

You are DJ’ing on my liver, Ice skating across my lungs, Raving all night long in my cerebral cortex, And praying in each of my spinal columns for one more day. You are Whistling "the Wedding March" through the gaps in my ribcage, Reading "An Imperial Affliction" repeatedly in my aortic valve, Sleeping fitfully entwined in my left retina, And carving my windpipe into the most intricate totem of remembrance. A mausoleum; A shrine to interrupted orgasms, And unfinished nightmares. You are Stumbling blindly with my femur as your walking stick, Counting all my taste buds with your tobacco-flavored tongue, Reminiscing in my bladder, But

While tears roll out of the outer corners Of my eyes, down the sides of my face, And somehow end up behind my earlobes, The brightness of the dim light bulb Burns my eyes and makes the tears Only continue to flow. My eyes burn from wiping them With my dark purple fleece blanket. And my earlobes are cold and wet Because of my AC which cools off everything except my face Which is burning with embarrassment and shame. I failed and so I ended up here. No one to blame but me. No matter how much I’ve tried to blame Mom and Dad. The pressure was too much And the stress was too high. And in the end I choked. And try as I may, I will ne

Set the ships on the sea, and let me close my eyes. The waves come alive, dancing in flames; seeing my children fight. In flight they all go their own predetermined paths, seeking out glory at the price of their lives. Wondering if one ship, one sailor lives, I rack myself with worry and look to the sea. Tracing the thousand untraced paths and how my salty tears sting my eyes when the toiling ways cannot. Could there be another way to breach the internal flames when I send them—my children—out into the world to live lives full of gray areas and adventurous strife in their oceanic flight? What more is there to see—to feel

Sing me a song Of a father doomed To hold up the world On his shoulders. Sing me a song Of a mother always away from home, Flittering through the seas Propelled by sea foam. Sing me a song Of a lonely, confused child Unaware of her nature And the powers Contained within her— A vessel for sen-shu-ali-tee. I don’t know what the word means; I assume it’s for adults. Maybe I’ll know one day. Sing me a song Of endless nights filled with dreams Of growing up and being rescued By a brave and handsome prince From my island in the sun Overgrown with tall grass And wildflowers in every valley And over every crested hill.

I can’t count the shades Of purples I own: An obtuse eggplant Like an erect bowling pin. Aunt Rosalee’s violet apron That she wore to help my mother Cook for their father’s funeral. The lavender perfume, My father bought my mother On their last wedding anniversary. The wild lilacs growing On the side of the freeway near the house. And mauve-ish indigo, Of the bruises I gave myself Trying to punch through the wall When I found out my parents Were getting a divorce. Metallic, like the taste in your mouth When you chew on a new penny or Accidentally bite a metal fork during dinner. Iridescent pools on rainwater in the gutt

Turning this way and that Her hand under the light To watch the sparkle of her once-magnificent ring dim, Noticing it didn’t gleam and Glimmer as brightly anymore. What am I going to do? Hera, I don’t feel the passion anymore! Every time he comes to bed Smelling like grease and sweat, It turns me off all the more. His grimy hands covered in coal Running over me… Turns my warmth to ash Under his touch. Not the same. Not the same anymore. So what, then? You love him now just like you did when you first met. Why let his job interfere? At least you know he works hard. And you know he’ll always be faithful. He may not be