Poetry - Goobiegirl - E Writers Block

Poetry added on 10/27/02

To GOD

I will never give back the part of me that I covet inside the crevice of my wilderness.
You, the almighty, in your brassy whisper, remind me of why it isthat I am afraid.
Your altitude and domination over the earthly kingdom hasled us to dark alleys,
abandoned spaces, and awkward glances towards strangers who have done us no wrong.
This catacomb within my existence cannot be filled in just seven days.
In nearly every breath that I take, I am reminded that I can never be separated from you for too long.
You are like a shell that must mesh itself onto my flesh, no matter how much I grow,
and no matter how far I dive, you are there always, wanting.
There could be no explanation as to why the one thing I want most is the one price I'd pay for desire.
You are like us in that your jealousy turns into a uncharitable flame when left in a tangle.
You forgot to give yourself a love so that you could stop being
jealous of those who live for the scent of their beloved.
It is not my fault that you chose to create this all alone.
It is not fair for you to expect us to remain at your disposal all of the time.
I have nothing to gain by keeping it all inside of me, and when I choose to share
it with someone other than you, you recoil.
Your cloudiness prevents my much fought for roots from growing, and they dry up,
in the pit of my mortality, and yes, even my spirituality.
I am doomed to desperation and codependency on you, which is exactly how you prepared this all along.
So, if it was my full attention you were seeking, you have not succeeded.
You can take away my reason, and blacken my sense of passion, and through the
removal of nearly every man I have loved, you may think that you have secured me.
I feel your essence caress my back with trenchant meaning, and you're choking my neck with your possessiveness.
There is still plenty of room in this widow's cage-heart.
If I must fight for the one that I love most of all, I will.
And although you will tug, and although he will run, it will still
be me walking away into the night sky, unafraid.

Little Girl

Cloistered baby doll hanging on a door knob
rocking its ringlets to a treacherous scream
one half smitten by the stench of Old Spice
the other half dragged by the arm of Jim Beam
Rabid eyes dart forward as his hand draws near
Slip a feel of her sweaty legs under her dress
and baby girl, you better not shed no tears
The room is dark with hot breathing in the air
panting, praying, feeling, praying,
is there any other place I've known but here?
Is it okay if I hide in that closet over there?
Oh baby girl, I've been waiting for you to see
How the smell of pink baby lotion simply moves me
From peaches to crayons to bottles and curls
Little fingers crisscrossed over desire unfurled.
Control it, she yelps, but I can't hardly help
Poking, holding, stroking, rocking my little girl Shel--
Your momma never did understand that I was different
as this kind of man
but luckily in our playtime, you understand
Seesaws can go either up and down
Like my babydoll's question, minus the frown.

Haiku for the Washington Post

Dramatic, my mother's firstborn.
Born into a line of strong women
who's spirits faced their own descanos.
My spirit rode the wave of alcoholism,
separation, isolation, abandonment,
rape, rejection in swerve, black nothingness
of death to be reborn into self-containment,
passion, and growth.
To be an entrepreneur, writer, and teacher is easy.
The actor always leans comfortably
in the spotlight on a stage.
It is learning to become unafraid of
standing in the memory of the gallows,
that you find out if you've got
the stuff that stars are made of.
Luckily for my worrisome mother, I memorized my lines.

Remember

When you need to remember..............

Sometimes it takes just a little something extra, something needed,
like a shiny glass tear or an old pair of socks
For when those days come passing, hurricaning you into a whirlwind of
confusion and unknowing, and the blanket of black doubt
wraps itself around you like a an old woman gone cold
You need to remind yourself that the spirit comes in many forms
from within, and always stays with you alone
Its shadow, much like your beloved, longs to be near you
and desires to hear your laughter, or feel your pain, or kiss your heartbeat
if only you'll let it be there long enough to do so
For if you so desire to choose to share this sacred space with it
it will reward you with ten thousand joys
and those joys will blend with hardships to produce a galazy of dreams
Fully realized, those dreams will hush your worries to slumber
And choose to remind you

When you need to remember....

Poetry added on 10/26/02

Untitled

A flower starts as a seed uncloaked
left unfed, it bleeds calamity and death
unless given nourishment and tenderness
with full rapture and fullness of breath
In time, the wind will carry it on its bare back
to the places where souls infuse the living
a spell will then be cast by sunlight neverending
stems hatched by those who were watered by giving
Radiance abound and constant love ajoined
that root will grow infectuous in memory
From seedling to sprout to root to bud
metamorphosis triumphs flowerhood from living
Girth measured by two who contributed to feeling.

Dissipated

Dissipated realms of reality
forge forth in a world of eros and mirrors
The light cracks of intention slip under one's
bedpost like a knight riding Mercury's rail
Puss-blocked eyeballs staring at one another's
misery and another one's shot of Daniel's
eager to find the meaning in the tastelessness of
one's own sordid palette and another man's empty cup
Purpose, now unbridled, left uncradled, and rejected
has swithered its pathos to the swamps of media affection
feigned, adorned, dressed like a Michael Jackson superstar
Clarity caresses the underbelly of Parnassus
laying in a fetal position between Man's acquisitions
and Woman's harnessed possessiveness
Each carrying the burdensome torch towards the moon-mecca
deceiving their burnt-flesh desire and unyielding manner
in letting anyone arrive first, in order to share the way to
mega-wattage, jolt-stroking, legend-loving contentment.
What can be left is only the ingrained intention of what could be
but never arrived.
Its path, too busy to notice the wound left bleeding.

Daughter

I am my Father's daughter
this I do not deny
sometimes I am part resentment
from bottled fears left wide
between the cracks of temperamental maybes
and the distance gap run wild
volatility is only the beginning my dear
you can't even imagine a chasm right here
I am beating you with my fists while you sleep
because you left me for my anger knee-deep
and because I am my Father's daughter

I am my Father's daughter
sprung forth from a seed buried deep in humid guilt
questions sleep in my pussy
where the hurt will least be likely to wilt
Do you find me so offensive my love
for not feigning like a proper girl fawn
Nobody ever explains to me why it is once I wake
they are gone
My scent strangles their collarbone and my river
lays feeble in nothingness
this ain't nothing compared to his anger beset
I am my Father's daughter

I am my Father's daughter
trapped prisoner to yesteryear's debts
feeble notions of what should have been done
by those who I have never met
How does one unplug the place where black waves
creep on by
I am watching all their crooked-caked faces
fall off and wither and die
If I do not escape this labrynth, I shall surely
reach my own time.
I am my Father's daughter.

I am my Father's daughter
see by the freckles touching my skin
Each one has connected to a different place
buried in the wound within
The intensity changes each moment
depending on the surrounding light
I cannot choose the moment always
when my heart will not be a ghastly sight
Watch your step as you leave my dear
I'm already down for the count, long ago,
It was never my pleasure to fight
I am my Father's daughter.

I am my Father's daughter
this has been said again and again
Her temper has not yet been contained
in a jar, sunctioned off, a display for them
Emotions best caged to avoid a rupture, begone!
Chew your food with caution, poison leaks on and on
in words, in deeds, in dance, and dreams
Life is never going to be just quite as it seems
because you are nothing more than his history stored
A basturd, a brute, an animal too wild
Somebody forgot that I am just a child
I am my Father's daughter.

A Funny Cover Letter I Once Wrote to McSweeney's Magazine

My favorite popsicle is the cherry flavored one.
Because I like the color red.
Scaring the other neighborhood children with my tongue after devouring five of them in a row
became my favorite childhood pastime.
My mother scolded me a lot.
She told me I should grow up and be a nurse.
Why? I asked. No one would take me seriously. And medications aren't all red.
I'm not sure who would die first, me or the others, if I couldn't live for the red in life.
So I decided to become a writer.
But got sucked in by the machine of life and now run GirlsGoingOut.Com.
If you think my tongue is red, you should see how the others turned out.
Sometimes you shouldn't Just Do It.
So here I am, a willing slave, because I like the color Red. And Mr. Eggers.
Red-Popsicle Girls Can Be Genuises Too.
A great title for his next book by the way.
I am both the composer of a symphony and house manager backstage.
People seem to come to me when their worlds begin to crumble.
Even their dogs like me.
I need creativity like a diabetic needs insulin. Without it, I am no good.
I am good at nearly nothing in life and everything in my head.
Somebody always finds something useful out of the clearance bin.
Sometimes Generic really is the same ingredients as the Real Stuff only cheaper.
Why pay more when you can pay less?
That's why I am here. To convince you, like my mother tried once.
I didn't listen to her, but that doesn't mean you can't make her proud.
I'll attach my beloved resume. It's like me, black and blue.
Eventually I healed and became this strikingly strong scar across my soul
Who has learned a thing or two about a thing or two(I loved when Deniro said this in This Boy's Life)
And now I am ready to share it with you.
Because one times one is still only one
But two times two is more
And why settle for anything less than more
Especially when it comes to red popsicles.

Playboy

This baracade over our troubles made
have left me all array
over a past entwined that is partly mine
and yours which is now given away
This jarring talk of grievance unplanned
has led to our future eviction
Evidence presented and love rummage given
Should have provided conviction
The answers will not be revealed today
Unless you are prepared to convey
Where one's own heart should decide to play.

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