Telling my troubles to the horses head on the wall.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Bruises

I wake to purple postcards
marking the landscape 
the rolling hillside
towards the cheek
where last night a river ran
straight through my legs


I will fuck your boyfriend

I am that girl
the one
who you called
  slut
last night

I will fuck your boyfriend

I won't call him
at 3am
complaining about the death of my cat
my punctured tire
how I got too drunk last night

I will fuck your boyfriend

And he will come
repeatedly into my bed
or holding me against
a bathroom stall
not thinking of you
or me

I will fuck your boyfriend

without conscience
my heart as clean as an assassin's blade


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

7:59 am

Does this mean
we're speaking?

your condescending birthday message
warning me to be "safe"
seems a poor way
to break the silence
that has built a wall of sound around me.

So what if I want to call?



What would happen,
if the gazelle chased the lion?
wanting so badly to be devoured
prey running into predator
tumbling, falling, failing

Hyenas in the tall grass
snicker, cackle, whine
circle round
nip at edges
bite the legs, belly, breasts
make short work
of the heart and soul

lions love the hunt
the chase
obliterates insecurities
the rush
fills the stomach
the pride
before
the fall