anti-choicers at school today/dillon rules/i’m fucking tired of people comparing abortion to genocide
I have the honor to know that man personally, and i just adore him.
Soap Opera Box
April Poetry Month: Poem-A-Day Challenge
Day Whatever
Two suns, in the sky,
But really, they’re just street lamps.
Even the stoplights have ceded to their own mortality, now.
Wishing to be home eating books, late into the night.
Instead of on drunken, dangling concrete steps, ill-wished. Fuck.
Moments later, in love with everyone;
Skin is prettier than paper anyway,
Sometimes.
Tequila lush, and banging sounds,
But it’s just the door;
Draped over a couch, constructed of more than acquaintances.
15 more min. And a glass of water.
Wait just 15 more minutes.
And then, well, all’s good to go.
Advice
April is National Poetry Month: Poem-a-Day Challenge
http://allpoetry.com/group/show/NaPoMo_Allpoetry
Day Four (I skipped day three. Bite me.)
To potential lovers,
Advice.
Do not call me beautiful.
Do not tell me the sight of me
Is miraculous,
To you;
That my hair is like water and silk and starlight
That my face is like the birth of Spring
My eyes render you knee-less, and hot.
That my body is a country, you would love to travel, move around in;
Is gorgeous.
Tongue of a poet you may have, but I’m not interested in mere mouths.
Do not tell me I am beautiful.
There is nothing I can glean
From sentiments
Such as those.
No affections you can gain, no understandings, no favors;
No love.
Instead
Tell me I am strong.
Tell me you can see the granite in me, wish you could touch my bones of steel.
Feel the weight of my arms and chest; my grip, hours of work and will power, smile at the way I say I could waste you, in minutes.
Admire my immobility, my unshake-a-bility, my flexibility
Write songs about how I bend, and bend, and bend
And bend. And then some more.
Move with me like twin forests of oaks, like cliffs
Watch with me as the world breaks itself upon us, bashes its head,
Bruises itself, crushes and pulls and screams.
Then stand with me still.
Dot not scoff, do not fear, do not resent when I beat it back.
Do not condescend, when I want to protect you; do not feel weak, when I do.
Tell me I am strong.
Tell me I am smart.
Tell me my mind is startling, and brilliant, and breathe-taking.
Give me books to read, sites to scour, articles to pour through, facts to eat.
We’ll eat them like cereal, and talk about Nietzsche, and governmental futilities, cultural trivialities, and Wilde.
We’ll get informed, then dissemble it all to pieces,
We’ll be computers
Gods of logic
And when I’m stupid, remember that I’m not.
And when I have opinions
You do not share,
Do not blame ignorance, do not feign apathy; tell me what. Tell me why.
Tell me I am smart.
Tell me I am brave.
Tell me all the badasses in the world, got nothin’ on me.
Let me save the spiders, instead of killing them yourself.
Watch me, wide-eyed, as I face an army of issues, head-on, feet first.
Plunge with me, barrel through, numbskulled, and high on adrenaline.
Watch me own up to my mistakes;
Appreciate how I look you in the eye
Whether I’m apologizing, or telling you why it stings.
When things go to shit in the night, we’ll take the bat together,
OR I can have the bat and you can take the poker,
I’m not picky.
Recognize my courage, don’t stop my sacrifices,
And don’t ever let me turn my back in shock,
If I’m yellow with fear, shake sense into me, boldness and honor out of me,
as hard as you can.
Ask me to do the same.
Tell me I am brave.
Tell me I am creative.
Tell me you’d love to get lost in my imagination, then do it.
Run your tongue over my talents, everything I’ve accomplished,
everything I need to feel whole.
We’ll make tables together, and paint every wall we can find with colors, colors, colors; Draw our maps ourselves, draw with me, even if you’re terrible.
Let me draw you.
Get me to sing for you, even if I shirk, because it’s worth it.
Play along, however you can.
We’ll make worlds out of sheets and cards and spells,
tell stories about the animals who live in them.
Don’t hurt me through my art; call me useless and silly.
When we dance, don’t hold anything back out of propriety or embarrassment;
you’re doing yourself a disservice.
Instead make poetry with me, fingers like words, legs like sentences,
hips like metaphors, shaken up.
Don’t you dare call me un-original. Don’t dare to be it yourself.
Wear the clothes I make you. Come to my shows.
Tell me I am creative.
Tell me I am funny.
Tell me everything I’ve never heard before, giggle madly.
Or just laugh. And laugh and laugh.
We’ll have wooden spoon fights, and nothing will be safe, sacrament abandoned
for the sake of comic abuse.
We’ll use words like wet willies (take that however you like)
And when your friends say I’m the weirdest thing they’ve ever seen,
Thank them, and congratulate yourself
On your magnificent acquisition of a jester of all trades
Fools, we will be, absolutely mirth-stricken, constantly.
Crying with it.
Or stringent and biting; delicious, cold sarcastic wit.
We’ll be positively Shakespearean;
And when puns abound, let ‘em roll.
When it goes too far, take it further still, for safety’s sake.
And don’t ever, ever, EVER take yourself so seriously,
That you can’t see past the tip of your nose, as is grows,
Because you took the trouble to take offense.
Tell me off, I can take it
Especially since I’m the wackiest thing I’ve ever met.
Tell me I am funny.
Tell me I am wise.
Actually, don’t tell me anything…
Just listen.
Listen,
Because I was born ancient.
This is not the first time I’ve been here, on this egg,
I can feel it, and if you listen, you’ll feel it too.
I don’t know everything, I don’t even want too,
But I’m sure of some things, and I have learned
that the best counsel in the universe,
Is utter nonsense, when it falls on blind logic
And barren senses.
I can tell you secrets;
I can tell you so many secrets,
If you simply dare to ask
I will give you as much honesty,
As you can hold in the centers of your palms,
The places where decisions are made.
I promise to be ever open,
Ever clear-sighted, if you promise to meet me
In every middle.
Because I am all about possibility, and potential,
All about chaos, and timing, and
Subtext.
Don’t call me naive, unless you really mean it,
Don’t question, stubborn for the sake of stubbornness itself.
By then, I will be able to lay you flat, with the things I will have seen on the underside of your skin.
By then I will have made the decision not too.
You don’t need to tell me that I am wise.
The telling is in the listening.
So
To potential lovers,
Advice.
Do not tell me I am beautiful,
Because it pisses me off
So biological and chemical,
Its irrelevance is earthshaking, to me
I had nothing to do with that.
Nor is there anything I can do to change it.
Especially because I don’t need to be beautiful.
Not to live the way I want to.
Especially because I am
Strong
Smart
Brave
Creative
Funny
Especially because I am Wise
These all are on purpose.
These all are my true body,
My uncovered face.
To potential lovers,
Advice.
If you think I am beautiful,
Don’t say it.
Because if you can see the most valuable,
magnificent parts of me, things truly worth all the flattery, all the time…
And want them;
Beauty is an undoubtable given.
Beauty, obviously, goes unsaid.
Richie Rich
April is National Poetry Month: Poem-a-Day Challenge
http://allpoetry.com/group/show/NaPoMo_Allpoetry
Day Two
There is a boy,
who lives at the bottom of a well.
And all day long,
people throw coins at him.
He has quite the collection,
currency from nearly every country imaginable,
and some not.
Occasionally,
he sorts it all into little piles;
sometimes by color, sometimes by size.
Sometimes he holds it all in his hands,
and lets the slivers of glint and corrosion slide down his palms,
hitting his fingertips, before chinking into the rest below.
But he knows something. Something Important.
He knows that these are not actually coins.
They are wishes.
He is the richest man in the world.
And he knows that, too.
