spaces in between (us)

What if I am just fooling myself

I know I have to do this by myself….

Creating…I have my vision….and now I have my voice, I just want to go my own way

I used to expect people to help me…and I needed…needed…needed…needed

SO MUCH

Relationship strands get knotted, or pulled on so much that they start to loose threads

Important threads that let you know you can count on her

Fun threads that make you feel good

Trusting threads that let you know you can speak your mind and she will always be there

Caring threads that let you know you are not alone….

Relationship strands help you make it through epic minutes of loneliness….

 

Lonely

She is a beautiful glass box…. no one can reach inside of her.

Still she bleeds and bleeds when the ice cold stares reflect off her walls into her ***

Frozen inside the gross generalizations pummeled into

She waits hours and hours for some connection

She has won the grand carnival prize for woman who waits the longest

 

When two women construct a relationship they enter together, the anticipated satisfactions are mutual if not similar.  Sometimes that relationship becomes unsatisfactory, or ceases to fulfill those separate needs. When that happens, unless there is a mutual agreement to simultaneously dissolve the relationship, there must always be one person who decides to make the first move.

The woman who moves first is not necessarily the most injured nor the most at fault

Audre

 

I am myself, she had only aided in the process

Audre

 

It is the last dream of children to be forever untouched-audre

 

We can be comrades, but only by these rules

 

It was only ____ in my head I had to give up, or keep

just one more tonight….

Dreams of Esmeralda

 

discontinued

 

I wonder if I’ll be let into her Alaska. Am I enough for Alaska? I want to be there, in Alaska.  I want Alaska, but they won’t give me Alaska, they might give me baked Alaska, and I don’t fucking want baked confection Alaska.   Its sugar eats at my teeth; burrows holes until all I can do is eat mush. I gotta eat some more confection to make me “sweeter,” but I’m not better. I get sicker, and my teeth are rotting, down to the gums, down to the blood, down to the nerves, down to the bone, down to the real Alaska, but can’t get to her because sugar isn’t grown in Alaska.   I want to taste the bitter and the good Alaska; to be okay with Alaska when it goes sour on me. I can’t reach Alaska right now; I got put on hold.

 

a long wait on a waiting list.

Endless warm hours of sitting in the front yard plucking stems of daisies root by root….imagining 

a year since…

 

Stuck in it.

 

Jar full of rotting jam.

Swimming to the top.

Breathing sugary saccharine syrup.

Fill her with a confection

of moral solitude

and

cancel out her tumored

 

 

absence.

 

 

A single step on to the stage.

Speak.

The curtains unfold and reveal

her

unfolding

one by one

Roses.

She is stuck still in sugary

swirls of raspberry

 

enjambed

 

between

roses in the curtains.

Speaking aphorisms on

sexual impulse

vague metamorphosis

dreams of black leather

laced up virginity.

 

I can’t breath

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe

I can’t

BREATHE

in this room right now.

You can’t come back later.

Can’t breathe

Suck in the sweet

Breath

 

Cleopatra! Cleopatra!

When I was 5 years old

Breathe

I begged to be hailed.

Her long black hair,

olive skin,

gold snake on my head,

bedded by red ripe grapes,

never cold in winter.

They carry me on a pedestal.

Cleopatra, Cleopatra,

can you save me now?

 

She is drowning in the Nile,

filled with pink sugary jam

I pray for Cleopatra

I pray to god

I pray to the stars

I pray to the gaps in…

I pray to anything

anything to be back to Cleopatra

sitting by the Nile

anything

to save her

from monstrous

 

enjambment.

 

Sitting in the

performative gaps

Cleopatra will fill

Egypt drowning in

between the lips

pink fluttering….

Excuse me,

where is the closest Nile?

I think I’m going to be sick, Cleopatra!

 

Projecting

between

Cleopatra’s lips:

barbed wires

guarding my reconnaissance.

Tickled from plentiful

saliva screws

twisted in by her caressing

gaze

 

She invites me in

her

subtly

slowly

I retrieve

reminders

slowly

tears flow from her lips

anxious bubbled blisters

slowly

sewed

in my buttons

If I don’t get sick

slowly

it means I’m cured

rip off the buttons

perhaps by her

her loving

slowly

reprising dreams

chaotic interludes

softly

whispering secrets of her treasures

dancing in her vortex. 

 

i write boring poems sometimes that don’t make any sense.

All my poems look the same

in form, but in content

you can see masked

Similes raining on me.

Compensation hyphenated with satisfying inquiries

Beg to be uncovered from concrete

Thick walls of reticence.

I think…because I think

Too much