Category: poetry
I Walk Away
i’ve never played that game until now
if it’s working i’m not sure
you probably don’t even know
but i know
and it’s turning me into something i don’t like at all
you
and i can’t, no won’t, live with that
so there you go
you win
again
it’s everything you want
at least this week
i hope it’’s worth it
for everyone involved
Once Upon a Time
Sitting alone in a small suburban dinerI remember some time ago,
it wasn’t that long really,
when I dreamt of New York City cafes
and becoming the next Jack Kerouac.
I was younger then
but I would have never admitted that to you
because even though I was only eighteen
and had just graduated high school
and my life revolved around dances
and text books,
I knew the world.
You have it all figured out then-
all doors are thrown wide open
and there’ll be no stopping you.
But time is a funny thing
as a life that wasn’t in your plan
creeps through a door left slightly ajar
from which comes a cool breeze
that you’re surprised you hadn’t noticed before.
Denial
(another poem from days ago. about gia’s little world of denial. it’s nice there.)
The pigeons are screaming outside my window
it’s driving my fat gray cat crazy.
He’s not really fat, he’s big furred,
he likes to sit on the windowsill
alone, talking it all in.
He’s very affectionate sometimes
head butting me,
he is himself
loves me for what I am.
He’s the most perfect boy I know.
We live in the middle of the city
there’s almost always something going on
I can hear it through my closed blinds.
Maintenance men removed the air conditioner
pigeon eggs were on the ledge right outside.
It’s seven months later and they’re still there
just as perfectly preserved as the day I first saw them.
This is a nice place
heat and hot water are included
I keep it warm and cozy.
My friends are all in my computer
the television is good company.
I’m very happy here.
King of the Castle
A poem from my late cat’s point of view. I wrote it for a class assignment about six years ago, before he passed away.
Don’t call me Pookie, or Puffy Boy, or Angel Face
-do I look like a little prissy girly cat to you?
I don’t think so.
That would be my sister
or whatever you want to call her,
she’s not my sister.
Pfft sister.
I am Sebastian.
You’re the one who gave me the name
that day you came because you wanted a friend.
You had a boyfriend
but wanted me so when this one left
you’d have something left to love you.
You didn’t like the name Buddy,
the name they assigned me when I came in.
I don’t care, it’s not like that’s my real name.
I don’t know what my real name is.
I don’t know why I was there,
why the ones I loved left me.
I was sleeping quite soundly in my litter box.
I used all the energy I had to lift up my head
and turn to look at you
standing there with this big goofy smile.
You wouldn’t go away, just stood there staring.
I thought maybe if I ignored you, you’d disappear.
Pfft. I turned back around and pretended to sleep.
I lived under your bed for a week,
you’d lie on the floor
lifting the bedspread to talk to me.
Eventually I got hungry,
you obviously weren’t going to get out of the way
so I came out.
It’s been three years since then
and we’re not living in an apartment much bigger
than the cage I met you in.
What you call a closet
is my own special place-
I get very cranky if you open the door all the way.
At night I might allow you to sleep on my bed.
I wait by the door for you to come home,
make like I’m looking
for the opportunity to sneak out
then run and hide in my special spot
so you’ll never know
I’m happy you’re here.
I Don’t Need You
I don’t need you to put me down
to wreak havoc on my thoughts
my feelings
my head
my heart.
I can do that very well myself
so much better than you can
thank you very much.
I am far more creative,
I’d use names much less cliché than bitch
far more intuitive,
use better reasons than “you hate her cause
she’s thinner than you,”
far more intelligent,
my nasty notes to you would be more grammatically correct
than you will ever be.
What you say
about me,
what damage you can do,
can’t even come close
to the harm I can do myself.
So then why is it
that with every single word you say
I start to believe you more and more until
I become those words.
So maybe I have let you see into me
maybe I have shared myself with you
maybe you know me better than anyone ever has.
But what gives you the right
to dissect me, to turn me inside out,
to say these things,
and on top of this all, to make me believe you.
I have given you that right.
I have no one to blame but myself.
And I hate you even more for that.
neurosis: there’s a lot to be said for it
i know i keep disappearing. i was afraid that would happen when i started this blog. but i will always come back, i promise. it’s been a tough week. my aunt passed away and it’s very difficult for my entire family. i was able to spend time with them all this weekend and that is good, i would like to think for everyone.
and even though i’ve missed writing here tremendously, i haven’t really been feeling like writing. but instead of going yet another day without posting anything, i’m going to go back to some of my older work and post it here.
i promise soon i will be posting less recycled poems and more musings. but really, the poems are musings in themselves and even though they are old, they still ring true today. perhaps that means they are timeless. or more likely it means i am just as neurotic now as i was when i wrote them all those years ago.
either way this is an alpha poem that i wrote for an adult creative writing class. we were told to write the letters of the alphabet and use each one to start a word that describe our teenage years. you know, kind of an “a” is for apple, “b” is for boy kind of thing. then, as you probably figured, we were to use each of those words in our poem. of course we were allowed to use other words otherwise to stream then together otherwise the poem would probably not make any sense. although i’m not sure if it will to you anyway even with the extra words. but it does to me. and like i’ve said before, it’s my blog.
xoxoxoxoxoxo
Boys
Boys.
Dates – or lack thereof.
I am just one of the guys.
I am the pretty girl’s really really cool friend.
Cars.
My mom’s black Mercury Marquis
That Jill took one night when we were drinking
and drove in circles – sans license –
not not on her, but nonexistent –
around the parking lot of what used to be something called the Mo-No-Pole (or something like that).
That was right down the road from where Mike used to live.
We lost him shortly thereafter.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
I’m feeling icky.
I’m kind of fat –
not really, but sometimes eating disorders disagree.
That’s what happens when you are whacked and quirky and stumbling
and terrified by your voracious need to fit in, to be rebellious, to be unique,
to make an impression,
to be something.
Anything.
I am something.
I am oppressed and lonely
and I have pink hair.
Mom cried when I came home with pink hair.
it would not be the last time she would cry for me,
but I bet some of those other times, she was wishing that it was just pink hair
that she was crying over.
I would give Xena, Warrior Princess, a run for her money
if I wasn’t grounded so much.
Protected: a girl i knew…
Some poetry to start us off.
An oldie but one probably the most well-loved out of all of my tortureously, soul-searching, heartfelt work:
The Underside of Love
There are some that question my passion
They say that it is unwise
that I should give myself so freely
to such an unworthy piece of flesh.
Why not the sinciput, they reason,
so bold, so prominent –
so high in some.
But they will never understand
with you my devotion sits.
It is you who is always there
to cushion my falls.
Oh how you move me
or with me.
You are always there
behind me,
no matter what I do.
I know that I will never be
alone,
alone without my pulchritudinous bottom.
Hi, I'm Gia. 