Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 06, 2021

personal essay week 4 - caught shining

the waiter set my plate down

"thank you" as i'm contemplating

what the fuck i ordered

i rotate the plate to see if this

creature

is more manageable from another angle

mom is smiling secretly

she reveals that

she knows

she is okay with everything

like i knew she would be

but over lunch because of one

silly mistake my sister made?

while she's sipping brown ale and

i'm trying to figure out

how to bite into my sandwich

funny because nothing has happened

we are just doing what we have been doing

plus talking

it's just a proposal

i am insistent.

mom says

"my january baby's growing up

my little girl's in love"

but she's always been

such a silly woman

and hopelessly romantic

so i don't know how to act around my family

they have never known something so big about me

i am so good at keeping hidden

and when this was right in front of them

did they see?

No.

it took a little nudge from a poem

that accidentally got left in their line of vision

not even my mistake

because i know how to wipe my tracks

as i'm running away backwards

so i'm on stage melting under bright lights

EXPOSED

performing a facsimile of my life

i have forgotten how i used to be

i have forgotten my act

i'm trying to seem normal as usual

i have forgotten how to be around her

and i know they can see it now

when i lay against her shoulder

i hope at least they have a memory of who they think i am

that they can reteach to me

so "hi mom!" here's a shoutout to my family

the nosy noisemakers discovering me in here

back again? who let you in?

we'll get a bouncer for this haven


-- my former self, March 2003


I have always given myself a hard time for writing about writing, even though sometimes it’s the only thing I have to say, and probably writing about writing is better than not writing at all. Maybe.


In middle school, I read constantly, and in high school, I wrote constantly. In 2001, my best friend and I started a poetry blog together, which evolved into a writing and art blog with 36 members before fizzling out in 2008, long after Brittany and I were officially BFFs no more.


In general, my focus is terrible. I know a little about a lot, and I’ve quit nearly everything I’ve started. But for a few years, my blog -- writing, reading, web-master-ing -- gave me purpose. Confidence, even. And community! Something I’d been craving, and still crave. This group knew all my truths (even if they were told slant) thanks to my feral free verse. I had no training; I was a runaway train.


These things come back to haunt you, don’t they, the train loops back around the track. My younger sister, also a writer, artist, and steadfast member of the blog, accidentally left the website open one day over spring break in 2003. Of all the damn poems she could have read (we had hundreds of posts by now) my mom found a love poem I had penned just a few days before: “i am wearing your jacket / because it smells like you” etc etc you get the jist.


Mama invited me out to lunch at Boscos, the only local brewpub at that time. I should’ve known something was up, since it was just the two of us, but the thought didn’t cross my mind. I wore the aforementioned jacket, as I had done every single day of spring break, feeling cozy and brave all at once. After the monstrosity that was my sandwich arrived, Mama let loose that she had read the poem.


"My little girl's in love!" Her eyes sparkled over the beer glass.

"We're just talking, we haven't decided if we want to do anything or just be friends. Nothing happened."

"Okay, okay... I just can't believe it, my little January Baby is all grown up."

"Nothing happened!" I picked at my sandwich.

"Well... I just want you to know that I love you and support you, whatever you do. And it’s okay to be gay.”

"I'm not gay, I'm bi."

"But are you more attracted to men or women?"

"Neither! I’m… I'm right.. in the middle." I tried to show her with my hands. 50/50.

“But I want you to know that being gay is not easy, it can make life harder. There's a whole different set of problems..."



This was the extent of her speech. Whether or not she said it out loud, she implied that, if I were really “in the middle” I could choose to only date men, and that would make my life a lot simpler, safer, and happier.


Of course, as soon as we got home, I scratched out yet another poem about the discovery of the first poem, the subsequent conversation, and the acknowledgement that my safe space was no longer private. But even that poem is not the whole story. It doesn’t mention those difficult parts of the conversation, or that even as she verbalized that she was okay with my choices, she implied that they were somehow wrong or would end up hurting me. It doesn’t even mention that I was wearing the jacket and how embarrassing that felt, in the too-big booth at Boscos. It was not a vessel of pride now, but shame.


What the poem does say is that Elise and I were not actually romantic or dating.


~~~~~~~~~~


"It's a perfect day! A perfect day, Elise!"



I liked her as soon as I saw her. Comic book cover printed t-shirt and close cropped blond hair. I thought she would never see me but somehow she did, and my shuttered world blew open wide.



Theatre friends, gay BFF, cool-dork boyfriend (1 year older), and in the fall, a CAR. Decent-ish music tastes, but malleable enough for me to work with. Cruising immediately improved, which was good because that was pretty much all we did. Drove around town and stood around in various parking lots. What else is there, then? Suddenly somehow we had become a true GROUP, the first one we belonged to that we had chosen by ourselves. (At least that's how it was for me.)



It would go like this: Elise would already be with Kevin, so they would pick up Brock and Laylee in East Memphis, then head to midtown to get me, blast Violent Femmes on the way to the Media co-op for indie movie night, then stand around in the parking lot for 3 hours afterwards. They'd drop me off first, which made me sad but gave me time to start blogging before everyone else got home, at which point we would often continue hanging out virtually, via AIM. And we kept on going and growing.



Somehow Elise saw me and now: belonging, mobility, support, identity, self-seen-ness.



It wasn't long before I was smitten. Our group had developed a language of physical affection, dancing, and inside jokes that continued to grow our intimacy with each other. Our vulnerability allowed us to share mental health struggles and tap into half-conscious ideas about sexuality and gender and identity. Oh all the typical teenage things, really! But in this case, practically no one was straight, and if they were, they inhabited omega spaces in some other sense. (We later learned that our classmates called us "the emo kids" even though not one of us ever went through that black eyeliner stage. I decided they were just jealous that we were so full of love and having so much fun.)



Kevin and Elise broke up eventually, and I was there to support her, as I had through her previous break up. I was sleeping over nearly every weekend. Morgan Fox, our friend and mentor, gave us a copy of his first feature film, Three Minutes (Based Upon the Revolution of the Sun), after he found out we had been renting it from Black Lodge Video every single week. The movie is very DIY, very autobiographical, and very gay, and it gave us an opening and a language to start talking about our sexualities. Turns out, pretty much all of us were identifying as “bi” at the time. Elise and I watched Three Minutes while cuddling on the couch at her parents’ house. At play rehearsal, she'd lean into me and I'd stroke her hair. We had been talking about bisexuality for months and eventually started considering whether to let our relationship flow in a more romantic direction.



It was probably my idea, looking back. I was elated, walking on air. She went out of town for spring break but left her jacket at my house, and I didn't take it off for a week. And being what I was back then, I wrote a love poem and I posted it on my poetry blog, of which Elise was also a member. It was a missive, an arrow, supposed to make her swoon. It was an error.



After spring break, after the Boscos incident, I stopped wearing the jacket. Elise and I kept cuddling, but I felt different around my family now. Estranged, even though Mama said I wasn't doing anything wrong. (I wasn't, was I?)



One day Elise called me, so excited, she had just come from from Music Fest where she ran into her ex (GAG) and they ended up hanging out and having so much fun and they MADE OUT and isn't that the best?? I was floored. Had she not received any of my love arrows, in all those months? My sweets and songs. My hugs and hums. I probably pretended to be happy for her, though. I guess I had it wrong all along. I hid the hurt, but the damage was done. Six months later we had stopped speaking. A pitiful fizzle. And it would be years before I felt I had earned the right to call myself queer.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

found poem (gchat)


he said he thought he should be more patient 
and listen to him when i ask 
pointed questions about his love life, 
because they might be helpful

but i don't know 
if i'm sure 
he really thinks that

Monday, November 05, 2007

house not home

all doors closed
all thoughts unlocked
we sit and breathe in
the living room, sticky
with spills and poison
sickly lights and sounds
of sirens spill
into our rabbit hole
we let ourselves get trapped
in here, despite
all doors no locks
we say we don't believe in fences
so who's to blame
when the puppy keeps, cat-like,
squeezing himself through
the balcony's white picket posts?
we lay ourselves down like dogs
and kick until we fall asleep
can i take you home with me?
on second thought
perhaps not
it seems i've lost the way
and our back door
(left open before)
it seems to have gone astray
listen
there's ghosts inside the walls
cockroaches in the compost
a layer of ash over everything
we tell ourselves we'll one day sing
instead we oil rusty heads
and drink until we cannot think
again and fall down dead
again and somehow stumble to a bed

train

when I catch that smell I smile instantly
I remember that I am breathing
layers of dried sweat, sex, acrylic, liquor, dirt
tell the story of these last few train hops
open, the wind and rain and elements
kick at your frame, jammed into a train
the whistle blows and I think of your face
(and they've got a warrant out for your arrest,
you can't go back to Texass)
smiles and smell and stories to tell
me about these days' journey home
is where you are
laying your head in my lap
burying my face in your overalls
realizing my fullness, swoon
to the moon and sing sweet
like the ground herbs you take in your tea
so adventure stained all your clothes
but not me
was left there at the yard
as it emptied, smoke coloring my hair,
the hungry black monsters pulled you away
I smell my self to conjure you
but it's just not the same
I am too sweet and small,
you are gone too many trains away
sometimes I think I smell you in the wind,
or in the heaving crowd at punk shows
when I catch that smell I smile instantly
I can only breathe

Friday, September 03, 2004

Teenage Mythology: Daphne and Apollo Revisited

This boy came quietly out of the wood work, and I was caught off guard. No one before him ever really saw me, with my unruly hair, rumpled skirt, and no trace of self-confidence. That was the life I had learned.

He stole what he could –– the minutes off my cell phone, all my days of summer, midnight in my grandma's kitchen, one desperate hug. Of course I ran. The only thing I knew to do was run. No one taught me how to be pretty, how to be loved. I became afraid to learn. Just told myself to keep my muscles pumping to keep me out of reach.

Well. I may have overdone it. I pulled back 400 miles, building the best defense: a separation of two entire states (measured by 7,877,696 people), the length of a muddy river (equaling eternity). A girl needs her space.

But he couldn't drop it. I couldn't understand why he kept pushing against my limitations, what drove him to stand as watchman of my night and day. Turns out, it was only that he knew me. He knew my legs were not long or strong enough to keep me running forever. How could I have known that he would whittle my wooden heart, gently carve away the rough places in me?

By November he was biting at my heels like an obsessive French dog, hanging on the curtain of my voice, and imagining the curl of my hip. Without my permission. I never wanted to be marked, claimed, owned. But now I look at myself, firmly planted in my sneakers and undeniably connected to some puppy of a boy. He lead me out of my darkness and pulled me into his wood. Some very needy roots sprouted out of me and met up with his –– connecting and intertwining finally at the halfway point on the brown bank of the Mississippi. My limbs fork out like awkward branches, pocked and uneven bark covering completely my milk pale skin. He places his hand on my chest to admire his craftsmanship: heart beating full and sticky with some sound resembling love.

Monday, February 16, 2004

puppy, put the skirt on. make me forget who i thought you were (the hip cat of my nightmares) until you devotedly scratched at my door, and every day for two months, howled to the shell of me. trickster, love bites dissolved my chains between your teeth, you melted ice with sugar.

puppy, take the skirt off in my dreams: become my faithful lump. you're a regular visitor in my head these days-- again you stalk in, look around, find a nice clean spot and settle down, shed all over the fucking carpet. how am i supposed to keep this place up, since now you wanna be my dog?

come home, puppy

i feed you under the table straight from my hand, your tongue greasing my palm in its search for the difference between me and the salt. after dinner, you present me with collar and leash, begging night's adventures. when we crawl back in through the broken window, we

come home puppies wet with rain and reeking of grass. so what if we spent all night chasing after cars, sniffing lamp posts, waiting for a bus that never came? we curl up at the foot of the matress and gently whimper into sleep as the moon turns into sugar.

Monday, March 31, 2003

crammed into a safe place
me: fit between new and newer
between the sky + the pavement
between the cartoon elf faery pixie angel
between safety i found with you
and the danger i knew was there but never saw
i love this tilted edge
i am free in the cold silk air
my heart catches fire
comfort is
being quietly stuck between love
and the jagged infinity
racing through the streets
in a car that has been familiar until now
being LOUD and firmly me
hanging into night air's cradle
over rolling asphalt
while slick yellow lines chase each other down forever
i'm in a state
in a theatre
in a lap
in laughter
in bliss
i am happy
this is where i want to be
a perfect medium
pain vs. beauty
i would rather watch you and say i wasted my time
right now we are different people
internally changed
by sparks + presence
with thick love nearby
clouds that have been passing us by
are clouds we are now lounging in
the ice we have been hanging on
melts to reveal thin shoots of beauty
stuck to the roof of
the place where our dreams are waiting for us
our bodies are heavy with our skin on tight
unchangeable we are stuck in
we are NOT stuck in life
we have places to go, people to meet
you can't define us while we are still in the making
look at where we're headed
we have creations to make, people to be
you can't stop us now

march 31 in mythology

Thursday, March 27, 2003

i lean over the railing to see
her initials spiraling down the twisted staircase
close cropped haircut from the top
makes me smile
and at the same time i notice
she's standing behind me
close cropped elf
staring down the back of my head
my silent statements drown on twisted staircase
she can't hear what i'm not saying to her
because of all the noise in here
i back out
into impersonal vanilla-filled flowers
and i'm sent
right back out
chasing down the girl who ran
we've got to get out of this
she's got to get out
she got out
i'll remember today as cutting class into slices with her
and chewing reality's numb bones
in our tiny white-bread white-bred teeth
until we were sick to our stomachs with melancholy melodrama
and burning constant invisible tears into the dirt of a tired world
we back in
to imperfection within stiff specificity
trying to hide our sores
even locked into sterile cubicle-boxed minds
we could still soar

Tuesday, March 25, 2003

i am looking for a glimpse of you
in the hall
by your locker
within classrooms
i memorized your schedule
and i've changed the flow of my day
just to see the wool on the back of your sweater
flying away from me down stairs
i'm creeping up behind you
breathing you in
breathing you deep
why do you run
we are just alike
we are monsters together
hearts racing secretly
hiding in cages in our chests
fingers reach out stealthily
through blackness toward each other
connect
we make red
connect
light shooting sparks
blows my cover
you are worth my exposure
we are worth this
now where is the paparazzi?

Thursday, March 20, 2003

i am watching my life as a movie
out of the picture
i see her in the hallway
we don't make eye contact
actually she didn't see me at all
i saw her from miles away
section Z up in the balcony
up there the actors can't see me
i am walking in a story book
pasted on the picture
cut out and walking through some scene
no one can touch me
i am not here
in glass beside my eye
my hair's reflected in the sky
i think if a plane were to appear
it would make more of an impact on me
than anyone down here

Tuesday, March 18, 2003

i couldn't not notice the daffodils this morning
i'm falling in love with spring
a betrayal, i know
summer season love
has always been so obviously automatic
but now
i'm falling out of my own winter
seeing beauty
sensing love
a betrayal
but hey maybe i'll find that
summer is even more amazing
now that life is
and shouldn't my favorite season
reflect my state?
environment inside and out
my inner season is starting to leak out
pouring green over trees
licking up baby violets
smell the roses
spring is coming

Monday, March 17, 2003

i know you are scared
me too
i am scared out of my mind
and widly thrilled
you are afraid of kissing me
i am afraid of kissing
i am trying to act calmly
i have to contain this fear
i have to prove that i am better
than what came before
i will not make their mistakes
i have to show composure
because when you sound so sad
i need to make it better
you:
beautiful purring voice raining tears into my answering machine
me:
are you okay what's wrong what can i do
you:
no i don' t know i don't know
me:
helpless
you:
dying
i can't stand to stand by
while you are drowning
i don't have any remedies for problems
that can't be named
that i wouldn't understand
that are too big for my tiny body
yes i am blaming this on my family too
my little hands are dad's
granny gave me tiny feet
hell, we're all too short
i am a greyhound
shrinking i can fit myself to you
curled up small in the curves
please keep pouring your tears in me
my tiny body is still so empty
i need to know that you
aren't keeping your Issues in
baby
i am scared to death of fucking up
i am scared of just me
i am scared that you will realize that i'm not what you
thought / expected / wanted
i am wrong
you just wait
but don't worry
i am going to leave the phone on
i am going to leave the window open
i am going to be there for you
inevitably available
your blazing fingers sing
we're on fire now
the waiter set my plate down
"thank you" as i'm contemplating
what the fuck i ordered
i rotate the plate to see if this
creature
is more manageable from another angle
mom is smiling secretly
she reveals that
she knows
she is okay with everything
like i knew she would be
but over lunch because of one
silly mistake my sister made?
while she's sipping brown ale and
i'm trying to figure out
how to bite into my sandwich
funny because nothing has happened
we are just doing what we have been doing
plus talking
it's just a proposal
i am insistent.
mom says
"my january baby's growing up
my little girl's in love"
but she's always been
such a silly woman
and hopelessly romantic
so i don't know how to act around my family
they have never known something so big about me
i am so good at keeping hidden
and when this was right in front of them
did they see?
No.
it took a little nudge from a poem
that accidentally got left in their line of vision
not even my mistake
because i know how to wipe my tracks
as i'm running away backwards
so i'm on stage melting under bright lights
EXPOSED
performing a facimile of my life
i have forgotten how i used to be
i have forgotten my act
i'm trying to seem normal as usual
i have forgotten how to be around her
and i know they can see it now
when i lay against her shoulder
i hope at least they have a memory of who they think i am
that they can reteach to me
so "hi mom!" here's a shoutout to my family
the nosy noisemakers discovering me in here
back again? who let you in?
we'll get a bouncer for this haven
on St. Patrick's Day
my homeroom teacher says that
the rule about getting pinched
if you're not wearing green
only applies if you're Irish
so he's circling the room
interrogating us
with evil fingers waiting
then he's at my desk and
i won't look up until he's in my face
i'm the only person who got asked two questions
i wonder why that is
Are you Irish?
No.
Are you okay?
Yeah.
hey what could i say otherwise?
"no i'm very not okay.
i'm definitely awful"
in front of unforgiving eyes
i'm supposed to reveal
how alone i feel
my terrible weekend
pain because i am unloved
mentally abused
unwanted
no friends
no love
i am supposed to tell that to
the bald man in the pale green shirt?
i don't think so.
but i lied anyway
Yeah, I am Irish.
No, I am more than okay.

Wednesday, March 12, 2003

i am wearing your jacket
because it smells like you
so i can close my eyes
and pretend that it's you making me warm
and not this piece of cloth
that you left lying in my room
hey you left a piece of you over here
hey you left pieces in my head too
hey you are everywhere
filling me up
and i like you like that
whenever i move
you're drifting through the room
i want your hands in my hair in your lap in the park
i want always to see you when i open my eyes
i want grin-filled mornings in mid-afternoon
i want waiting for you to wake on our cloud
i want studying your elbow and your twitching toes
i want you to be there soft
like your jacket
but even more soothing and
able to return my hugs
no flimsy cotton could
beat your comfort form
the zipper here could
never giggle back with me
i'm burying my face in your scent
wishing you were here
your angel wings cover us on our cloud
your angel skin covers me in their place
warm angel, your shoulder blades are wings
beating within you
beating your heart
i could hear them when i lay there
with my ear against your chest
my own breath fluttering weakly alongside
catch myself in solace
finding us in gold
glistening star-girl suspended in night sky
come down to me
wrap me up inside your arms
your feathers will stick after you let go

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

i'm so so sorry
did i really become what i hate?
i don't want that to be inevitable
i don't want to think that happens
i don't want the breakfast club
i'm sorry i didn't approach you
i'm sorry for not saying sorry
i was careless and
i acted out of self-entertainment
this is what i hated
when their basketballs hit me
and they were too interested in the game
to apologize
and on the bleachers no one was sitting next to me
to ask if i was okay
so i had no one to lie to
i'm so so sorry
for classing myself in their ranks
for being associated with them
if i sent you home unhappy
a terrible end to a terrible day
i reassured myself that
you were fine
you were standing with friends and comfort
and you weren't
quite
crying
and even if i didn't say it then
i was so so sorry
teach me not to be like them
drinking devil coffee
on an icy, silver star
shivering and burning
sitting on cold stone
scorching though i'm froze
a place where i don't have to feel
what's in me or what is real
i will believe you!
if you make me better
just buy me coffee
to keep me sane
pour it nicely over me
when i'm not thinking i am free
freezing slow perfectly
wish i was a filthy ice queen
don't you believe me?
well can't you fix this?
i'll make you hate me!
don't want to know it
don't care for love
can't stand no pain
must numb my heart
make my soul burn
i do it nicely

Monday, March 03, 2003

i am dumb
i can't remember how to look at you
i don't live up to what i am supposed to
i don't live up to you
so i made up my stubborn mind
got some congratulations
got some reprimands
and now i have rethought myself
yeah, i'm so sure
so sure and
feeling stupid for my decision
and the reasons i gave
how i thought in my head
it made sense at the time
but spoken and
i hate myself
yeah yeah yeah nothing unusal
nothing new get on with the show
well let me tell you
i am headed for the stars
aren't we all?
this is not my path
this is not my decision
this is the closet i've come to peer pressure
so i'm caving in
who says i don't want
to be my friends?
in 3 years
3 months
and 3 days
the date will be 666
by then
where will i be?
i want to be living with her
in California
Anaheim, San Francisco, LA
perusing gender studies
attending photography
cinematography classes
the girls who were never good at anything
finally fly on waves of film
we will flash a new light on our lives
and capture beauty in tiny darkrooms
we will make the world through a lens make sense
we will be looking at a big sky through the camera's eye
me and you