I Would Leave Me If I Could: A Collection of Poetry(13)

I winced, as the pieces crumbled like a landslide.

No matter how many cakes I bake, the first piece that’s cut

always falls apart.

The inside was cherry red.

Globular, bulbous chunks leaked from the center.

Like giant blood clots, bathing in buttercream.

I imagined I had taken my still-beating heart from my chest and baked it into the middle.

He took a bite, and grinned at me.

His teeth stained like a row of garnets.

Now he could have it,

and eat it too.





ORDINARY BOYS


There are ordinary boys.

And then there are boys who stick an arm down your throat and grasp your heart.

Digging through your entrails while your teeth rub against the socket of their elbow.

You drool and it pools around your lips and drips

to their armpits, tickling down to their ribs.

There are boys

who you will write poetry for as an offering

a gift

an insecure gesture, to say “Please like me,

for I have gilded you in gold, and therefore

you should love me for the sheer fact that I love you.”

Then there are boys who demand poetry.

Who keep you awake at all hours of the night, purging your brain of their details.

Hoping

you can capture them on a page and then capture them in the world.

You are choking

with his hand in your neck and his fist around your heart.

Your aorta pulses.

And so does your aching pussy.

You write to calm the craving.

To corner them in fiction And say

Finally,

I have conquered you.





FUN GIRL


I am the fun girl.

I am the spit hanging down from your tongue girl.

I’m the choke me as hard as you can girl.

I’m the give it all up for a man girl.

I’m the plaid skirt and white knee-high socks girl.

I’m a pistol that’s loaded and cocked girl.

The don’t mind when you call me a slut girl.

I’m the smack her real hard on the butt girl.

I’m a swallow my feelings and lie girl.

I’m a lie there and let him inside girl.

’Cause I don’t wanna make him get mad girl.

I’m the better off being bad girl.

’Cause then nothing hurts when they leave, girl.

Except with his grip on your sleeve, girl.

You say yes to the threesomes and drinks girl.

’Cause you still really care what he thinks girl.

You’re not boring or mean like his old girl she was crazy, or that’s what you’re told, girl.

So you’ll get further if you are the fun girl.

But you’ll never be the only one girl.

You’ll get older and wish you had known girl.

’Cause you gave way too much of your soul, girl.

Now you don’t expect men to be kind girl.

You just use them and leave them behind girl.

It’s so hard to grow up as the fun girl.

You’ll be trapped in your days as a young girl.

A memory, for men you loved girl.

“Oh! That fun girl!”





POWERLESS


I’m locked in the bathroom on a commercial flight.

Hilary Swank in a butch haircut sends a hijacked plane through my cerebellum.

I am sweating.

I pull my lips apart from my teeth like a dental diagram and I display my gums.

I sit to piss and roll my eyes.

cuff my jeans 2 times, 3 times.

I am in my memory.

riding a man on a mattress, back arched like a prize horse.

grinding and grinding.

tossing my hair around and gripping tight the ropes of ecstasy.

pornographic cries echo through my head in the airplane bathroom.

they key-change, minor 5th to humiliation.

I shift gears.

a woman beneath me, squirming like a slug under a magnifying glass.

my veiny arms and slender fingers graze across her like velvet.

why is the straight part of me powerless?





LET’S HAVE BREAKFAST


The light is creeping past your curtains, playing shadows on your head.

I wonder how much I would have to beg to stay till half past ten.

You won’t notice that I’ve overstayed my welcome once again.

All great conversations seem to

start in a

king-size bed.





DNA


My heart swings in the balance of this longing.

it is suspended here, anxiously awaiting sweet release.

tightly wound tension throbs in my core.

swells

like an angry ocean.

rises

like warm bread rich with yeast.

I tumble

weightlessly through daydreams of your skin.

the surface of which bleeds

seamlessly

into visions of your bottomless eyes and the curve of your mouth matching perfectly the curve

of the small of my back.

I am spiraling down a staircase of lust

and comfort and withdrawal.

I will lie back, and slide through the tunnel between your double helix.