Archive for category Poem
Like waterbeds, some things are just a passing fad
Posted by identitykrysis in Poem, Rant, Uncategorized on August 19, 2009
first notes
pluck forth unbeatable rhythm
the very cells, the light, inside this
pushing
broken with edges
curves water as it disappears
under
playing with those rays
still there, twisting unawares of the outcome
but always
driving
forward
down and deeper
until gone
——————————————————————————————–
With the emergence of new evidence and life in the past couple weeks, I am renewed. I am overjoyed by the possibilities. The building beat that encourages me to move.
Seen old friends and regular friends and decided who really is my friend and who never really was.
Met new ones who are genuine, real people, with such a capacity to care and inspire. So many stories shared by the beach or over a beer. I’ve been finding people coming to me for thoughts on their situations. I’ve been honoured by that.
I’ve also been bitchy and outspoken and generally unapologetically… me.
One of my favourite moments was being challenged to a fight over dancing with a guy.
I laughed in her face.
I’ve been actively abandoning anything that isn’t good for me, healthy or reflective of the life I want and have.
Because the last two weeks made me realize I do have the life I want and I’m on the way to the rest of it. My other book is motoring along. Connections are being made. The calm I get when I go to the gym or go for a run reminds me to cherish my solitude when I can get it. Which hasn’t been often. Running reminds me to keep moving forward. I only look over my shoulder to make sure those who matter are nearby. Not behind. Nothing holding me back.
Things are rolling off easier. I don’t have time for people who are frequently depressed or overly complicated or who consistently live in a diminishing half-life. If you want my help, I will give it. But at some point you have to help yourself out of the depths as well.
We all choose our paths. We all reflect the paths we’ve chosen in certain ways by certain actions.
My last entry was a conversation with myself. Aspects of myself. I frequently talk about how one side feels this and one side is that. It’s ridiculous, I am whole and one. I am conflicted because I frequently romanticize the past and try to trick myself into seeing something that isn’t there. While the rational freaks out (and is ultimately frustrated) at this process.
I’ve been lied to so much in the last few years. At first it was shitty of them to lie to me. But then, the more I let it happen, it was shitty of me to remain there. It was shitty of me to go back. I helped set up a precedence of use and misuse between myself and these people. They were just as wrong as I was.
Because change takes effort. Takes looking at yourself in such a way that isn’t flattering all the time. I’ve taken the good and the bad. I’ve listened to what words those around me tell me. Because I trust and love them. They want what’s best for me and always tell me the honest truth.
I’m finally getting what I wanted.
Not the passing fad.
The real deal.
From Morsel to Lips
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on March 4, 2009
Laying on her back she scratches the surface
of the faint light in her room
and the familiar play that
lists those terms of
endearment
With upper arms draping across her eyes
hands half open to the world
such a feather touch
coincides with the
taste of
timing
Where higher pitch can’t be reached
despite this sentiment of resolution
she allows herself
moments of despair
and tastes every decision
on the tip of her tongue
Such a taste only allowed
between the hours of
unfinished midnight air
and the blurred frost of morning
speckled fresh with what little dots of feeling she permits
That same taste promises to turn
into a soft plea for sun
when with arms wide
she wakes
?Which Came First
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on March 3, 2009
?What do you think
Said the tofu to the side dish of creamed corn.
?Wouldn’t it be weird if we were chickening again
?If we were actually the main course and not pretending to be
the step to the next blank slate of surveys and
half forgotten fuel and lumber
cut down to
build this
brick oven
(don’t name it)
The dinner table is where it sits
With fork and knife in hand
napkin across lap
and eyes fixed
to dinnerware
Perhaps there’s more to share.
Pale multi-collars
of blank canvases
stretch like a poem across the plate
outstretched
and hint of
nakedness
Settle that caress close to the
cubed
carved
cleaved close
baked fat free
absurdity
Absurd to leave
unless, as they say
/we’ve eaten everything up/
/eagerly/
“Three Kinds of Yes”
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on February 22, 2009
She settles backward into the opening tones and notes until the strength of the guitar and simple drumbeat carry her away into the next structured chord.
Lines cross lines and line
these simple streets
Carried away
to
gather
… unspoken
Cords
tether
this together.
Attached at the hip, thigh and
shoulder straps
where arms wrap
around her
that ocean rolling stillness
five:04 minute rendezvous.
She rests and
sounds the chemistry,
like that hushed intro
That is: Introduction.
The familiar notes don’t worry her.
And, simply unwilling to clothe herself,
she rolls over on her couch and
grabs the big deep purple cushion
Holding
it to her naked morning skin
Draping
a leg around the other two that lie there.
That slight upturn at the corner of her lips, remains un-stifled for
five.04 seconds.
This Was The Worst Year Ever
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on December 31, 2008
Bite down on bitter crowd
inside cemented skull
they all screamed in
unison
clawed against each other
until they were bare for
the long road
behind
//Her//
Senses echoed
against severed syllables
that body of water she poured
out loud
Innards Blizzard
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on December 22, 2008
Silent Snow City
blocked in
this paned inner ribcage
Their testimonials
and
awkward rows of
identical
silent
structured insulation
So she filled each of the three drawers
Small
Medium
Large
With three empty shells.
Vague lives she orbited
like a tiny
in
sign
/magn/if-i-cant shimmer.
damnin’ her
to words
gnashed and gnawed
within her own
turning
in
/be/sides
He asked her
“Why”
/Why are you here with me?/
And the only answers she had
had no connection
except sensation
expanse
of skin
Before her
sudden panic
she threw articles of clothing
into those still empty drawers.
Random and slightly worn pieces of the past
Bought in haste
Wasted
And drowned
down
She attempted to sell it all
just to breathe
the crisp winter air that flowed in freely
through barely cracked open bedroom windows.
Exhale In
Posted by Identity Krysis in Poem on December 19, 2008
On her hands and knees
Doing penance for the last nine months
(0)f
Cobwebbed morals
Unwashed nerves
The “Avis For Sale” sign is
finally being taken down
from in front of the
Pretty
Empty.
Apartment
Complex.
‘So that’s the actual shade of white my tub should be…’
‘Oh my god, that dust bunny has LEGS!’
Scrub. Scrub.
Wash. Wash.
Dust.
Dense.
Duh.?
So
she had
apparently
categorically
sought out as much drama
as she could
not handle.
And was then
Hand to mouth
Fair maiden surprised
when real life weeds arose
and she
quickly
drank
her
con
trolled
feelings
GulpGulpGlug
Pitchers
Shoot
Shooters
Of lovely golden tequila.
Two ice cube Scotchy Scotch.
Light to dark to amber to Beer.
Too near
to fear
too
far
From
Self-control
So she
Spreads herself
Around familiar town
Against familiar
Fenced in
flutters
Oops… she’s
penned in
the
pigpen.
Scrub.Scrub.
Pure white tub.
Hands and knees.
Penance
For her nine month pleas
Of release.
Back bending.
Hip rubbing.
Sex fucking.
Inner
Fighting.
Rib Expanding.
Faking
for Power
And Power/s
(For)Sake.
Her half.
Down.
Done.
$.