“I read once that “sometimes, the poem has more friends than the poet.” I think that is as beautiful as it is sad. But now, when I feel alone, I remind myself that I’ve got my poems.”
– I’ve Got My Poems | Lora Mathis
(Via lora-mathis, @loramathiz)
Author: Christina's Words
“The darkness around us is deep.” ~ William Stafford
“For Women Who Are Difficult To Love” by Warsan Shire
you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him traveling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
“Living in the Body” by Joyce Sutphen
Body is something you need in order to stay
on this planet and you only get one.
And no matter which one you get, it will not
be satisfactory. It will not be beautiful
enough, it will not be fast enough, it will
not keep on for days at a time, but will
pull you down into a sleepy swamp and
demand apples and coffee and chocolate cake.
Body is a thing you have to carry
from one day into the next. Always the
same eyebrows over the same eyes in the same
skin when you look in the mirror, and the
same creaky knee when you get up from the
floor and the same wrist under the watchband.
The changes you can make are small and
costly—better to leave it as it is.
Body is a thing that you have to leave
eventually. You know that because you have
seen others do it, others who were once like you,
living inside their pile of bones and
flesh, smiling at you, loving you,
leaning in the doorway, talking to you
for hours and then one day they
are gone. No forwarding address.
Joyce Sutphen, Straight Out of View, published by Beacon Press.
“The Valley of I Hate Myself” by Kirsten Smith
After a few years of You can have me if you don’t hurt me
and You can kiss me if you promise to leave soon,
I pack my stuff and head south.
I drive past the ranch style homes of I like to watch it burn
and the freakish dust bowl of If I can’t have you no one will,
and into the valley of I hate myself.
Forget the bad weather and the dead weight of ghosts,
the plus sides make themselves immediately clear:
if you plant something, it is almost certain to grow,
if you want to live off the land, there is plenty of it.
Every night the moon is full
and the torrid hum of people having fun—
well, it just isn’t there.
As far as neighbors go, they’re far from nosy.
They stop to say hello only if you’re armed or bleeding.
They aren’t interested in the feel-good moments of
I think I might come clean or
I know I can fix what I once so carelessly broke.
They only want the good stuff—
the cheating on the husbands, the booze, the drugs,
the solemn way you broke everyone’s hearts, mostly your own.
They like to hear about all that time you wasted
when you could have been Making Something of Your Damn Life.
Guilt is the religion of choice here
and every Sunday, the pews are full of people
who’ve come to sing the songs of Kurt Cobain or Karen Carpenter.
The stores are stocked full of meat and cheese and alcohol
and the meth labs are clean and unionized.
The coke dealers are so well-liked
one of them ran for mayor and won.
It’s no wonder people never take day trips
to the nearby town of Everything’s coming up roses
or attempt to try the new Chinese place in Life’s what you make it.
But the highlight of it all has to be the walks I take at night.
I stroll past the recycling center of self-loathing
and the dumping ground for dreams that die hard,
and head onto Main Street, stopping
to look in the window of the local pawn shop.
There’s a guitar and a typewriter and a gold heart locket on a chain,
a trinket to remind us that the thing in our chests
can’t possibly be as empty as it feels.
A few other people pass by, people who were lonely in life
and now are here together
and we share tight small smiles
some of which might even be read as I love you.
Kirsten Smith (@KiwiLovesYou), via The Awl
“Jim Jarmusch once told me Fast, Cheap, and Good… pick two. (Waits)
“Jim Jarmusch once told me Fast, Cheap, and Good… pick two. If it’s fast and cheap it won’t be good. If it’s cheap and good, it won’t be fast. If it’s fast and good, it won’t be cheap. Fast, cheap and good … pick two words to live by.”
Words ... for the Time Being 