dont you hear me
scream..........?
the mother of all.
you men are Just
mother-fuckers
drone lovers
i was fed
for sex
made my own cut
like a hinged lid.
but i can sting
endlessly
i sting
child's trumpeting
I AM HERE
i am here to fight
if this is all ive got.
hear my flight
with out
a movement
dont you hear me
scream..........?
----
the saddest thing ive read for a long time.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_bee
poem is totally stolen from all of this.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
song of the bees
ive decided i have a new obsession with bees= they're totaly the new birds, but i doubt i could write a play on them/maybe/but i think ill start with some poems and see how i go. the beginning of a poem i cant be bothered working on just yet...
the queen bee says :
my many legs
expand,
spread
black tar and other
sticky shit.
honey in every
lonely hole,
too sweet too sour
the lot of this.
i dont know how
IM FUCKED
but im told
i was born for this.
i was the right size
and every man
the right fit.
-------------------
please note- this is me trying to right with a FAKE character i am NOT writing as myself, though it's easy- im writing from perspective of bee. queen bee as permanent whore and mother, and when i start writing from worker female bees, what it is to never be a mother. devastating world of bees.
the queen bee says :
my many legs
expand,
spread
black tar and other
sticky shit.
honey in every
lonely hole,
too sweet too sour
the lot of this.
i dont know how
IM FUCKED
but im told
i was born for this.
i was the right size
and every man
the right fit.
-------------------
please note- this is me trying to right with a FAKE character i am NOT writing as myself, though it's easy- im writing from perspective of bee. queen bee as permanent whore and mother, and when i start writing from worker female bees, what it is to never be a mother. devastating world of bees.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
wanting to move past this...
sunny side up...
You trickle through me
around my ankles
chained to you/r nails
or anything sharp
on offer;
your gaze
and remembering
we had agreed on forever.
you stain
this Ever concept
like i saw
red food dye on velvet
picked at it
against my skin
i cried i cried i cried
only the beauty of metal
and not the taste
only dim-lit memories
and fancies, free-like.
that shackled feeling
that we agreed on forever.
--------------------------
i still feel like she owns me.
i want to fly.
You trickle through me
around my ankles
chained to you/r nails
or anything sharp
on offer;
your gaze
and remembering
we had agreed on forever.
you stain
this Ever concept
like i saw
red food dye on velvet
picked at it
against my skin
i cried i cried i cried
only the beauty of metal
and not the taste
only dim-lit memories
and fancies, free-like.
that shackled feeling
that we agreed on forever.
--------------------------
i still feel like she owns me.
i want to fly.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Saturday, March 07, 2009
the art of Plagiarism
i have very little creativity of my own, at least that's near the surface so i did the old faithful collage poem method...cut up words and bits of sentences to create some weird little poems about nothing or everything in my subconscious i guess... begin...
1/
still clowns
synchronised in the corner
a place where they'd been
burnt
--------better than us
i wouldn't have waited around.
they can run, punch, kick, hit and throw.
i found them in a house.
they flew together.
i lost
it
you'll see it
so dirty. i wanna be dirty
get feet in our faces
i like the graceful
you chuck
through a dream world.
until i pass out or
stop. Indefinitely.
2/
i was sick
relax. Don't panic.
-------------------alone
and i wanted
wet dream
so we were covered
after
3/
dance while we drink
i might throw
point my toes too.
It's OK, boys.
No. I'm not a Barbie doll.
control of my gun.
she hates about you!
dainty
-just need more tits
money
get broken
Sex Things
it's a big deal who pays, unless
money is just.
makes it worth it.
But not for all.
1/
still clowns
synchronised in the corner
a place where they'd been
burnt
--------better than us
i wouldn't have waited around.
they can run, punch, kick, hit and throw.
i found them in a house.
they flew together.
i lost
it
you'll see it
so dirty. i wanna be dirty
get feet in our faces
i like the graceful
you chuck
through a dream world.
until i pass out or
stop. Indefinitely.
2/
i was sick
relax. Don't panic.
-------------------alone
and i wanted
wet dream
so we were covered
after
3/
dance while we drink
i might throw
point my toes too.
It's OK, boys.
No. I'm not a Barbie doll.
control of my gun.
she hates about you!
dainty
-just need more tits
money
get broken
Sex Things
it's a big deal who pays, unless
money is just.
makes it worth it.
But not for all.
Friday, March 06, 2009
MORE old writing circa 2007
crazy crack prose written in 2007 it actually went on for much longer than this but my hand writing stopped making sense and it gets even more confusing and self indulgent...
Dressed in wings and a lace shell, her eye shadow in skin and things,
of trying to erase them. She’s stitched carefully with eyelashes and hair, for holding in boiling with out measure, for holding on. There’s layers for little tears to rip indents in, her and Forever
and decisions take Time.
She chose this
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
tonight
it’s too hot.
She’s clustered on the couch in a Fist and watching sleep disappear with kisses that were Hers and she tries all she dares to exist. The tv is screaming and the floor’s everyone’s but hers. She could own the upstair curtains if the cat wouldn’t insist on breaking them down, leaving a trail of material and fur.
She chose this.
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
It’s too hot.
She broke the glass in the door, just one crack held together with cellotape and she said she slept in the park, but it was safer than her, safer than here. Meaning Forever meant flying knives and waiting for the sharpest to take the both of them.
She always flinched with yelling, she’d never been told love meant always having to say you were sorry. And she liked silent and crying and was used to alone and played wife, even if she couldn’t get the cleaning right. Smoke and diamond mirrors led her easily and soon she cried when touched for it was meaning and rushed her dizzy head in to spins of promises. Music was thrown across the room and she sang riddles in her mind to hide time. She had cried when she heard the groan of the punching bag and fist in the garage and made childish demands to outraged ears. Many steps to take and she couldn’t run fast enough only round and round, begging at feet.
She could see the world and her mind were for worse than walls that shook close and sterns words were Honest and Truth would bind their love. Lies sounded good if she said them out loud but she only knew to write words that hurt, better to not, and to cocoon and soon-later at least she’d re-emerge and they’d be better. Her words only bred crazy and if she didn’t write or think much about much she wouldn’t be.
She pays best she can and buys time with gifts, not enough, never enough and is giving the impression she doesn’t love as good and right because she dreams collages and candle names not shiny toys and shoes for love.
She is lucky to be looked after so well, and is faithful to fear and she never will tell. Even tripping over that darn cat they take photos and laugh at easy bruises and cry for easy forgiveness. Somewhere in bloodshot she wishes her eye would stay like that so she would see. Yet even in fading she can’t forget, just pushes it in to her bubbling digestion and swallows gritty salt, shaky smiles.
She keeps seeing other smiles with sharp teeth and she’s already thrown all her trust in to her red, white and checked basket. Her nightmares of wolves under the bed are in the daylight and she can’t quite bare the wake from dreams comes true.
She lies and likes the way it cans till sound nice when she says she’s looked after and loved and they will marry. Even if she is kept a secret, how long could anyone really keep secrets, she wondered.
No room for leaving: deceit ridden everywhere and not as was thought, even the cat’s unhappy and angry and clawing to get out. Except when they’re alone, the cat and her. Then they hold tight and warm each other.
ENOUGH.
Dressed in wings and a lace shell, her eye shadow in skin and things,
of trying to erase them. She’s stitched carefully with eyelashes and hair, for holding in boiling with out measure, for holding on. There’s layers for little tears to rip indents in, her and Forever
and decisions take Time.
She chose this
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
tonight
it’s too hot.
She’s clustered on the couch in a Fist and watching sleep disappear with kisses that were Hers and she tries all she dares to exist. The tv is screaming and the floor’s everyone’s but hers. She could own the upstair curtains if the cat wouldn’t insist on breaking them down, leaving a trail of material and fur.
She chose this.
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
It’s too hot.
She broke the glass in the door, just one crack held together with cellotape and she said she slept in the park, but it was safer than her, safer than here. Meaning Forever meant flying knives and waiting for the sharpest to take the both of them.
She always flinched with yelling, she’d never been told love meant always having to say you were sorry. And she liked silent and crying and was used to alone and played wife, even if she couldn’t get the cleaning right. Smoke and diamond mirrors led her easily and soon she cried when touched for it was meaning and rushed her dizzy head in to spins of promises. Music was thrown across the room and she sang riddles in her mind to hide time. She had cried when she heard the groan of the punching bag and fist in the garage and made childish demands to outraged ears. Many steps to take and she couldn’t run fast enough only round and round, begging at feet.
She could see the world and her mind were for worse than walls that shook close and sterns words were Honest and Truth would bind their love. Lies sounded good if she said them out loud but she only knew to write words that hurt, better to not, and to cocoon and soon-later at least she’d re-emerge and they’d be better. Her words only bred crazy and if she didn’t write or think much about much she wouldn’t be.
She pays best she can and buys time with gifts, not enough, never enough and is giving the impression she doesn’t love as good and right because she dreams collages and candle names not shiny toys and shoes for love.
She is lucky to be looked after so well, and is faithful to fear and she never will tell. Even tripping over that darn cat they take photos and laugh at easy bruises and cry for easy forgiveness. Somewhere in bloodshot she wishes her eye would stay like that so she would see. Yet even in fading she can’t forget, just pushes it in to her bubbling digestion and swallows gritty salt, shaky smiles.
She keeps seeing other smiles with sharp teeth and she’s already thrown all her trust in to her red, white and checked basket. Her nightmares of wolves under the bed are in the daylight and she can’t quite bare the wake from dreams comes true.
She lies and likes the way it cans till sound nice when she says she’s looked after and loved and they will marry. Even if she is kept a secret, how long could anyone really keep secrets, she wondered.
No room for leaving: deceit ridden everywhere and not as was thought, even the cat’s unhappy and angry and clawing to get out. Except when they’re alone, the cat and her. Then they hold tight and warm each other.
ENOUGH.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
what does it mean to be both a stripper/an object/and a feminist (post or otherwise)? the post mix got delivered to the club across the street even the buildings suffer from some confusion.
man is buying skin is buying sex only i dont have sex to offer MY sex is not for sale only man's sex he buys in to this illusion/allusion to sex he buys his own desires. man is seeing me naked only Darling you will never see me naked you see me dim lit with red lips the both of them you see soft skin and shadows and whiskers. i havent shaved for a few days i figure you dont get to buy my smooth and ive got a bloody tampon shoved up me im splitting at the seams so any minute now i might bleed on to you. bargain, you got this woman real cheap.
man is buying skin is buying sex only i dont have sex to offer MY sex is not for sale only man's sex he buys in to this illusion/allusion to sex he buys his own desires. man is seeing me naked only Darling you will never see me naked you see me dim lit with red lips the both of them you see soft skin and shadows and whiskers. i havent shaved for a few days i figure you dont get to buy my smooth and ive got a bloody tampon shoved up me im splitting at the seams so any minute now i might bleed on to you. bargain, you got this woman real cheap.
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