the lion

i don’t always feel like talking
but i keep talking
twist my tongue against
unreciprocating ears
but i’ll tell you, i’ll tell you, i’ll tell you
how i’m naive and free

swallow hard on your reactions
muscles lock and release
juggling postures and presence
facing the door
you’re going to leave me, i know

it doesn’t unwind my my spine
my posturing so you know the me
i want you to know
talking to tell you, so you know,
i’m fine, it’s all fine, we’re just fine

posture of a lion with a lingering bark
but no bite, just trying to rewrite this
mind me, please, i’m harmless
just want to disarm this
ticking in my head
ticking in my head

catch words by the metronome
cant even hear myself talk, no,
turn off the sound to talk down the excess
know, i’m just delivering what i know
know i’m chasing electricity

caricature in me
i don’t always feel like talking
but i twist my tongue against
my own fears

xx2

I am am a parody of me
dressed in your confetti,
I drink to being feeble and weak

Could I make you laugh, this time?
Would I be better this way,
a glass in hand and foot displaced,
would you laugh just to give me a break?

Slither of it up my sleeves,
my chest feels bare and I’m scared
could you just acknowledge me,
tell me I’m not a freak?

I leave prints
sliding down walls
craving doorknobs to another place
no rattles, no, no searching for me.

Could you just see the monkey and her cymbal,
the seal and her horn,
a solo-spectacular, set to silent,
for all the noise I think I’m making,
could you just hear me out?

Stories From Growing Up: like me despite your rage

Someone spilled Coke on the couch cushion. The wicker based, floral cushioned couch in the first rental we lived in. We had been left alone for a while.

I meant to be proactive and I was tired of the chaos of no one watching. I knocked on the door and it didn’t open. I mentioned the couch and went back to my things.

What the fuck.

Some for you,

Some for you,

He grabbed more Coke to pour over our heads, over toys on the floor, over everything.

Words, over and over. The way I started to laugh at first, thinking he was being funny. No.

I sat in the puddle, assessing the mess as he called us names. We damaged things, a tiny spill like the ocean I guess.

The puzzle in the floor was soaked, fraying picture from the wood, by the time he was done.

He said, clean it up.

So I tried to hide my shame and fault. I cleaned eagerly, trying for approval, coke still dripping out of my hair.

022

I wanted to tell you
I’ll be late
or nowhere at all

to let you know I’ll be home
but please don’t check on me
I’m nowhere
at all

I wanted to tell you
I stand in a fog
there’s nothing
at all

I wanted to show you
my throat has cracked
I couldn’t speak,
not about that

I wanted to tell you
I’m sorry I stayed
don’t know how you could love me
not after that.