June 09, 2011

poems I wrote when I was 16


my nails are gone
I bit them off
one by one
one by accident
the others by force
I kept my thumb
nice tip, smooth, white
but they kept coming
into my mouth
so I'd remember
and stop the chomp
but keep them there
and nibble some
until the underbeds were riveted
then I lied myself over
they had to go
I miss them so
They were so pretty
Ladylike on my hand
now, stubs, stranded on dry land


do it for my sake
eat this rake
this spoon
this cake
this mop
this galvanized plate
oh looks
ripley is here
snap snap
my love
is dead
forgetting the fuming ambitions of the one I stand on
I wave to my friends
I fall, she falls, we all fall

Mayhem in the pitied malaise
came to me
cried out

So he asked me where it was
and I said "what?"
he said, "the map, you fool, the map"
I pursed my lips and thought
I neatly placed my hands on my lap
then jumped and screamed,
"that way! go there!"
gone, back, now more so
I sighed, the light faded now
"my hands," I said, "my hands-
you see,- "
"The map!"
"My hands," I held them up
He looked away... "my hands,"
I said, "my hands, you see,
"Shut up!" He snapped and
marched straight off, I sat
and clucked my bitter tongue
tsk, these hands, these worn out hands...
these scars... were they still worth it?
to writing on my pretty hands?

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