They say you can't get blood from a stone, but you tried to get milk from my bones to nourish your anorexic heart that weighs love and control in equal measure on the rigged scales of parenthood. I've grown up in the shadow of your buzz words and catch phrases for women: Cunt. Bitch. Dyke. Slut. Cocktease. Prude. Whore. Pronouncing with a fascist authority what women can and can't, shouldn't, be or do And me trying valiantly to mould myself to the exact form for what you consider the ideal man - because women, in your eyes, ain't shit - so that I could garner a single scrap of affection or respect from you. But after 38 years, I've finally caught on to your game - better late than never! - and I'd rather char my bones to cinders in the crematorium of my own righteous fury and indignation than ever let you back in the door that I slammed in your face last April.
Dangerous | Poems that Suck
The problem with
calling yourself the
muse of a girl
with daddy issues,
and a habit of
using men's bodies
to masturbate with is
that the love may
be fabricated, and
when she's used
you up and the well
of inspiration has
run dry, you'll be
thrown away like a
shitty diaper.
Trash | Poems that Suck
Who the fuck
are you anyway,
that my blood
should turn from
rust to fire
at the mere
closeness of you?
And who the fuck
am I becoming
with the shiver
of every orgasm,
under the pressure
of your lips
on my own?
Who am I?
Because I seem
to have lost
track - seemed to
have forgotten that
I'm only a:
broken girl,
a fast girl,
a foul-mouthed girl.
Who the fuck
am I? Because
when I look
in your eye,
and see myself
reflected there,
I'm not trash
anymore.
Oh Shit | Poems that Suck
I forgot I called the
plumber because the
sinks weren't draining
properly in my house.
After a strong cup of
coffee, and about twenty
menthol cigarettes, I felt
the tell-tale rattling in
my guts that I have to
take a monstrous shit.
So I ambled to the bathroom,
produced a bowl-buster,
marveled at its length
like a proud parent, and
then - without a thought -
flushed my shit baby away.
About ten seconds later I
heard a horrified scream
from the basement, and
immediately remembered....
Oh shit. The plumber.
Pinpricks | Poems that Suck
You were drunk on fine spirits, on the precipice of belligerence, trapping me between your body and the door - its knob in my back. "What the fuck are you doing?" I asked calmly cautious, but could see that your pupils were pinpricks, even in the dim. "Tell me all about it. Every little detail. I need to know the who, what, why, how, when of that stupid video." And I realized I was being mocked; for talking too much, for needing someone to share stream of consciousness with. It confirmed what I'd suspected for so long; that I'm not human to you - just a possession that you can molest whenever you want.
Unraveled | Poems that Suck
There's a flap of flesh
along side my thumbnail.
I wonder what would happen
if I pulled at it?
I imagine it would cleave
the skin, running all the
way to the bone, like some
wayward thread.
And what would I find, there,
hidden beneath the flesh? A
lifetime of regret, lies, doubt
and self loathing.
Best to leave it alone.
Tending Bar | Poems that Suck
Don't come to me if you don't want a straight answer. Don't come to me if you want to be coddled. Don't come to me if you don't want practical advice. Don't come to me if you just want me to agree with you. Don't come to me if you can't take it raw. I'm not your fucking bartender, baby. I'm not serving you a chaser after this shit.
Silence | Poems that Suck
Maybe I don't like the silence
because it reminds me of an ex
who used to disappear for days at
a time, saying that the aliens had
abducted him.
Every time he'd reappear it was
with some new girl, hanging off his
dick - and I knew he'd slept with her
so that he'd have a place to sleep, and
food to eat.
I could never understand why
he wouldn't come to me to ask
for these things, knowing that
he'd never have to pay for them
with sex.
The last time he disappeared
for months, turning up on the
opposite coast so that he could
"make it," but came back home with
a pregnant fiancé.
A Revenge Poem in Tweets | Poems that Suck
Busted | Poems that Suck
I weave these ribbons between the hollows of my bones, sewing together the frayed flesh that you stripped bare in my pursuit of you. If I replace my heart with a Cuckoo clock, and my mind with a mocking bird, then maybe I'll sleep during these fitful nights of uncertainty.
