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. 

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.

Muse | Poems that Suck

"I'm your muse,"
his slow smile 
met my hesitation,
exhaling a billow
of blue smoke
into the space
between us. 

"Yes," I allowed,
raking my calloused
fingers through his
soft, fine hair. 

"I like it,"
he kissed me gently
as only a shy lover could.

Do you?
I wondered if he
understood what it 
meant to be such a thing.

If he grasped how
much of my emotional
landscape is painted
in a pallet of him,

The brown of his hair,
the blue of his eyes,
passionate reds, 
bruise purples, 
and the black
of abandonment.

It's all fun
and games until
someone loses 
their heart.

Safe Harbor | Poems that Suck

You came to me,
 pockets overflowing with
   tamarind pods,
    ripe figs, 
     celery root
       and
        prickly pears,

bravely holding me 
 for thirty seconds
  "because that's how 
    long it takes for the
     endorphins to be released." 

No one's held me 
 that long before, 
  and I could've fell
   to pieces in your arms
     because you felt so safe. 

On Flesh | Poems that Suck

I want to write a poem on your body, 
scrawl all the words of my
love and passion upon your
flesh; my mouth the pen.

I promise to write slowly, 
ensure proper punctuation
and grammar, and to end with
a stroke that brings you bliss. 

Octo-Kitty | Poems that Suck

I'd joke and call you
 my octopus because you'd
  engulf me in a flurry of 
   limbs whenever I came near,
    pulling me seductively toward 
                          your mouth.

I was happy to be your
 prey, to get lost in the 
  tangle of your tentacles - another
   love blinded fool - I had no idea that
    you'd feast on my soft innards, then
                               spit out
                                the bones 
                                  when you were through.

Call me a Psychic | Poems that Suck

We'll chance upon each other, 
 some day or evening
  a long time from now. 

By then my heart will
 have scabbed over, but
  still the edges are tender. 

You'll be excited - "it's been
 so long!" - but I'll
  be full of dread, caution. 

I'll regard you coolly, just
 enough detachment to make
  you unsure, ill at ease.

I'll make some cutting remark, 
 veiled in subtlety, then
  excuse myself from your company. 

You'll mull the comment over, 
 repeating it in your
  mind, puzzling together its meaning.

And slowly, you'll reach the
 soul of it and
  know that I'm still bleeding. 

You'll watch me from across
 the room, and I'll 
  know by its focused heat,

But I'm too old and 
 too tired to play
  the games of young girls. 

You won't see me feigning
 laughter or pretending to 
  flirt with some random person.

I'll simply be me, as
  even keeled and placid
   as you knew I was. 

It will remind you of
 those quiet moments we
  shared, tangled in each other,

Doing nothing but marveling at
 the miracle of love,
  the wonder of eachother's breathing.

You'll then be in touch,
 and I'll hesitate but
  answer; no sense of preservation. 

You'll apologize for it all
 and I'll give you
  a halfhearted, watery kinda smile.

(Actions, of course, speak louder
 than words and I'm
  simply mirroring your past indifference.)

You'll realize too late, like
 they all do, that
  you made a huge mistake. 

But it'll make no difference
 to me because you
  had broken something inside me 

That day, way back, when
 I stared out of the
  window, watching a squirrel as 

You stood above me and
 recited a litany of
  why you didn't want me.

And maybe then you'll long
 for me the way
  I did those many months,

The wind blowing through the
 hollow in your chest,
  whistling past the ragged edges.

And then you'll understand, it
 dissolved that warm October
  as I sat in silence. 

You'll know it's too late
 for me, 
  for you, 
   for us. 

It's just now that you're catching up.


 

Empath’s Eye | Poems that Suck

"Look at me," he murmured.
 So I did, choosing his left
  eye over the right.

Like I knew it would, 
 the pupil dilated, blossoming
  under my steady gaze.

There's never an option,
 I'm taken hostage by eyes
  and that's why I never look, see?

Now I saw him, stripped
 bare before me, the scars
 raw on his flesh. 

Yet, he never blinked, 
 never broke contact as I
  penetrated and saw it all. 

I admired his courage -
 I could never be that vulnerable -
  but also his stupidity.

After all, he didn't know
 what kind of woman I might be
  or what I could do with his scars.

Then again... 
 maybe he just wanted
  to be seen.