OneMoreFreek

An Owned Thing (Is a Joyful Thing) 120318 I. To know every moment I am owned is to know I am cherished every moment. II. Completing assignments in his absence makes the distance disappear. III. I take care of his belongings better than I took care of my own self. After decades of slouching, just the thought of his proud, big-toothed grin when I fully uncurve and unstick my collapsed, cemented vertebrae reminds me to walk straight-backed —he likes to see me in good posture. IV. I am motivated to exercise—he finds muscles sexy, but that's only a fraction of my drive. The real reason is so when I flip and pin him to

Lullaby 120401 When I couldn't sleep at ages three... four... five... six... [which was every night] I'd entwine my thin bones with three teddybears' —one yellow, one pink, one brown, each easily twice my size, my family— bury my face picture myself eviscerated by big scary doctors with long coats and scalpels like broadswords, me bleeding all over the white hospital bed, no sheets, separated from all my body parts stapled up and and down that reflective Escherian hallway, trickling red runnels from doorframe to floortile until I lulled myself to sleep. When I can't sleep at age twenty-two [which is every night] I

Felting or, Small Stones Smiling 100220 The clouds felt themselves thick above me boiled-down-to-boring whitish grey as wholly expected words snow flake about my ears. Her beauty jolts me in this frozen light. I'd love to see her sweet sandeyed bleary waking next to me under a dripping London windowpane thatch-topped cob obscured by slick running raindrops or hand in swinging hand with me on a misting spring day strolling throughout the tolling Tower. On the heathered Pinnines or floating along the Cam I'd slip my fingers through bircheartwood colored hair bring her sleek-as-sin face closer --I can think of no better place

Introduction:  It has come to the author's attention that there are certain people in today's world who are unaware as how to successfully fight a war and win the support of the oppressed lower classes in one fell swoop.  This guide seeks to relieve this severe setback from modern leaders.  After all, killing people is the main perk of every Powerful Person's life.          A helpful note: useful slogans and phrases are capitalized for easier and speedier memorization.  For example: Heathen, Leaders Backed By Heaven, God Loves Us And Our Wars. Part One: Brainstorming:          Actually, this entire guide is, essentially, planning.  After

Jesus doesn't want me and I don't believe in Satan, hiding behind smeared dark eyes.  Salvation is not a nailed-up bloody man, but a pure teenage androgyne—of any and every color—shimmering quietly under the softest, angelically hued flannel and faded-to-shreds jeans.  With  delicate bones just starting to poke through the sinewy muscle and breakable skin, with the clean but matted hair that could be neglect dreads in a few years and several inches, with hitching breath like a small bird caught in the throat, Salvation would step forward.          Genderless, and at the same time brimming with The Sex, the deep colored eyes would look up at

Red-skinned Krishna hung on a wall like pictures, of a drunken honeymoon, the one where you laughed while I cried and he moaned while you sighed. Left with nothing left tangible but scattered graven images of a blood red savior. I shut my eyes and try and cry. When it's over you've brought the crimson god and the blood-blue sky down around your shoulders. These shoulders you once tried to save me with, huddled up around my body and keeping my warmth inside. The shoulders I once gripped to steady myself against the world's shaking that we had shuddered into being. These shoulders that have turned and left and walked away,

I'll play your body like you played my heart: a stringless guitar, not another heartless synth. Synthesize me false fairy tales and an unreal love story.  Storied beads strung out on the abandoned strings which you once wove around my neck: to bead a bead a person, to beat a beat a second on this thinly thumping stringless-- quivering like a twelve-stringed, three-necked who is being shaken and posed and danced by an onstage epitome of The Sex-- all this singing along invisible strings while you play the tensely coiled body: taut because the strings, abandoned around my neck, could not themselves be taut. So as the heartles

The heat is oppressive, like the way it runs down my back in trickles, streaming, a gathering just above my hips --a soured, molten molasses. The sickening sweetness melts into my clothes, sticky, and weighs down heavy. Presses down heavy, stooping my shoulders between the blades, rusted and dull. And the air is so thick with the spoiled sugar that I can barely see through it to your warmth, just above the hips. Light sweet soft heat pressing down heavy (stainless steel) sharp and gentle as a feathered, dragon-shaped knife ridged with minature blades-for-scales, a shining pyrite dusted trick breathing false flame. Cutt

I watch you sleep with the brick resting on your thin stomach, making a worrying valley between bird wing hips and Venetian blind ribs. I can see the brick sink down, almost to your stomach and can't help asking myself how the metallic cat twining its way inside of you feels. I watch you through both sleeps... (we used to stay up together, but since you started again, I'll just watch) ...the first one, the brick pins you. It is solid against your imagined weight, keeps your fragile hips from twisting --I can see your mouth gasping and I want to move the brick, but the possibility of speech in screams frightens me. You wake

This strange being walks through the abandoned streets of suburbia, walks with sky mermaid hair matching the anime raccoon eyes, matching the coal heart hiding a rainbow soul to match. Loose-hipped and tight-lipped, walking down a suburban road.              I live in a ghost town.              I walked along the empty asphalt paths              where shiny insect-backed cars              tight sealed houses              and piles of cigarette butts ten feet high              glare at me and my intrusion.              I must have shown              too much skin around my feet and too much color around my eyes,        

Tulle steam barrels up, twirling over the edge of the pot and I find myself with furrowed eyebrows: Did I put in three cups of water or four? I’m convinced four. Must have been, looks about right. Now all I need is two hard little cups of rice and one stainless cover to trap all the heat in silver skirts. Moving to the urgent hiss of rice diving into boiling water, I turn the spiral fire down; poise my fingertip over the timer and find myself with furrowed eyebrows: Was it fifteen minutes or twenty to simmer? My thoughts tripped up in twos, threes and fours, I decide I’ll just call Dad and ask. He’ll m

There's a time and a place for lovers and there you are in your place strung to me by a phone line umbilicus I left my baby - packed my trashbag trash picker luggage deliberate shirt by deliberate shirt until my acquired life was hanging from the sweating plastic handles tucked tight against my palm's life and love lines I folded myself into a car steel shell once brilliant now dull with lost cookie cut potential The miles clicked away from me and boughs of the passing trees waved me on, crying tears of red and brown leaves - blood and mud pooling in my wake The paper chains counting advent until I saw my baby were not en

Keep your fingernails clean, and keep your voice down. Don't climb the monkey bars when wearing a skirt. Keep your legs together or crossed. No daughter of mine will become a slut. "That's not very lady-like." No, I will not have a tea party with you. Take your other dolls and use your imagination. Don't try cooking without mother there to watch you. Use your KidKraft Kitchen, and just make-believe the batter. Dream of palaces and ponies, settle for a kitten and leave him INSIDE the house. It's ok to play in mother's high heels, you'll need to practice. Wear pink and pigtails and for God's sake, don't try to cut your own hair. Don't play wi

Consistently, my thoughts are gathered around coughs, slammed doors, and hidden car horns. What do they mean? I have vague memories of endless walking and blisters full of blood on my feet; I'm calling my friends 'brother' and 'sister'; I'm having a seizure fertile with meaning; I'm seeing loose theological references in my usually dry dull days, and telling everyone! "I saw my mother's eyes go black!" I have walked this damn 'U' shaped, tenth floor centre for weeks! Get me out. The puzzle of the night sky left out to be solved is unfairly missing pieces. The smoking room is the only space where outside air gets in to us;     Pige

darling, I've done you wrong. finish my sentences you kicked me like     the dog I am the joy of getting what one deserves     is seldom distributed I rejoice in your perception                         breakthrough don't let me get away with anything ever again my face is simultaneously dry and wet- stretched and crumpled- feels as though i've just been crying, am still crying, though it's been over twenty four hours since I shattered in your arms oh, reckless abandon I love your soul your face     mind hands eyes I could fall in love with just your reflection       what little justice it does you did you learn la

The fist fight folk song Broke out through out the cable car Crescendos reached with a robotic "Doors closing" announcement Like a tide we spill into the street, Angry jigs and lazy swing dances The kicking and yelling is barely heard over: "Get on the ground with your hands in the air!"

In my body's imperfections, I see experience, growth, maturity. A six-inch scar on my calf – The righteous rip of barbed wire from a childhood romp on the farm. Silvery lace lines of stretchmarks – signs of a 16 year-old ripening into the hips of a woman overnight. Crinkly crow's feet in the corners of my eyes – evidence that I have smiled and laughed at life's amusements. An extra pouch of belly – a reminder of the days my womb was swollen with new life growing inside me. These external signs are symptoms of life. The visible flaws that are simply signs of living.