Mother/Daughter

Almost forgot to post a story tonight! Imagine that: one day into the streak and I fuck it up. Not this time, though!

This story, again, comes from class. Here, we were given a photocopied page of a weird book about songs people used to sing while working around the house. The first section of this story is an exact quote. The next two build off it. 

Mother/Daughter

“I will sweep the floor,

Make it very clean;

Sweep behind the door

Till not a speck is seen.”

Mother

No one told me

That being a mother

Would involve turning my child

Into a slave, or singing stupid

Songs from from a stupid book,

But then again,

At least the floor is clean.

Daughter

She said her mother sang these songs

While they used to clean

The dirty floors. “It was my only lasting

Memory of her,”

She said.

Where do they come up with this?

I’d rather cry alone upstairs,

Or sleep on the filthy floor,

Than sing another stupid line. 

Prose Poem

I hate prose poetry, but maybe I like this? I had to write one for a tiny text class and came up with this in a fit of writer’s block. To get out of it, I decided to just write how I felt about the genre, or lack of genre(?), instead. So tell me: Do I like this?

Prose Poem

I don’t know whether or not a prose poem needs to look more like prose and sound like a poem or look like a poem and sound like prose, or if there’s a difference between the two. And what’s the difference between prose poems and free-verse poems? Whitman, who some say is the founder of free-verse, but before anyone else knew what to call his work, would write lines that went on and on that took up two lines, a concept that still doesn’t make much sense to me. Were the original editions these giant books where one line could be one line or were they the standard size we see today? And what’s the meaning behind one line that takes up two lines or one long line if, at the end of the day, we know that it’s all supposed to be one line? Could it just be two lines? What does that change, and how? The fact that there are no rules makes me want to say this is dumb. I feel dumb writing this, but there’s something pleasant about just writing, eliminating genre. I feel a flow, but it could just be bullshit. Should I indent this, or include a title? What if I don’t?

The Suburbs

Sorry for the delay! Trying to play catch up on all my school assignments. This is a poem that’s going to be workshopped on Monday. The class is so tough. Everyone is really talented. I feel like I’m constantly playing catch up just to get to their level. Anyways, here’s my attempt. Enjoy!

The Suburbs

Mario’s Pizzeria on a busy corner of the long
stretch of Broadway—where cars fly up and
down, weaving in and out, back
and forth between bagel shops, 7-Elevens,
CVS’s, Home Depots, Ralph’s Italian Ices,
Rita’s Italian Ices, another Mario’s half
a mile down (have you tried the clam sauce?
The red sauce. Buy a bottle of Blackstone),
Carvel, All American, Vote for Trump
on the back of pickups that serve no purpose—

Welcomes the same people who’ve been
coming since the joint opened, ordering
the same watered down red sauce (not
gravy) that their grandmothers from Italy
would roll in their graves over.
Their watered down sauce pairs well
with their watered down lives, afraid
of Black Lives Matter, afraid of
clowns, Hispanics, the city, their pasts,
Hillary—“Lock her up,” they all yell!
They’re all informed, they’ve faced
hardships, Depression babies, who remember
the cold nights in Manhattan with no
heat and little food. Money hidden
throughout the apartment—just in case.
Under the pillow, a loaded gun, safety
off, just in case.

As they leave well into the night, the
moon bright, blindly pulling off the curb
not a care in the world, they drive
home, slow and steady, rinse and repeat
another day, exactly the same,
watered down sauce,
in an aluminum tray in the back seat
permeating the car, and their clothes,
and their fridge, and their skin.

International Day of Peace

The streak continues! This time I have a poem that I wrote on the International Day of Peace. Yes, the title is ironic. I got mixed reactions in my poetry workshop but I like how it sounds so I’m posting it anyways. Hope you enjoy too. I’ll have another lined up for tomorrow too.

International Day of Peace

A young man, tall and thin
sits in front of the television.
Day after day, night after night
he wonders can he do anything right?
Can he walk out his door and
get to work, get paid, put it away?
Without getting put away?

He heard them say
“He looks like a bad dude,”
but it was just a breakdown–
quick run to the store, out of food.
Next thing, they scream “Get down!”
His hands go up, he gives up,
he does what he’s told, a heart of gold,
his goal’s to grow old
and give his kids the chance
to truly live.

But they take it away with the
pull of a trigger, everything to lose
is lost, a victim of abuse
from the system that continues
to refuse their right
to live like everyone else.
A bit of wealth is all he needs,
but even then, he sees himself
on his knees as he pleads
to live another day.
He’d go to jail and make bail with
his family behind him, thankful
He’s not six feet under,
No thunder from the roar of a gun.

His work’s just begun.
Back to the streets, back where
they want us, where we’re born
and raised. Where we’ll make our stand,
where I make my stand
against the system that allows
terrorists to live, rapists to walk free.
In the land of the free–
Is there room for me?

Another

Woah, actually posting on here. Summer’s still insane, but my classes are finally over. I’m taking all writing classes in the fall so I have a feeling that I’ll actually be posting very frequently on here. Class starts the 29th so keep an eye out! 

I wrote this long, long poem a little while ago and read it at an open mic! I’ve never written anything like this before so I was nervous going up, but I read it well and received a nice applause and an awkward compliment while taking a piss afterwards. The way this copied and pasted from word is not how I wrote it. The lines themselves are long and Whitman-esque. But I like how it looks broken up. I don’t think it will change the meaning behind the poem. I’d fix it myself but I’m writing this on my phone and the app is too confusing to figure out.  Enough of me, enjoy.

Another

I wake up hung over, brain a mess, the smell of booze, slept through the third snooze, the world’s a mess, head’s pounding, never endingIt’s a cool day, a cloudy summer morning, rain last night, my eyes hang low in their sockets, another rain soon to come, another storm, another drink, another this and another that

The tv’s on and distracted by distracted people reporting on distractions, interpreting their distractions as right, even though they’re all wrong, everyone’s wrong, everything’s wrong,

everything’s wrong.

The tv’s on and people yell back and forth telling each other that everything’s wrong and nothing’s wrong, and we need change and things need to stay the same

The tv’s on and people try to please everyone but the public personifies the outrage and hatred drowning out the peace, blaming those that simply want to live, but what choice do they have?

As the day goes on, as the days go on, the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Another shooting, another cop dead, another life lost over a tail light, over a wallet, over a pack of cigars—another life lost.

Lost in the heat of the summer out in Dallas a small group of armed men, well aware of their (not) god-given right to own killing machines use them back and everyone’s shocked and no one’s shocked because everyone’s sure the world as we know it is coming to an end.

Sirens blare and guns are drawn and cops from all directions crowd the streets and the crowds protesting in the streets run for their lives while the brave run towards the trouble knowing they’re the targets, that the table’s turned

But an eye for an eye makes the world go blind, it’s easy to say online that what’s being done isn’t right and anything and everything should be done to put an end to the violence

But violence is what this country wants, emotions are what we run on, money—behind everything—the ultimate goal

The past generations in charge of creating chaos between the classes can’t come together for one second to choose the path for our country’s fate

Promoting hate to fill their wallets, two candidates no one wants have been chosen by no name delegates to represent beliefs forced upon us, tricking us into thinking our voice matters, our vote matters, our opinions matter

Black Lives Matter and Blue Lives Matter leaves us black and blue, busting skulls and breaking bones as bullets pierce both side’s flesh

And so many people think choosing a side is the only way to solve the problem, but all it does is make it worse

You see on social media, mainstream media, everyone has an opinion, and everyone thinks they’re entitled to share it, everyone thinks everyone wants to hear what they say, but every day there’s another issue that requires another stance and another tweet and another facebook post and another interview and another article and another protest and another this and another that, another mass shooting takes place, another innocent life lost, another argument, another arrest, there’s no rest to the rage building between us

Only when the tv’s off, and the computer’s shut down, can you finally drown the noise in peace.

Did you hear about—no. What’s your take on—no. Do you think he—no.

Tired of the useless, hate-filled excuses to keep hating each other, distracting us all from all the good in our lives, catering to those that can’t keep up with the changing times of acceptance of one another

No longer does it matter that you’re gay, straight, a muslim, a jew, a Christian, a man, a woman, all of the above, none of the above, because up above, who cares whether he’s watching or not, if he’s there or not, because you’ll never know, he even says so

So what should you do? Take a break, look back and reflect, treat others the way you want to be treated, think of every cliché you’ve ever seen on facebook and twitter and tumblr and apply the truths behind them

Accept the fact that you don’t know everything and you’ll never know everything,

not in Chicago, not in Cleveland, not in Baltimore, not in Florida, not in California, not in Texas, not in New Orleans, not even in New York

You can’t be anything and everything all at once, despite what mommy and daddy tell you as they hand over the keys to your brand new BMW

Anyone in a five bedroom beach house with five cars in the driveway who never had to work, who were fed with the silver spoon, who didn’t earn everything the hard and honest way, who were never laid off, who never had to worry about how they’ll pay their loans and bills, will never understand what it’s like knowing it can all be taken away in the blink of an eye, the slap of handcuffs, the pull of a trigger,

If you’ve only been to Times Square, if you’ve never been on the subway, if you can’t decide between bottomless mimosas or bottomless bloody mary’s, if you’ve ever said to yourself, “We need to make America great again,”

You’re a part of the problem, you’re missing out on the endless opportunities this beautiful country contains within our wall-less borders,

Each and every individual has something to teach us if we’re ready and willing to hear them out, so don’t drown it out, draw it in, and don’t become pray to the politicians who promote their personal agendas over the people’s

Be the change you want to see, unless you believe the cost is another man’s or woman’s peace of mind, come to peace with yourself before you force yourself down someone else’s throat

The last thing I need is you screaming at me when my head feels like it’s splitting in two,

so let me just close my eyes.

One Moment

A little girly, but I’ve been coming up with a lot of nice lines to work with lately. My original intent was to somehow put them into a story, but I think they fit better like this. You be the judge. Enjoy.

One Moment

One moment, a smile, is all I need
to run away with you for a lifetime.
As the sun hangs on by a thread in the sky
hitting the snow covered evergreens,
as the setting sun reflects on the pond,
as deer poke their heads through the tall, dead grasses,
and coyotes and owls howl in the distance;
as the purple, industrial night sky sits
on top of the orange street lights,
a commercialized sunset,
a lonely star emerges next to the moon.
As I look out my window, and look back at you,
and the different shades of blue in the ocean,
seals playing in the freezing water, seagulls
scavenging the shores and piers for food,
I float through the thoughts in my mind:
your hand in mine, and a smile
that every girl hopes to smile, laughing
a laugh that can only come from the one she loves.

Late Night Thoughts

Couldn’t sleep. Had too much on my mind. I’m feeling slightly sad, but not in a depressed way. Just random thoughts that sometimes sneak through when I can’t sleep. Out of nowhere I had an urge to write so I did. I should probably edit it before posting but I’m lazy. It is, after all, 2am. Forgive me, and enjoy.
Improbable, unstoppable

Can’t help but think of you

Thought we were through.

A familiar face, or so I thought

Blocked by your back, 

Suddenly distraught, 

disgusted with myself

I let you go, I didn’t know.

I didn’t think, gone in a blink.

Can’t say hi, not worth the pain,

It’s all I feel, it’s all surreal.

I hear your laugh, see your smile,

feel your hands in mine,

and taste your lips like wine.

It always ends up being someone else, 

but in my heart I picture us.