Bad man
Rough hands
A beard like Santa Claus
But Santa doesn't like little girls, does he?
Not like that
Not like you
Don't look at me
don't touch me
o god no don't
please
don't stand so close
don't laugh when you do it
when you take me
drain me out
suck me dry
you can do what you want
but please
don't laugh
Sinking down
Down, down, down in that chair
Hoping maybe you won't see
That today I am a wounded deer
Wearing that shirt you like
Because you told me to
I've outgrown it
The sleeves are too short
And I have to pull it back down all day
Because it rides up the front til my baby fat shows
I hate it
And you say you love it
So I hate it more
I was twelve years old.
I was twelve.
I was only twelve you sick fuck!
Not old enough to know why
But I was old enough to understand
That you were bad, bad, bad
And yeah
I was old enough to know it was wrong
You were wrong
Books clutched to my chest, but you stared right through
Bad man, bad, bad
No mister
That's not allowed
Science and math are the only things
that you're allowed to teach me
Don't look at me again
don't touch me again
i won't be your nymphet today
hop hop lenore
off to class
you're the reason I hate being touched now
I was helpless then
But now
I'll never be yours
Thursday, April 19, 2012
The Coolest Ginger I Know, revised
Ray-Chow
Rachel
Rachie
Ray
She's the one who helps me
To keep those feelings thin and shallow
Whenever those people (what are they called? Mom and Dad?)
Are gone,
again,
and again,
and again.
I should be angry, but I'm not.
I can't be Because there's sugared dough on my nose
And sugared music in my ears.
I should be lonely, but I'm not
Never, never with her Because she's dancing like some drunken fairy,
A mixing spoon her wand that wipes away the emptiness.
I'm laughing because I love this so much more
Than being with them; vacant, cold beings with me
Who light up the minute they can go away
And forget that they have children.
I love her more.
Okay, maybe not,
But I respect her more.
My best friend.
My mentor.
My substitute mother.
My sister. Freckled, laughing, keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
They're on some island somewhere, tanning aging skin
And tipping back happy juice
Looking for the light they lost.
We're at home,
In a kitchen in Minnesota,
Soaking up all the light in the world.
Rachel
Rachie
Ray
She's the one who helps me
To keep those feelings thin and shallow
Whenever those people (what are they called? Mom and Dad?)
Are gone,
again,
and again,
and again.
I should be angry, but I'm not.
I can't be Because there's sugared dough on my nose
And sugared music in my ears.
I should be lonely, but I'm not
Never, never with her Because she's dancing like some drunken fairy,
A mixing spoon her wand that wipes away the emptiness.
I'm laughing because I love this so much more
Than being with them; vacant, cold beings with me
Who light up the minute they can go away
And forget that they have children.
I love her more.
Okay, maybe not,
But I respect her more.
My best friend.
My mentor.
My substitute mother.
My sister. Freckled, laughing, keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
They're on some island somewhere, tanning aging skin
And tipping back happy juice
Looking for the light they lost.
We're at home,
In a kitchen in Minnesota,
Soaking up all the light in the world.
Monday, April 16, 2012
The Coolest Ginger I Know
Ray-Chow.
Rachel.
Rachie.
Ray.
She's the one who helps me
To keep those feelings thin and shallow
Whenever those people (what are they called? Mom and Dad?)
Are gone,
again,
and again,
and again.
I should be angry, but I'm not
Because there's sugared dough on my nose
And sugared music in my ears.
I should be lonely, but I'm not
Because she's dancing like some drunken fairy,
A mixing spoon her wand that wipes away the emptiness.
I'm laughing because I love this so much more
Than being with them; vacant, cold beings with me
Who light up the minute they can go away
And forget that they have children.
I love her, my sister,
My substitute mother,
Freckled, laughing, keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
They're on some island somewhere, tanning aging skin
And tipping back happy juice
Looking for the light they lost.
We're at home,
In a kitchen in Minnesota,
Soaking up all the light in the world.
Rachel.
Rachie.
Ray.
She's the one who helps me
To keep those feelings thin and shallow
Whenever those people (what are they called? Mom and Dad?)
Are gone,
again,
and again,
and again.
I should be angry, but I'm not
Because there's sugared dough on my nose
And sugared music in my ears.
I should be lonely, but I'm not
Because she's dancing like some drunken fairy,
A mixing spoon her wand that wipes away the emptiness.
I'm laughing because I love this so much more
Than being with them; vacant, cold beings with me
Who light up the minute they can go away
And forget that they have children.
I love her, my sister,
My substitute mother,
Freckled, laughing, keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
They're on some island somewhere, tanning aging skin
And tipping back happy juice
Looking for the light they lost.
We're at home,
In a kitchen in Minnesota,
Soaking up all the light in the world.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Cliche' Love Poem, Revised
ORIGINAL
There is a boy
with eyes as blue as the sky
And I think of him in the dead of night
His image brings a flood of tears
I love him to infinity and beyond.
He keeps me up all night
Tossing and turning like the sea
And even when I sleep
My dreams whisper his name like the whispering wind.
Alas, he doesn't bat an eye
At my attempts to bear my soul to him
He loves another girl
With hair of gold and eyes like the sea
But I love him like a love song,
and he's the one that I want,
I would die 4 him,
Cuz' baby he's a firework.
REVISED
There is a boy,
With eyes bluer than a hobo's fingers on a cold January morning
He joins my throbbing brain after the house has gone still.
The mere sight of his holy frame makes my tears run faster than a walrus runs to water after his tusks catch fire
I love him like hipsters love tumblr.
He keeps me awake till my eyes are coated in crusty eye goo
Flailing in my bed like a victim of epilepsy
And even if I'm given the gift of sleep,
My dreams repeat his name until it sounds weird and foreign.
But he looks at me as if I am a braces band on the floor of a middle school.
He loves a girl with hair the hue of a taxicab, and windex eyes.
But I love him so much that I pee a little bit when I see him out of sheer excitement.
I want him so much I could make a career out of it.
I would literally eat anything he told me to on a casual dare.
He's a sparkly photon torpedo.
There is a boy
with eyes as blue as the sky
And I think of him in the dead of night
His image brings a flood of tears
I love him to infinity and beyond.
He keeps me up all night
Tossing and turning like the sea
And even when I sleep
My dreams whisper his name like the whispering wind.
Alas, he doesn't bat an eye
At my attempts to bear my soul to him
He loves another girl
With hair of gold and eyes like the sea
But I love him like a love song,
and he's the one that I want,
I would die 4 him,
Cuz' baby he's a firework.
REVISED
There is a boy,
With eyes bluer than a hobo's fingers on a cold January morning
He joins my throbbing brain after the house has gone still.
The mere sight of his holy frame makes my tears run faster than a walrus runs to water after his tusks catch fire
I love him like hipsters love tumblr.
He keeps me awake till my eyes are coated in crusty eye goo
Flailing in my bed like a victim of epilepsy
And even if I'm given the gift of sleep,
My dreams repeat his name until it sounds weird and foreign.
But he looks at me as if I am a braces band on the floor of a middle school.
He loves a girl with hair the hue of a taxicab, and windex eyes.
But I love him so much that I pee a little bit when I see him out of sheer excitement.
I want him so much I could make a career out of it.
I would literally eat anything he told me to on a casual dare.
He's a sparkly photon torpedo.
Cliche' Love Poem
Cliche' Love Poem
There is a boy
with eyes as blue as the sky
And I think of him in the dead of night
His image brings a flood of tears
I love him to infinity and beyond.
He keeps me up all night
Tossing and turning like the sea
And even when I sleep
My dreams whisper his name like the whispering wind.
Alas, he doesn't bat an eye
At my attempts to bear my soul to him
He loves another girl
With hair of gold and eyes like the sea
But I love him like a love song,
and he's the one that I want,
I would die 4 him,
Cuz' baby he's a firework.
There is a boy
with eyes as blue as the sky
And I think of him in the dead of night
His image brings a flood of tears
I love him to infinity and beyond.
He keeps me up all night
Tossing and turning like the sea
And even when I sleep
My dreams whisper his name like the whispering wind.
Alas, he doesn't bat an eye
At my attempts to bear my soul to him
He loves another girl
With hair of gold and eyes like the sea
But I love him like a love song,
and he's the one that I want,
I would die 4 him,
Cuz' baby he's a firework.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
My Comfort Book
So, a lot of things have been going on right now. If you add homework plus stressing about finals plus rehearsals for The Producers PLUS my older sister repeatedly injuring her mouth to the point where she's made several trips to the hospital and has an unchanging duck face, that's not a lot of time left for reading. But I have been reading, like the good, studious girl I am. It's just not really up to my normal standards.
Ella Enchanted has always been my comfort object. Whenever I've been sad or stressed or just too exhausted to do anything else, I pick up my paperback which I stole from a lending library and start to read. It's seriously the best book for a rainy day. It's got all the elements: love, adventure, magic, honest-to-God hilarity and unfailing sarcasm. Ella, the main character, is alarmingly relatable, right down to her own internal monologue. I've read this book upwards of ten times and will continue to do so for probably my entire life. It reminds me that happy endings are difficult, but not impossible to achieve. That humor can solve virtually any situation. And that the perfect man has freckles and gives you baby centaurs for a present. I've noticed it's kind of a thing with me that the more I fall in love with the hero of a book, the more I end up enjoying it as a whole.
I would suggest this book from anyone ages 6 to 7000. Because if anyone ever lives to be 7000 years old, the best thing they could do with their time is read a children's book.
Ella Enchanted has always been my comfort object. Whenever I've been sad or stressed or just too exhausted to do anything else, I pick up my paperback which I stole from a lending library and start to read. It's seriously the best book for a rainy day. It's got all the elements: love, adventure, magic, honest-to-God hilarity and unfailing sarcasm. Ella, the main character, is alarmingly relatable, right down to her own internal monologue. I've read this book upwards of ten times and will continue to do so for probably my entire life. It reminds me that happy endings are difficult, but not impossible to achieve. That humor can solve virtually any situation. And that the perfect man has freckles and gives you baby centaurs for a present. I've noticed it's kind of a thing with me that the more I fall in love with the hero of a book, the more I end up enjoying it as a whole.
I would suggest this book from anyone ages 6 to 7000. Because if anyone ever lives to be 7000 years old, the best thing they could do with their time is read a children's book.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Sham of a Post
So, I started reading this book called Nine Stories, which is nine short stories by J.D Salinger, and I'm liking it so far. I read a bit of Franny and Zooey and didn't like it, so I had sworn off of any Salinger except for Catcher in the Rye. But this book is good. I've only read the first story, and it's about a severely depressed man who kills himself after he is rejected by a little girl who he tries to reach out to. It was pretty tragic, but I enjoyed the way it was written and the way the characters came off. It was sort of sweet, even though he killed himself in the end.
The thing is, guys, I'm really not in the mood to write tonight. I haven't been reading much because of rehearsals and homework get in the way, besides my rereading of Lolita (76% finished!!!) and that book by the Broadway station DJ, which was not mentally stimulating or worth a discussion. Basically, some gay guys hooked up and then put on a Broadway show. So I haven't got much to talk about. I feel really inadequate just posting this...but...I will. Here's a present.
The thing is, guys, I'm really not in the mood to write tonight. I haven't been reading much because of rehearsals and homework get in the way, besides my rereading of Lolita (76% finished!!!) and that book by the Broadway station DJ, which was not mentally stimulating or worth a discussion. Basically, some gay guys hooked up and then put on a Broadway show. So I haven't got much to talk about. I feel really inadequate just posting this...but...I will. Here's a present.
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| Look at him. Look at that. He's just so beautiful I can't even stand it. |
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