Cutie Queen Poems

[cutiequeenpoems]

to work through your past loves

perhaps complexity  invites complexity. all I know is,  there are at least 10 of you I think that my mind in someway  braces itself for the thought of for the deficiencies a nervous laugh to make up for my drawbacks nights spent in dim lighting with pipes  to relocate the soreness, overly romanticizing. I think I may have loved you  for all the self righteous bad mouthing after the Mike’s and pulling over the covers to forget the lack of us I was just dealing with a lot, I try to explain unsure of where to place  all that shame I shall write a poem for each of you since it’s just me in my room since I am still tender  seeing all of you in the trees car street bed the bed I explored the crevices of  Us in I am no longer in so I shall put all of  you in a poem perhaps it will be a bit more roomy and comfortable than the bed frame and the shapes we made.

[cutiequeenpoems]

this poem is a secret

I am confused

How could I ever love someone like you with my head in two different towns with my head in two different men my body like a secret each keeps there are no secrets just different places just different types of kisses just different levels of awakeness and sobriety without alcohol the way bodies fit together like nesting dolls;

But also the way your mind is the puzzle piece I saw everyone else fitting perfectly together in the frame; you and I we do not experience this the same way as other people. You could be my puzzle piece. I had been trying to make myself yours the thing that fills you up until you could nearly burst

Whose piece am I

now the puzzling question becomes how the fuck did I get here? how the fuck did I love you but how the fuck did this happen

I mean

I loved you

I mean

I told you that

I mean

I know I felt it

I mean people do bad things sometimes

Horrible, horrible things

Like living in two separate states two separate stories

You wouldn’t get it until you’ve done it until you’ve really done it until you looked down at the lack of blood on your hands and still thought “How could I have done this? I could kill you with this secret.”

[cutiequeenpoems]

Losing Yourself, Summer

July is cool humming refrigerators Blankets left on bellies past 9. A cool breeze flitting through the window The fanblades have no meaning. We have no meaning. The couch is only meaning. I can’t tell if you’re well meaning. You made a fire and looked at the TV And the islands inside of islands inside Of islands Just keep expanding a neverending island black hole With you and I Us and them A population of 6000 A town limit of 55 miles Islands sinking in islands The only direction to go is down or up.

[cutiequeenpoems]

did you close your eyes

I wonder if you’ve ever wished for me the outline of your desire sinking  into my imagined skin do you remember it as soft did you assume it would take the shape that fits your hands best at 12:00 am did you ever just sigh the smallest “fuck” and ask for my hands? to compliment you as you roll back into bed  and i say, babe you’re trying so hard did you wish for my lips cracked, my little pinky toe bent some other part of me, what intention where do you lie on the bed, next to me where do you lie through your teeth, from your chewed fingernails  where do we lie when it is 12:00 am do you whisper “fuck” with a small breath click your tongue and say baby where are you

[cutiequeenpoems]

concept

The pool is cerulean turquoise,  and I am pink. My body smells like perfume but the kind that doesn’t cloy,  sticking to your throat with the brewing of sickness at the back. No. I am fresh and very clean,  like I couldn’t be from ages 12 through 17. That pool is shaped like a perfect heart,  the tile barely chipping, only at it’s harshest point. I am sipping champagne,  if I knew what good champagne tasted like, or maybe a Shirley Temple, anything with grenadine, and he’s there, very happy, constantly asking for a kiss to hold something to taste the strawberries-- did I mention the strawberries?-- are bursting. The scented candles actually add something. I forget about how my thighs move and the curve of belly. I have never felt so brazen.

[cutiequeenpoems]

or, lack thereof

I never meant to get hurt Maybe I did The way you wrap your arms and tongue around other girls waists The girls that don’t care as much

What is the overwhelming takeaway from us? 2 stuffed animals, 10 photos, a record, a cd, a journal, a drawing, 4 notes, 2 small letters, your hoodie is still next to me and I’ve had it for 3 months

I just want to be let in Please let me in Take the tongue you use for those girls, take your hoodie from my sheets Entangle me in it Entangle me Break me into a sorry Break me into the last time you cried alone Tell me why Tell me I matter I want the sum I want your side I want to hear what you thought on our first date And the first time you fondled all those conspicuous parts of me I want you to remember it When you gave me that hoodie That stuffed animal When I got sad When I asked you please saying I feel bad oh oh please

[cutiequeenpoems]

trying to find the ghost

I’d love to know there was something to protect us an amulet or credible magic; instead we are under this frost bitten blanket and I am always wishing for summer Warm winds and open screened windows and moonshadows  If we could sleep with the fans on, again We could wake up full without crumbs our bellies empty, but us awake and breathing

[cutiequeenpoems]

i’m selfish and you’re not lonely

It smells like Paco Rabanne and something sharp Window cleaner, maybe The cheerleaders left the side door, bumping some type of song as they came out with their legs shiny and bare and it’s 40 degrees I’ll never stop Replaying things you’ve said to other girls Things you say I want to write you a goodbye note Either to make you finally cry Or to absolve me of possibly hurting you Ever

[cutiequeenpoems]

1am

after thinking about things tonight honestly i just want to apologize and then have him come over and i cry against the fabric of his hoodie and sometimes he holds me very very tight if the crying gets louder

[cutiequeenpoems]

i make the same mistakes every year

Thanks, it’d be really great if you could no longer fragment me into pieces They’re starting to show up in my floorboard cracks and it’s getting rather embarrassing I should have known

This is exactly what happened last time and the scrubbing was so long, so tedious

[cutiequeenpoems]

you can’t get stronger if you don’t have weights

I wish I could be one of those admirable women who say fuck you to men that make them feel dirty and easily breakable because they frosted themselves quickly into steel that would be difficult to fragment in any fashion; you read their poems about cigarettes and ridiculous, foolish, lovesick boys and you swear off love because It Is A Trap, you realize. That’s how they get you. You want to be free and love only other girls and smoke those fucking cigarettes. I want to be them. They help the young but only if they’ll help themselves. They say ‘no’ more than they blink. It’s blindingly gorgeous, too. But I was born with everything breakable everything a hurricane everything leading to irreparable bleeding If I found him kissing someone else I couldn’t make a fist I’d start hearing my own heartbeat probably collapse I make myself into this disgusting frailty  I wish I could push it off a cliff, my puffy eyes and my fetus position when everyone else is lined with musculature and I’m shaking at ideas I want to be admirable, too

[cutiequeenpoems]

The Month of Regretful Chasing

It’s kind of funny how I almost kissed you in August, on the fucking Paratrooper of all places, riding on the smoothness of the day and my disgusting loneliness,  and now we have never talked about it we didn’t even talk about it on that date that made me walk to the shop with the little perfumes and try to forget, It took you a couple months to even start looking at me again without darting your eyes away and a cracking chuckle from your throat  Still to this day every joke has some kind of reluctance,  some bloated, swollen left overs I regret each time What can I say I was 16 and you are very sweet during that brief few weeks our maturity intersected  My loneliness was prickling and somehow you melted it I like you a lot, but not in that way I’m good at making stories Oh god, that’s it I’m great at making stories histories and glances that never existed and you decided you wanted to write even a sentence which made me fall hard for that 

single month.

[cutiequeenpoems]

i wish i could make a movie and you’d be the only one i’d put in it

we were laying on my wool coat at 10 pm in a soggy field somewhere where it’s cold and we’re not supposed to be out and the stars liked giving us a tiny oh wow look at those with their planned suddenness, and here we are laughing and ranting and talking about how this is an indie movie my god because we are so mad but desperately in love with a girl, and a boy, and the people we want to think we’re cool, and each other, and our hurt, and our happy, and i think you look so beautiful in this light, and it’s basically completely dark, because you look beautiful in every light, and we all don’t deserve you, you fall in love so easily and it’s beautiful, you’re so scared to open up because her and them but you deserve to scream at all of us sometime because we’re all just assholes and you’ve got something we don’t, you survive with something we don’t your heart is sobbing and breaking and always mending with tape and band-aids and stickers and your own fingers holding the stunning bloody mess together and ours aren’t doing that but here you are oh my god honestly who the fuck else could i tell all my secrets to and lie in a field with at 10 pm after you just stepped in a puddle because i couldn’t pronounce my warnings correctly  and still feel like we are good things that were meant to exist?

[cutiequeenpoems]

you’re cute but i’m too attached

I woke up this morning with you being the terrible taste at the end of my tongue, but I admired my body in the mirror. The paleness. This new flatness, accented by my own hope of a curvature.  I envisioned if other people would want me in this neon yellow sweater with holes strewn in the strangest places, if you are the only one. You haven’t even seen me in this sweater. I’m trying to keep the distance, trying to train myself to stop seeing you in grey hoodies and text messages and my own mouth but the difficulty lies  in not bending backwards.

[cutiequeenpoems]

one or the other

could you imagine sliding to your death in an ice tunnel  somewhere in alaska? life is so beautiful even when its fathoms are deeper than we expected and hurt like digging nails out of the boards that shut us there. just sliding,  and sliding and eventually you forget about the little flakes on your eyelids and instead,  remember how you held hands even once, and your mother liked to say goodnight 3, 4 times an evening.  all the blue would become black.  you think about the bruises you endured in summers, and every image is a harmony korine movie without a horrible ending and you just slide, and slide, and slide until you give out or the tunnel does one or the other, these things are planned.

[cutiequeenpoems]

coping II

When I am feeling particularly cocky, A vanity that comes with channeling some 34-year-old with long red nails, martinis and a Cosmo subscription, I wonder if you realize I’m quite a catch. I’m a bit out of your league, if we want honesty, like we promised in the beginning  and for the number of times you’ve cancelled our plans,  I have never gotten monumentally angry, just colossally depressed This doesn’t make me any better, just showcases my own self disgust, my own conceptual confusion pleasantly  and then this is when the cockiness comes in. It is not vulgar. A tiny bit ecstatic to realize its own worth. Walking feebly. This is when I persuade myself I do not need you. I could have anyone. I am free and solitary and can do as I please. If I am not a necessity, you are not an obligation. Then I laugh  until I am forced to catch my breath.

[cutiequeenpoems]

i think he was a little uncomfortable tonight when i told him i loved him. but this was nothing except letting him know he is something really cool, i love you is not chained to a lover’s ear or a broken heart. i told a girl i had met 2 hours previously and hung-out with for MAYBE 30 minutes those words as she walked away and i have maybe told them to every good person i met who’s face i knew would not harden. to only maybe two boys (family excluded) though, because suddenly then it becomes billowly curtains on writhing bodies or hallway whispered crushes; no. this is not what i mean. do not confuse the fact you stayed with me tonight until my mom picked me up for a wedding ring. it is just a thank you, a tumbleweed that blows out of my lips like champagne on new year’s eve. i know these 3 words like i mothered them. taught them how to sound out the ‘o’ and set them on their legs while they fumbled towards me. i say them to my parents maybe 9 times before i go to sleep each night, i say them to the girl i just met a the fair who’s giggles and quiet mouth are so anxious with needing them i say them to anyone with nice hair who waited for 40 minutes with me until my mom picked me up even when their friend was from cali was up and they wanted to be at his house— i just want those tiny fingers to reach out, grasp yours, find something more tangible than a thank you note. even if your eyes seem to dart to the concrete and i still have not heard them back remember love letters can be written to more than high school crushes and 3 words that are so simple in their rounded complexity that you don’t really see the movies never did any harm.

“i love you doesn’t own too many claws or teeth” by cutiequeenpoems