In 25hours

[lizrose-13]

Poem

  May I be chalk

white – colored hands – slightly closed doors

To each their own tragedy

cloaked in clocks whom

wait for Patience

Plagiarism and Unicorns

Drinking with the top on

and the tab running

600 miles

to the point where my credit card gets

declined.

Citibank will never understand what it’s like to be Hispanic,

underprivileged, under-whelmed

  Deadly sins, watch the moon bend down to stroke your goosebumps as I listen intently to your held breath. And how the confessions peak – slowly rising – shedding elephant piggy banks grazing the mountains of our stares. I indulge, allow myself the possibility of insinuations only ever holding back when I’m inches from lung capacity.

count bored tongues

lagging in small print  pools

dabbled wailing mourners

‘there is joy in feeling sad’

cut throat cut rope cut skin

exhaustion

draw the weight of a glass

throw the toxins back.

[lizrose-13]

Copious Space

  I just want to text you. I want to know what you’re thinking when the waves of your brain are breeched by new sand. I want to hear your reaction to all lights that I encounter. And I want to be surprised by the way you sit. Obsessed by you, letting a strip soak in a pool of my drip exposed my heart ache when all thoughts fail me just an expression of you as you dance in me and now I am dizzy. And now I am exhausted and now I just want to text you.

I will cry enough to fill this world on my wrist cutting my life but I won’t remove it. Send you my words in spaces where                      just doesn’t fit in any space. And now there’s more space on this 

line.

 I hate space. So much of it between us even when we try to run it out. How wrong is it to be wrong with you. I’m digging myself a hole. I will tie courage to the bottom of this blue bottle and let it tickle the words forward. Fuck you and your ‘Yw’. This is the part of the story where I hate you. Throw you out the window and wait for a knock on my door.

I need to kill all dead things that make me want to live. All unemotional things that light me on fire. I want to spend my entire life inflamed holding you while you sleep. How sick of me if in your unconsciousness is when I stroke you the hardest. Feeling this anxious the pen is slipping my watery control. I no longer have it. A button that needs to be pressed but lives in a world where nothing is touched.

[lizrose-13]

Leap.

    A cursive umbilical cord wrapped around my head

the sound of a million babies crying

just sounds not like a million babies crying.

Her mind gears heavy calories of guilt and exhaustion

All there is is a wooden desk and a lamp

cuddled next to my losses I feel his hunger

I threw him off the bed and he became my mother.

How much I weigh, my death in your hands, and when you cry I feel them above my head so I dream of drowning, how proud I am of myself for sleeping around with your success. Sometimes I try to carve my fingernails past the silver exterior but then it melts and silver spreads. I can see what lives underneath my keyboard, flat ironed my knowledge this morning, it was sticky and firm, it broke my fucking flat iron.

She’s awake beyond the spell of the bars

mirroring a beast beyond dancing comprehension

exploding innocent cups explore the insides of my couch

[lizrose-13]

your hand underneath my sweater when im not wearing a shirt.

[lizrose-13]

Spring Break

Canadian trips on the road to Philly.I'd be in that close corner thinking of bracelet bands and circled envelopes watching my girls dance on the table of trouble.Fear in the fabric for I am not the one who can save you all from winter branches.Hair parted down the middle to the left, Eliza don't lose that fur coat--the cold befriends warmth in your embrace.Red lipstick Red best friend Red love--don't drain them of blood from good intentions.Hey jeweled child run your thick soul cracked of a brilliant silk through the smoke. Espresso machines, expressive joy, exclusive voices. Anastooosia--your time will come. Breeched vinyls and raw feelings--the darkest places have the widest spaces. And mother of all things small and shameless--scream through the border and stop the heavy lifting.

[lizrose-13]

poem

[lizrose-13]

House Shows

/Arithmetic bob the strings of his echo skin. Sing security sing for me. Pressed bodies - four eyed hipsters - no hairwoma! - beautiful head on my shoulder speak what they can't hear while I sing what they don't understand. Hold a goddess in my hand, up the tempo in my liver while I sip Harder. Pleasures of performing live are being alive end it start it change the box made of light. If you write for one person the world will relate. Pearing into the darkness of a mouthpiece bearded on the third track of holding on. Basements make me seek a ciggarate to substitute the empty beer can who is full to everyone else. One step forward is one step on your own.

There is a boy in a suit in the corner behind the men in flannels. Oh why do I see him as young virtue electrified in his young dreams. I exist for his love to move the innerworks of my needle turn me on turn him up. He's sitting below us but we are all looking up I take myself more serious than I should. A boy I don't know because he doesn't know himself.

 If I stand facing the audience but I don't perform may I still be a performer. Fuck the lights are on. 'One more mate' says the blue overalled man.

 The cute boy is really a girl moving to erase his physical mysteries. Applaud to be one his jaw is outlined in her breasts.

 Jaws detaching at the sight of a sexual encounter I suppose if my phone wasn't off this poem would be on. What the fuck shouts two people with a response  of shut the fuck up by the freshman who only feels one finger in a high five. Do you have your one hitter you triple hitting slut? Disappointing from a lost drug dealer who isn't a drug dealer but buys and sells a drunk confession of false promises. Fuck you dude, don't kill my vibe. Here's a cigarette for a dollar when I reach the filter I want to see the junior in my Italian class.what do you do.who do you do and will you do me is all I actually hear. How could I quietly quiet the not drug dealer that does not swim. Steph and I sit on this couch but I don't think it's a couch. It might be layered with raunchy seamen that is touching my thigh. The fucking doorframes always jump out in my path.

[lizrose-13]

Duende.