[erratik-behaviour-deactivated20]

[tenderlysharp]

sasha kurmaz

[tricanabelachild]

BAD DAY

On a bad day I’m making out with a beautiful woman when she tells me she has herpes in her armpits and has to stop like what the fuck did you think I was going to do to your armpits? Then I wake up and walk to work watching cookie crumbs dwindle on the sidewalk and compare the percentage of last year’s profits to the rate at which I’m descending into loneliness. contrast her dewey sweet scent in dark spring time to the internet freak who died of natural causes.

[tricanabelachild]

IN TIMES OF TROUBLE WEAR SPARKLY TIGHTS FOR DISTRACTION

I woke up with my dad standing over me. In haphazard sparkly silver and a collared button down duo with vibrator ready in hand. He wore his pajamas because it was the middle of the night and laughed at my strangeness claiming he didn’t understand why I was this way. I tried explaining a rare obsession with the way sunlight casts a shadow during my teenage years but cried silently from the embarrassment instead. Later I saw a therapist, but she was late and a married couple who couldn’t figure out the delicate balance between truth and reality between her pop star fantasies and his inflated ego waited after me. I told them she's not here They sat comfortably on her couch feeding her bird a salad and listening to Michael Jackson while a nice lady hung up her laundry across the hall. Pinning her own intimates on the line. I said I was going to bed they thanked me for the advice, and handed over another pair of silk stockings.

[tricanabelachild]

First Snow [You Don't Belong]

I never did believe in resolutions so I make them knowing full well what they’re worth

as empty as a promise almost, of true love but with a higher chance of success over failure

that is, if you don’t count yourself against me or,    but I can only speak for myself and  

you were on my mind last night  while the first snow fell you came drifting down to place yesterday’s remnants

in a poem, where they don’t belong any more than your gay uncle in a loveless marriage to his wife that was us then, sitting    at his dinner table 

despite our careless hearts, already broken

by this point, and sneaking off to drink wine and kiss where I read my French novel, so in love with you 

I can only wonder was it real, or what changed since you’ve been away, and if it even snows there.   

[tricanabelachild]

Un(un)real

I tried praying for you once

not to you for you

I prayed to God I said

God, I know you are not there

godsend him my love

(but by not being)

there you are loving me

I prayed to God I said

God, I know you were not here

before then he left

for godsake you’ve gone

once and I’m done trying to pray

[renemagritte-art]

The light of coincidence (1933)

Rene Magritte

[tricanabelachild]

Madeline says

I'm very pretty and mysterious but Madeline says I'm not ready to love her though how would she know?

[tricanabelachild]

Must have

He must have been a nasty, pretty child because

I have bite marks on my nipples and a torn t-shirt on the floor

having my clothes ripped off was a first though last night was nothing special

I must have been dreaming when the master of erotic despair

had started singing I remember you well

he has teardrops on his pillow and my body on the side

[flirtingwithdanger]

Olympia x Édouard Manet (1863)

[tricanabelachild]

Dream last night

Dream last night I wore pointe shoes and tights again

Seen in a room sized mirror and I danced again

She was tall and slender feared like a redwood

Do it like this she said

All the girls lined up in the studio in the hallways in the stairwells

Do it for miles she said

All the girl’s ballet steps on the road on the sidewalk on the grass

Do it until it’s right.

They waved at each other smiling, moving their arms around

in confusion I didn’t know who it was or when I knew to

keep dancing she said

[tricanabelachild]

All hang out

Keep your nice clean panties to yourself I'm going to let it all hang out

[tricanabelachild]

My love come

I am ready, my love come rising with the sun and I will kiss your forehead over morning coffee

emerge from slumber

I am waiting, my love come running in the street and I will call you soft blue, early with December

snowfall in lamplight

I am dreaming, my love come singing with the wind and I will hold your ear against my naked chest

listen intently

I am sleeping, my love come falling with the night and I will let  your body keep warm inside of mine

[morbidigliani]

‘rüya gecenin akvaryumudur.’ vh

La Memoire, Rene Magritte, 1948

[tricanabelachild]

Suck and Hang

You have reached the end of sorrow

it does not go on any longer

come, child

do not let tears fall

from your eyes.

You will soon suck

on the sweet candy that you crave

your love has long gone

for other things.

All your pine trees have grown taller

and for Christmas they will be cut down

yes, dearest

one by one they’ll go

like your friends.

You will soon hang

little wreaths right where you belong

[tricanabelachild]

Spinning

Now that I am better

nothing has changed

days repeat

like a scratched CD

no one uses anymore.

No one listens

to the small segment 

of music still playing

no matter how beautiful

cause after awhile 

it gets old, and

every day I am alone

still, spinning on this Earth.

[antoniocecchi]

[tricanabelachild]

To Emmanuel

It’s been seven months, one week, and six days since we parted. I haven’t been counting but I found a calculator online that could tell me exactly how many seconds have passed between us since we last shared a bed. 19,531,407 seconds, but its not accurate because I don’t know what time you got up in the morning to leave me.

I woke up alone in the hotel room, conveniently prepped to be anonymous, already stripped of your presence. No sign of sorrow, no comforting note, just empty wine bottles, and Erica’s no bake cookies from the night before. I’ll never forget my 25th birthday. I’ll never forgive myself for sleeping.

This is your last poem. Longing for you has it’s limits, and I’ve run out of dreams. Romantic sentiment turned to dark obsession. You are not mine, Emmanuel, but I can keep the memory. Mornings you once said were sacred. Making love in the grass. Your allergic reactions. There is beauty in the process, but not so with love. Only the endpoints matter.

In the beginning, we were crazy in love. We have two endings. One, when you stopped loving me, though I daresay once you loved me more than, and the other, when I stopped being crazy. Hard to say when I mistook passion and pain for something that can only exist between two people.

All the days I cried over photos, music, and letters. Spending a week indoors in summer staring at the mug you gave me, hating that I still have it, but it is not us. All the ways I blamed, tortured, and deceived myself. Convinced I was too ugly for you, starving and swollen, wishing for a baby’s face, but my broken skin is not us.

My broken heart is not us, either. Emmanuel, my love letter must have distressed you. I am not sorry. No love, no letter. Now, no, we will never call each other to see how things are. We will not remember together with secret hearts because we are strangers. I am not strong enough, and you don’t want to know me.

Strange how many strangers I know. The more people I meet the more estranged I become. Better not invite me to any party. At least 3 people will feel uncomfortable. Including you. Only wanting to be real, only ever slapped me in the face. Like a love that’s hard to find.

Our love will not be found, again. I am the last mistress in the back of your head. You are the first thought in mine. After a dog, a man, a woman, a piano, and a book. A whole life of things that are not you, and a song I’ll pretend is meant for someone new, too.

Emmanuel, If by some miracle you start to love me again, I’ll gain some peace of mind. Insanity is repeated behavior expecting different results. Emmanuel, if by another miracle I stop loving you, you will lose your pride. There is no end. Emmanuel, in love glory is powerlessness.