Reality is beautiful. There’s dishes from the night in the sink, an ashtray on the kitchen counter, all evidences of two people who finally lived, instead of existing, after a long, long time, scattered all over the house. Your shirt comes down my knees, almost. I wear that to make breakfast, despite my own closet spilling clothes onto bedroom floor. Because your shirt is real. You stretch and follow me shirtless into the kitchen, even though your clothes are freshly washed and folded in your closet. Because skin, skin is real. We make breakfast, touching in one small way or another. We laugh. The cereal gets soggy. We really don’t care. Reality is beautiful.
Don’t look at my face!
Here, see what I forgave you for, instead!
Don’t, don’t do that
-don’t look into my eyes
It’s just something I threw on
Oh, it’s just a good light
Yes, last night was wonderful
You fell asleep on me, but hey-
At least you had fun!
That’s what matters, right?
It’s okay, these things happen
What’s that, you need space?
Oh yes, I’d love to shop for your boss
It’s just a few miles out of my way
Haha, yes, you’re just friendly
I understand perfectly if
you want to gift her lingerie
Sure, I need no guarantees
I’m not going anywhere
So kind, I know, so sweet, I know
I put everyone at ease
Because ‘ugly girls have good
Paper bags for our heads,
from the groceries
covering the lease
Ignoring the intent
Is what we deal in, instead of
That’s the only trade we know
So that’s the commerce we expect
-and know of no other.
You can see black and white
when you’re taught that
You’re ugly in color
Ugly With Colors.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard this ‘ugly girls have good personalities’ thing, but doesn’t make it any less painful.
Or, as my father puts it, at least you have no reason to waste time in front of a mirror.
Maybe. Or maybe that’s because that’s not the reflection that matters to me.
I don’t mind the Devil
He lies, he spits venom
Drinks too much
Sometimes he sets my home on fire
But he’s honest, doing everything in his power to
Lead me astray
Still, we’re okay, the Devil and I
With him, I know where I stand
It’s a process, but
It’s these crooked halos I don’t understand
All the good people around me, whose rot I can smell
a page of reality away
What kind of God’s golden children are they
The purity doesn’t fit, their wings are all wrong
I read the Devil was an angel
It makes sense why he left
Even I can see that he didn’t belong
The Devil and I
Better the Devil we know… (very well).
Another restless night
Too many words, not enough coherence to write
Condolences to somnolence, insolence to shut eyed
Indolence, this impudence, ambivalence, outright
Defiance, to every effort painstakingly contrived
To write, to write, to write!
Depart me my reason, reject all these claims
Descensions into insanity do not deserve to be- Proclaimed!
Exultant, victorious, come
Look at me
The babble pours forth in bubbling nonsense
Loquacious- look, I am crazy!
I see, I see, I see
Books like headless angels flapping around me
Rooftops in the darkness, methods to the madness
Vehemences of inspired
One simple minded, self convinced confused woman
Starving on the sustenance of anemic omnipotence
You conspired to inspire me
You forced me to think
You made me cry
All I ever wanted was a quiet moment
You and I
Two moons in the sky
Deprived of that meager solace
Have my raving soliloquy instead
I’m done, I’m almost empty
Could I finally
Tea for Two
Food for thought, then, and
Philosophy for dessert
His jewel bright eyes flickered, as he tore the bread
With easy fingers
Slid the cold mug aside fluidly
Ladled the fragrant gravy
Winced in the direction of the buttery peas
And pushed the tureen towards me
“You talk too much! Eat, eat!”
I sipped my beer, calm, bemused
This was a vision of subliminal thrills
This banquet for two, yet untouched by one,
Was not what I needed my appetite, to still
– I had quite another capacity to fill
I leaned back and memorized, the
Graceful flurry, the knife
Dancing elegantly over coq au vin, disguised
Behind steamed vegetables, speared through
-Like with his words
No gesture misconstrued, no whisper misheard
The flavor of the day was not basil, nor thyme
It was not the plates I studied, exquisite, sublime,
He was a starving woman’s ultimate ideal
Because I wasn’t hungry,
I was hungry
Day Six of #NaPoWriMo! I distinctly remember doing this prompt last year. That would be a more impressive feat of I could remember what day of the week it is, too.
So… Two for tea, and tea for two- or tea for one, when that ‘one’ provides quite enough food for thought.