poem #1 unedited straight from my head

The Witch

She's there all the time with her poison apple heart
She can't help the fact that she's aging while the young girl grows every day
white skin showing the blue map of veins and lips like five pink petals
but the witch, she could stop peddling deadly combs to rake the scalp with arsenic
She was there when I was that girl too
telling me I wasn't beautiful
even when my hair fell over my shoulders, my skin unlined and my eyes were green
instead of this undefinable muddy something
I believed her and when I asked if I could cut my hair she let me
When my skin broke out in red bumps she pretended not to see
Her portraits covered every wall and still she wept
when the king went off to paint the village maids
Beauty doesn't make you indestructable
as once I thought
there will always be a Snow White
coming along like that young actress
who made love to the set with its faeries and tangled roots
with its forests and white stags
shared more chemistry with the world than the hot huntsman
and made the director's model wife delete her twitter account

There will always be mothers pleading with mirrors
This is my advice:
Take your heart from your chest and examine it
Let it bleed in your hands
talk to it softly as you might once have spoken to a lover
or a white stag
or a mirror
do not take a bite
or try to choke her with it
sing to it
then return it
gently
to the empty
cavity of your chest

flb 8/18 please post your poems below

Comments

  • starwhisper Thursday, 30 August 2012

    so late. but joining in. 01. my transluscent paper...

    so late. but joining in.01.my transluscent paper skinstretches over bones that don’tfeel right in my body.they are too heavy,every hollow filled with sorrow,burdened bones making me limp.i am always tired.they warned me of poison applesdeep, enticing red like lovers lipsthe crack of skin like a broken ribits sorrowful bruising; a tiny blemishon a glossy perfect surface.the poison, it seeps into your organssucks out your sanctuary,devours your dissent.i am different now.i wasn’t warned about the fine,white powder that stung my brainand made me dance all nightswimming in sparkling lightsuntil my body was only skin & bones& pointed apple-red fingernails.the world felt so fastand i felt so slowwhen we fucked so hard my lips bloomed bruises.no one told me the appealof alice’s mushrooms and the beautythey would reveal about a worldthat holds so much,my desire to know it alloverwhelming and sad.i am the poison apple,all lovers imprints & broken& bruised pale skinperfect enough to consumebut my dormant insides are deadly dangerous

  • Kim L. Monday, 27 August 2012

    If Snow Falls on Venus Her fingers could slide, ...

    If Snow Falls on VenusHer fingers could slide,easy, soft, downthrough waves of blue, flowingunderneath to the wet,to the warm and flushed andpink, deepening;her thighs could spread,pale inner shine of an oyster shellcupping her smooth-bright pearlof anticipation, growing,hidden for so long;the undertow of her desirecould suck her slickened fingersdeeper, deeper, untilit suffuses her, head to toe,rosy richness beneath ceruleanmaking her a violet anemone,swooning with the weightof her heady nectar.

  • victoria lee Tuesday, 21 August 2012

    day 1- teenage wasteland cheap like a Sunset Bou...

    day 1- teenage wasteland cheap like a Sunset Boulevard motel, walking downtown full of booze and nicotine she wore a t-shirt that had a Cheshire-grinning smiley face on it and the word acid on it underneath her leopard print jacket breathing in, breathing out and then inhaling another cigarette lost somewhere in-between suburban trash and rock n' roll aspirations

  • Natalie Monday, 20 August 2012

    beast girl I. i’ve always been a girl with emo...

    beast girlI. i’ve always been a girl with emotionslike a tropical climate—sultry languid afternoon breezes crashinto rrrrrolllling thunder, pounding oceansfalling just as easily backto guileless sun-yellow smiles,as if nothingwas ever wrong.even as a small sweet childi would scream bloody murder, throw myselfacross the room, tearsflying like dartsin every direction.beast girl. did i ever know why?beast girl, wishing warm sleep, wishing oblivion.beast girl grewbreasts, grew hairwhere the magazines sayhair isn’t supposed to be.walked hunched over like an omega dog.beast girl learns to be seenyearns to be seenburns to be seen even at the riskof giving herself up.beast girl has a lot to learn. beast girl looksin the mirror, wants to breakthe mirror, crackthe image, shatterthe girl, burn the leeches from her insides.wants to peel her skin to reveal something new.II.i wanted to be a goddess.rock n roll queens dressed in black, captivating crowdsgirls on computer screens, goldenhaired doelike classmates.i would rather be an animal. i wanted the wings of an eaglestrong muscled legs of a mare,or sleek furred skin of a pantherinstead of a frightened rabbit heart thumpthumpingin my bony chest.III. “it’s okayto need someone sometimes” he says.beast girl disagrees,naked on the floor,wondering if through all thisshe has really changed from the time she was thirteen.it’s hard to admiti can never be anything more than human.he stays through the night. it’s okayto need someone, really?do goddesses need, do panthers, eagles, mares?is a beast girl loveablewithout storybookfairydust painted onher face and chest,every pretense of perfect washed away in a mud of makeup and water, a storm of saltanother wave of shame. but it will pass. large handswipe embarrassment away, sleep descends.beast girl read somewherethat it’s okay to seeand not always be seen. beast girl opens eyesto beautiful boys, bodies, meltinginto mattresses. her muses. not alwaysto give her self, the objectof desire.reading this sparked a fire. could it possiblybe true? beast girlsmiles, sheds fur,has so much to learn.

  • Lulu Rose Sunday, 19 August 2012

    Pebbles on the Beach White Lightening Cuts throug...

    Pebbles on the BeachWhite LighteningCuts through rocking capsRed velour interior,A cosy nose cabin,Napping in the bow of a speedy boat. Dreams crash and splashRock backRock forthIn the body of Lake ErieCold and Familiar. Rules. Turtles. Shells. Plant your ass in a ridge of sand,Let the waves hit you in the face, Like this.Like that. Algae and minnows up the nose, burning the back of the brain. This is the way to a place that you know,But can't call up. Can't call back. Wrong number.Try again. Plan a treasure hunt. Bury the map. Memories are the pinks and blues of a shellDried up, bleached out and gone, forgotten. So much sadThe happy slipped off. Can't recallNot at allThe fun times with my dad. Turtle then, Turtle now. Dead fish heads with shells in their socketsCrunchy yellowed scales, tanning and tanning andBaked in the heat. No meatAll flesh is gonePlucked by bald vulturesSavoured by midges and gnats. Like this. Like that. Like all the difference when he clicks like. Speedy turtleMicroscopic claws clack on warm stonePigsnout face and spinning funnel eyesNot all turtles are slow. Crickets in the corn whistle a song of sleepComfort and dreamDangleOn a hookToo much or too littleStars above all the time. So many always. Turtle why?Turtle how?Turtle in the TupperwareMommy let me take you home. You didn't stand a chance. Smokey fog of cluttered landChlorine faucet and pesticide grass. No choice but to turtle away. Pebbles in the sandGunshots in the airScare the birdsFreeButterflies in websTrapped moth with eaten wingBegin again. Regrets. A wrinkled neck. Set you freeLet you beA shore. A rock. A bouncy glideFreedom ride. Blue and green as far as the farthest treeNavigate rocks and potholes along the marsh. Red treehouse, brown barn. Sweet corn and a place to swim. Tiny wise oneTurtle baby with the never-ending-story eyesAnd a snout of ancient times. Little creature ready to float and to bask in the sun,I seek and I search for a man that approves, Who will tell me he's proud,That I'm good and I'm all, All he's wanted in a girl,In a girlLike me. Speed boat.Speedy turtle. Like this. Like that. Pebbles.

  • melaniekristy.com Sunday, 19 August 2012

    Is writing poetry Like bike riding? Dust of pedals...

    Is writing poetryLike bike riding?Dust of pedalsBlow up tiresAnd go.Can hearts rememberHow to draw images withWords spurt out of blood valves?Emotion in movementIs rhyming like dancingRhythm beats to a songIn fancy shoes and expensive pensCan I rememberInk gliding on paperPainting thoughtsLike turning leftOnto unpaved road?De-rust me nowLet’s try outThe bicycle is a thoughtTo bring you forward

  • Teddi Sunday, 19 August 2012

    and what about the mushrooms? lying around her w...

    and what about the mushrooms? lying around her were they magical?did they take her away?i see white powder and dustfog like smoke that place some choose to live innumbing i'd rather dream of pretty thingslike her ruffled blue dress, chiffon and lacelipstick and nail polish my warpaint armorthat's my way of escaping painfantasy through fashiondon't we dress up when we feel ugliest?another way is sleep i wonder if she welcomes itunless she has nightmaresor does she live in world where she savors others words?holding onto them like golden nuggetsfollowing their yellow brick road to discover the answers were always within hershe picked up a pen, a paintbrush, a guitar

  • Jessa Marie Sunday, 19 August 2012

    day 1. the demon my belly is full of ocean and s...

    day 1. the demonmy belly is full of oceanand shamei eat too much(sushi and beer)i worry too much(compromising our budget)and my lover is gloriousreminding methat we are okaysoothing mewhen my stomach churns with worrybut i still wakeand worry (if i'm too selfish to ever be a mother)wake and wonder whyi am dreaming of an old demoncunning smiledancing eyesforked tonguewho convinces me to spend my money(on him)who demands and cajoleshe ate my heart oncea tiny chunk is still lodged in his teethburning a cavitymaybe that's why his smile disarms me(even when he makes me cry)he vomited the restand gave me the slopto harden and fashion into a semblance of the real thingmaybe that's why i give him what he wants(only in the dream, of course)i gave him a hotel suiteso he could rest his cloven hooves and feel comfortableand rich(in the dream)even though i am broke(in real life)maybe i am afraid he will find meand devour melike the wolf did the grandmother(in the fairy tale)and fuck little red riding hood with me still in his stomach(almost like real life)but my lover listens to all of my dreamsand reads my workand rubs my belly full of ocean and shamehe knows how demons can be.

  • Imogen Sunday, 19 August 2012

    I LOVE this line "starch now smells like lat...

    I LOVE this line "starch now smells like late spring afternoon and less like you"

  • Imogen Sunday, 19 August 2012

    Oh, wow. I'm actually blushing. It means a lot...

    Oh, wow. I'm actually blushing. It means a lot that you connected (plus now I feel the need to try extra hard for the next 29 days!)

  • anaisbelieve Sunday, 19 August 2012

    #1 the ghost divides me her hands clawing into th...

    #1the ghost divides me her hands clawing intothe four chambers of heartand sucklingthe ghost rememberswhatever I chose to forgetshe whispers cruellythe four seasonsa lingering cool touch tomy browi hate how i yearnto pleasei hate how my habits dictate to be docilewhen inside the firesare risingcool the pity with her breathdestroy my confidencewith her neon avalanche.

  • Dez Sunday, 19 August 2012

    I agree with Jenn!

    I agree with Jenn!

  • Yajaira Sunday, 19 August 2012

    You first kissed me under a magnolia tree and for ...

    You first kissed me under a magnolia treeand for those few moments all that existed wasyou me and that magnolia treeit seems that there and then we made a vowand every time we touched the scent of the magnolia blossoms returnedBut as the season change so does the magnolia flowers fadedWhen you left I felt like the bruised crushed fleshy petal of the magnolia flowernever to be pristine and whole again.

  • Jenn Saturday, 18 August 2012

    are we allowed to reply? imogen, this cuts deep wh...

    are we allowed to reply? imogen, this cuts deep where it's supposed to. xo

  • Jenn Saturday, 18 August 2012

    POEM 1 UNEDITED it can be anything from anywher...

    POEM 1 UNEDITEDit can be anything from anywhere and it turns into that daya cereal box will just morph into the complex apartment mornings when we'd fend for ourselvesand they in turn will morph into my last vision of you and then it's me that dayon the porch watching the tree send its seeds off as if they were just going to school and that is how i think of you now, as if you are just off to school, as if you didn't ride the wind off into foreverand just like that the time of day which doesn't even exist except on a clock will turn into a phone call and there i amback there with that day, my new constant companion and guess whatan ironing board will turn into that day faster than anything starch now smells like late spring afternoon and less like youthat day is threatening to replace you to touch everything to swallow it whole to infect every family photo so at first glance we smile at the memory it envokes and then we double-take and say, "who is that? back there, waving? who is that? he looks familiar." and then just like that we'll know it's that day who's creeping into every shot.it's impossible to separate you two now, you're like siamese twins you two you and that dayand it can be anything but nothing will ever be you again

  • Aurora Saturday, 18 August 2012

    Whiskey kisses under Polyethylene waves foaming l...

    Whiskey kisses under Polyethylene waves foaming like pink frostingspace is for astronautsrealigning the universe for someone, star by starin a turquoise booth on lincoln boulevard between bites of handmade tortillas and soft touches of faces and claws held back by sex mittensyou fed me love tartand we shared a coke and favorite songs

  • Krista Saturday, 18 August 2012

    i’m trapped in a jar of mosquitoes, they hiss in m...

    i’m trapped in a jar of mosquitoes,they hiss in my earstheir wings or their legs or their grinding teethi can’t tell the differencei stare at my handcovered in welts and swelling twice its sizepulsating, driving me madi want to scratch i want tobite it offi stand above the incoming ripples of a pacificand for a brief momenti’m not in a jar, i’m one with an endless universemore powerful than the skybehind me, music blares from a night-colored jeep guarding a tall fireburning dried out trees from far off landsi run from the waves, laughingand fall into the sand, drunkamid a sea of strangers,save for the three sisters armed with dull pocket knives and tiny flashlights,just in case

  • Imogen Saturday, 18 August 2012

    Give me a knife Where are the poems that were In ...

    Give me a knifeWhere are the poems that wereIn my heart? I once wrote of change, transformation,Transcendence.Charles Bukowski's days ofDead end jobs and drinking habitsAnd the insomniac nightsAre starting to look attractive.I'll take the dirt and the squalidSeedy, sordid love affairs inCheap rooms forSixty years of poetry.Or give me a husband like Sylvia's,A colossus, a big, black boot toKick me around till ISeep white-hot rage Onto the page andOvens start looking attractive.Give me a knife long enoughTo reach my heart.I'll find the words if IHave to cut them out.Give me a fucking knife.They won't be pretty but they'll be mine.Give me a knife.

  • Anonymous Saturday, 18 August 2012

    The Willow House We wandered through a wood and f...

    The Willow HouseWe wandered through a wood and found a house of willow brancheswhose disposition I did survey,when instead I should have led you through its primitive and open doorand kissed you in that shady refuge, sculpted by slews of braided boughs,my hands cupping the back of your neckleaving the sunlight ousted by the rooftop limbs, my bolder self with you within,but no I stayed outside and circled round with you a house of willow branchescircumnavigating as I tend to do the mystic interior.

  • Ashley Elizabeth Saturday, 18 August 2012

    Also straight off the top of my head this morning:...

    Also straight off the top of my head this morning: SeptemberA dancing princess under a midnight sky twinkling in the darkness, she dances to make her mind wander away from her broken garnet pieces set on fire by a spark – then—the ribbon of love torn in half, trees— they whisper to her, singing the melody to her harmonied heart,as they sweep away the pieces with a cool September wind.

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