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Name: kyle
Birthday: 9/17/1987
Gender: Female
Interests: music, dogs, my friends, tattoos, piercings, reading, writing, girls, good conversation, movies, the l word, love, life, feminism, women's rights, gay rights, and butches
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  sti11searching17
Member Since:
3/9/2004
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| Written on November 29th, 2008
I call him the sperm donor
I look just like him
The thick, wavy ash blond hair
Slight and slender build
Beady brown eyes that glaze behind frames
And thin lips that purse in anticipation
Will he actually pick up the phone today
‘Cause he hasn’t since this past June
Not to tell me to call him when I got back up to Boston
So that his conscious could rest easy knowing his only daughter
Was safely back at school
He hasn’t initiated any sort of contact
Not even to wish me a happy birthday in September
Funny thing is that it happened to be my 21st
Sipping that apple-tini all I could think about was him
How ironic it was that at that exact moment
The man who made me was most likely
Down to his last drop of vodka
And getting ready to dive deep
Into the bottom of another bottle
Like I said he doesn’t seem to want to talk to me
Not since that June when I attended my Grandfather’s funeral
I spoke at the service
Read a poem about how that man showed me what it meant
To love someone unconditionally and that feelings that strong never cease
It’s sad to think that I couldn’t possibly write words like that about him
Because I’ve tried and every single time
All I can recall is the day when I was 6 years old
Searching for the sight of his car
And how I’m still waiting
Still anticipating
The only difference now is that I’m not holding out hope
21 years is too long to wait
He’s left his little girl for good
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| I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore
Before you take a swing
I wonder, what are we fighting for
When I say out loud
I want to get out of this
I wonder, is there anything I'm gonna miss
I wonder
How's it gonna be
When you don't know me
How's it gonna be
When you're sure I'm not there
How's it gonna be
When there's no one there to talk to you
Between you and me
'Cause I don't care
How's it gonna be
How's it gonna be
Where we used to laugh
There's a shouting match
Sharp as a thumbnail scratch
A silence I can't ignore
Like the hammock by the doorway we spent time in
Swings empty
I don't see lightning like last fall
When it was always about to hit me
I wonder
How's it gonna be
When it goes down
How's it gonna be
When you're not around
How's it gonna be
When you found out there was nothing
Between you and me
'Cause I don't care
How's it gonna be
How's it gonna be
When you don't know me any more
And how's it gonna be
Want to get myself back in again
The soft dive of oblivion
I want to taste the salt of your skin
The soft dive of oblivion, oblivion
How's it gonna be
When you don't know me any more
How's it gonna be
How's it gonna be
How's it gonna be | | |
| i haven't slept yet
i am mentally maxed out
driven dangerously
close and closing in
on reluctant but resurrected
astounding actualities and
i
should
have
been
looking
over
both
shoulders
cause
i
should
have
known
that
this
would
be
another
razor blade romance
------------
emotions are corsing through my veins at a catastrophic speed
and i don't know how or even if i want to stop it
and the detatchment in your voice screams louder every time
i consider the possiblity that this might be it and we might not make it
that this beauty that we built will collapse like my tiny pink premature lungs
or my body as i rapidly descend to my knees baby
like i have so many times teasing and pleasing
but god damnit i'm not falling for those same reasons anymore
'cause in this potential final act you won't be there to catch me the way that you had one year and a little bit of change ago
but isn't that what i wanted
change, space, a place, a will, a way to find myself
'cause i couldn't stand looking in the mirror not understanding the baby butch staring back
and now girl i am so scared i can't stand
not anymore
because you were the one holding me up, straight, shoulders back, chest out, head held high
and now i'm not sure i can bear the weight of my body, my soul, my mind, my heart
'cause you've got it all wrapped up tight around the ring finger of your left hand
inside the engraving of that silver band that represented more than just a promise
that i pray to whomever will listen you will let me keep | | |
| this poem needs to be read out loud. it is my first attempt at a "slam" poem and if you simply read it to yourself it might not make sense. this piece was written over a series of months and this is the completed version. i read it at the poetry reading for my mcc class in april. hope you all enjoy it.
i place my lips
around the tip
of this cigarette
flick my bic
and inhale
the taste
of that treasure
between your hips
that i couldn't crave more sometimes
dances with carcinogens
deep into the lungs
i can't seem to keep clean
like new york city streets
or your mother's kitchen floor
i place my camel lightly at my side
the blare of a car horn
just barely penetrates
the melodic indie rock
of tegan and sara and i can't help but blowout
my third pair of headphones with lyrics
that resonate within me not just under sun burnt skin
but in the hollow rickety framework
you've tried so desperately to steady in a year and a half
that's flown like this 737 that's just landed
rapidly descending from clouded skies
speeding up as its wheels touch hot north carolina pavement
and finally coasting, slowing, approaching the gate
that's supposed to take you to your final destination
where ever that may be the captain's voice crackles
my index and middle fingers recoil in sudden sensory shock
i had forgotten all about that camel i was clutching
too absorbed with lyrical lifeboats, similies, and metaphors
feeling like we're coasting without a final
resting place i'd rather 'cause i swear sometimes
we're our own pallbearers
painstakingly holding our oak casket first up over heads and then down to shoulders
carefully navigating the muddy grounds of the cemetery by your house
searching for the perfect plot
6 by 6 by 6 inches
that separates our bodies in bed each night
it's the length of my ex's cock as it penetrates my core
up against papered bathroom walls with cinderblock hands
against bony shoulders pressed hard against the foundation
of my very own home
in an oh so non consensual act
and i can't seem to erase, evaporate
the memory of those wild, predatory green pools
i nearly drowned in
the night that i held him in my arms
only hours from expiration
face blanched white
his body wracked with alcoholic poison
just like the man i am forced to call my father
i am 8 years young again
clutching the remnants
of his coping mechanism
against my chest
pitter pattering, searching
for a hiding spot
as he staggers toward the kitchen
hoping against his addiction
that he won't ask where it is
won't consume another drop
because his little girl at that tender age
knew enough to see that the man
stumbling before her 90 pound frame
wasn't her daddy when he drank
and he hollered so loud when she said
"daddy don't" and his hand
threw her back against the brick wall
she had already begun building around herself
but it didn't stop a 16 year old boy
from taking advantage of her newly developing body
pressing hands against places she told him not to touch
"i'm just trying to be friendly" he reasoned and she took those words as the truth
'cause that's what happens when they like you right?
W-R-O-N-G she's never been more mistaken or mislead
because he told her she was too fat
and that her breasts were too small
she carries that grotesque image
that appears time and time again
with every accidental glance
in a mirror and latches on
to the first guy who comes her way
showering her with manipulation and control
she interprets as love
and allows him
to become her puppeteer
he places the blame on her shoulders
for every problem they have
because it's always her fault
that he he cuts himself
and that he stands on the roof of his apartment
threatening to leave it all behind
i drop what's left of the habit i'd managed to swear off
cold turkey for two months
but the sting of your words was too much to handle
i dig my toes into the sidewalk grinding burning embers
with the same force i fuck you with
those same two fingers
raging in and out of your body
breaking speed limits driving you to the edge
using newly acquired muscle i lift you effortlessly
higher than all the pot i've ever smoked
has gotten me giggly and delusional
sweat makes your skin glisten
shining in the reflection of the frames placed upon my face
that i depend on to see the contours of your curves
your pale full moon breasts and the prominence of your hips
held tight in my other hand as your body explodes
bed sheets saturated and my fingers weary
i wonder what has happened to those moments | | |
| the slurred speech
of the forgotten conversation
swimming with the determination
of a single sperm
glides through the crevices
of that gray substance
that sustains our functions
the tone of his voice
denotes a two day bender
and once again i am let down
by the man
the son
the father
who i want so badly
to etch a sketch the mistakes
he has made
since the day i was conceived
and unexpectedly birthed too soon
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