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This is what I know:
Streetlights in the windy city are
never quiet and seldom friendly.
I was 13: A stained glass dream of opalescent tomorrows.
Excusably young, trying blindly to numb
bruised knees. Failing to realize the faultlessness
of falling prey to age. Failing to realize that
prayers are just wishes
made with mouthfuls of selfishness.
They convinced me wordlessly; to live with them,
I’d have to live like them. So mindlessly I sipped from
plastic tinged tragedies, smoked bowls of stagnant satisfaction,
and caked acid eyelids with imaginary anthems.
I learned to dance
like money in an empty wallet.
A television terrible room clings to the fall of my lashes:
Sitcom solace curled like smoke rings, The Simpsons’
cued laughter clouded near the ceiling. Green striped couch
tipped 90 degrees out of rage’s way. Shoulder blades
twisted tighter than the slam of a door. And vomit that slipped
under clammy cheeks and crusted to subtle stench in a corner.
This is what I know:
When hummingbirds die their wings sigh—
and maggots steal songs from needle thin throats.
The man who slit my threadbare innocence
ripped with crystal hands that shook vein tight,
and bones that glowed siren blue through Teflon skin
more dark than smooth. His arms
pinned me carpet-like to the floor.
Reeked of marijuana, sweat; breath poured
prickling hells upon my neck.
Ruined clothes flung as sanctuary to all sides cried
for tears that clung to knots in concrete throat.
His friends took turns with what was left
of a chalk-box framework. Like bishops
with holy texts they extracted me from my sins.
Pounded submissive litanies into my stomach, my face.
b***h
Slammed four times into swollen, bloody cheeks.
Kneed four times into trembling ribcage.
Slapped four times across adolescent hips not taught yet to fight.
Kicked four times into tense back sending muscles into firework spasm.
The girl I hadn’t learned enough not to love
sat mute and hung-over
in December’s neon glare.
I could see only her legs —
still sad, still beautiful;
they held me safe on another planet just across the room
while mine screamed and expanded.
There was nothing left except bruises and pleading.
So broken, I let go—
and let men pretend they were gods
with the demons of unopened darkness.
They could tame nothing but the
devils in fumes we’d inhaled.
I waited.
The spirals in my eyes
tightened past hallucination
and kaleidoscope rage.
I built cages for emotion and hid
behind boyfriend safety nets.
Reasoned that pain was what I deserved,
so I’d take the least I could get.
This is what I know:
Linoleum floors swim now
making plaster whirlpools from
aluminum memories.
- by Bring Demo The Horizon |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 12/25/2008 |
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- Title: streetlights look like stars.
- Artist: Bring Demo The Horizon
- Description: :)
- Date: 12/25/2008
- Tags: streetlights look like stars
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Comments (1 Comments)
- XxReplacedxX - 12/25/2008
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one word: EXTRAVAGANT
Did you really write this!? out of all the poems i've read today this is the best. I love it.
But HEY now, dont get all happy i love it and show it off, okay? you could go far with this kind of stuff, your really good, Really, good. - Report As Spam