Friday, October 10, 2014

love found me

love found me somewhere in between the words
"fuck off" and "go"

i was standing in a silk cheetah onesie in a room of 200 people
on a sunday morning at the tiffany center downtown

he walked up to me with a painted exploding heart on his chest
smug, with a smile
as if he'd done nothing wrong

and like a lightening bolt
an energy moved through my body
"fuck off!" "go!'
and a force field was created around me
that man would not come near

if i had had those words when i was 7
or again when i was 13
or maybe 25 or 3 weeks ago

love shows you exactly what you don't know
about how to honor your relationship with it.

and for me,
love would not find me until i found my anger.

until i spit the memories of soap being shoved down my throat
out of my mouth and said "no"
"your aggression is not stronger than my truth"
until i put the memories of the belt back around his waste
undid the ways he beat the love out of me
and i said, "no. your beating is not stronger than my breath.
i will not be quiet here.
i am grown now,
and i will not be a victim."

love found me in my rage
in my pounding fists against my pillow
in my sobbing screams into the sky
in my ache, in my groin
in my will to destroy the thing that had destroyed me

i had lost all my edges
all my fuck you's, all my no's
they were somewhere in between "feed me" and "buy me new clothes"
they were somewhere in between "come tuck me in" and "why are you fighting again?"

some people respond to crazy
with agitation and aggression
others respond with compassion and expansion
and love finds us in the just-right combination
when we're willing to admit
how much we want it
and we're willing to do the work
to claim it and protect it

Sunday, September 28, 2014

full of trumpets

being able to lift your chin and smirk for the camera
doesn't make you bullet proof or superhuman 

grow, grow, leech, vine
the ego is still as temporary as skin

even the grandest of it 
eventually
burns

there is, though, a subtle body of love
that outlives the lines of your fleshy meat

it is full of secret wishes
as simple as kindness or the rhythm of an encouraging drum

it is full of trumpets 
and emptying breaths
and tears that cascade
down salty cheeks 
into the corners of upturned lips

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

267/365 : ben

i'd like to come back to you year after year
a little more scared each time
a little more
naked
and fine with it
i'd like to come back to you
and press my palm against your palm
feel our muscles touch
and then move slower
in the meeting of our eyes

Saturday, September 13, 2014

draw the line


I'm drawing new lines
like a painter
not sure
exactly where 
the fire will crack 
or bend backwards--
only what needs to be burned
from my pallet 
of "sounds good"

Sunday, August 24, 2014

236/365 : what does a dead end look like in your mind?


i imagine a brain
gray or pink
wet and inexplicably wonderful
crevices like windowsills
in a building that's all curled up
these pathways
that say, stay here
don't dismantle 
don't untangle
my place 
in this mess
this meaningful 
inexplicable 
chaos
i like where i belong
even if it got suddenly dark
suddenly stopped in the forrest of
thick bushes and over grown trees and out of control weeds
don't make me take the machete
to the way i am
don't make me carve a new plan
there is a flickering
locket in the
subconscious
of my fantasy
and inside it a picture
of who i want to be
spins and turns
pulls that stubborn
crab, curled up
in that hard shell magic
pulls it
into the sea


Saturday, August 23, 2014

235/365 : no such thing

every little thing
on my tiny little list
feels impossible

my belly has
a thousand pound weight
magnetizing it to the mattress

there's no such thing
as a double negative

Friday, August 22, 2014

234/365 : my one wish

once upon a time
my one wish
was a window--
white walls
white curtains
white comforter

everything
blank
inside

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

232/365 : today is not powering through

today is feminine folk doodling tunes into a bright blue sky
today is bare feet, belly sweet, exposed skin that smells of summer
today is not difficult
today is not an assignment
today is not powering through to tomorrow
to prove the truth of what's impossible to erase

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

231/365 : i need to scream

i need to scream
so much more than i scream

i need to hiss and wish violently
and cry-howl-hit

all of this thumping
repression
still goes
somewhere

Monday, August 18, 2014

230/365 : Naked gazing with naked




We were naked gazing with naked
Flesh, bare
Breath marks 

We were curling lips kiss kissing
Knowing nothing 
Needs to be known 

We were love, on a revolution
High and deep
Riding dawn

Sunday, August 17, 2014

229/365 : call girl freak

i'm sure i seem like some sort of call girl freak
some flavor of taboo sweet
some scent of messy mixed with neat
something complex as 10 far out galaxies
you could get me, if you really studied
but at first glance, i look a little muddy
dating men twice my age
dating girls not yet unfurled
dating no one, no one, no one
dating myself outside of time
dating these poems line by line
with shamelessness
with sugar lips
with raw meat
with dirty feet
with vulgar light
with loving fight
to exist
outside
the collar
of fear


Saturday, August 16, 2014

228/365 : babies

i remember the first time having sex with a man translated into
i want our DNA to get so wet and messy with each other
that the miracle of chemistry and anatomy 
makes a little baby
in my little belly.

that was exciting.
and also a bit nerve wrecking.
and definitely a few heaps of crazy-making.
mostly because the dude that this happened with lived in a van and couldn't stand more than
1 month of kissing before he just went to fucking
and explained it as a problem that i wasn't supposed to feel bad about.

Friday, August 15, 2014

227/65 : i don't understand the rules

wrong wrong wrong
i meant for you to sing your hellos and
dance your maybes and
lick your goodbyes like a dog
that someone fed beer
stumbling with fearless foolishness
slimy slimy love

i wear my truth like dishonest cleavage
you will not get access in
except isn't that the point of cleavage?
to show you what you cannot have?
to lie about what's likely?

i'm typing with my left hand
trying to say something more honest
or at least more unsaid

like i wish i could play with magic
without all these headaches
like i wish playing felt more
quiet and restful

now i just want to go back home
to the right hand
to the left mind
to the dad who tells me
to do it his way
because my way
is too complex

now i just want someone to write my paper for me
turn my life in to god
wait for the grade

no no
that's not really the way it is
but this
this is so much harder than i was expecting

the right challenge, though
are any challenges right?

back to this side
my mind feels like jello here
hello dear
hello dear
fear wears a rabbit hat and holds a tiny paw
fear tells us all there's no way you'll escape this knot
fear ties our blood til it clots
fear rots
rots rots

tell me where wrong went
after he stayed out past his bedtime
tell me what nightmares right had
tell me who was more sad
and who was more sorry

so many stories
so little flesh to hold them

maybe that's why we just instruct breathing
something thin
and hallow
but warm like fingertips
brushing lips
tender kiss
i miss i miss my mother

Thursday, August 14, 2014

226/365 : this is a declaration of spaciousness

this is a declaration of spaciousness:
the wind blowing a true-love kiss
your hair tumbling across your lips
eyes locked in, eternal temptresses

each leaf spinning sideways
each branch back-bending, wild
each breath spilling into this
lung cave portal
this clear glass vessel
this clean hose temple
this i don't know
i don't know

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

225/365 : the love

jodi drove off this morning.
my floor is covered in dust, matches and chapstick.
the tents are drying in the driveway.
the invitations are flying in like paper airplanes.
my name has changed.
my heart has softened.
so many hands, thumbs, palms, pressing into the heat of my center--
smiling, quiet presence, reminding me
to remember
the love.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

224/365 : the edge

lest i not forget
that my center
is stronger
more serene
with wild wonder
securely stable
in buzzing flavors
of yum and yes
and let's let's let's
when i tip toe
the edge
when i tumble
past the flesh
of what's suitable
for the masses
when i feel myself
surrounded
by the thrill
of a new frontier
hear, hear
i belong
on the edge

Monday, August 11, 2014

223/365 : empty portal

empty portal
flesh and bones
no one knows
no one knows

heat and lightening
from the toes
no one knows
no one knows

the words
the words
the words
for this

the oil lamp
the flashing light
the humming hunger
the quiet fright

i know the answer
i know the dark night
i know the hallow
i know the empty light

Sunday, August 10, 2014

222/365 : when you go to the temple to pray


when you go to the temple to pray
do not bring your Sunday best--
the eternal flame
asks nothing of clothing

when you go to the temple to pray
take off all your jewelry
let down your hair
pull off your boots one thrust at a time

your socks, let them fling from your fingers
into the pile of your jacket
your sweater, your scarf, your bra
slither out of your undergarments
stand in the middle of the dust storm
looking up at the light, alone

let your body's round curves
be your devotion
nothing half-hearted
nothing in hiding

stand wordless and warmed
only by the fire of love
as your fingers, frigid and frail
come close to your heart's center

let your prayer be a silent naked surrender
let your eyes gaze steady upward
toward the center
here, here
shiver
whisper

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Friday, August 8, 2014

220/365 : Trouble and Trust


Trouble is
calling the outcome final
half way though
the game

Trouble is
choosing
as if the game
actually ends

Trust is
slivered moon grins,
breathing in millenniums,
watching the ducks glide and gallop 

Thursday, August 7, 2014

219/365 : my mama misses me


the North East misses me like
a quota--
a ratio of soul

my mother, though
misses me like
her own

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

218/365 : breath-fume, soft tunes


it's me and you, bedroom
breath-fume
soft tunes

one old skirt
tattered shirt

splattering wax one
candle at a time

burning through
to rapture

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

217/365 : the miracle of rising


How ridiculous--
I have been mad at myself
as if mad at a
sunrise
for not reaching
noon-day power soon enough.
I am missing the miracle
of rising.

Monday, August 4, 2014

216/365 : like tunnels





relationships end

like tunnels

after a long time coming

a whole world of light

gets bigger and bigger

than fear

Sunday, August 3, 2014

215/365 : a sad flame

does a sad flame
burn blue?

Quietude,
hush me something

honest and revelatory--
blow out my lies

cover me in
honest goosebumps

wet tears
a whole face-full

of innocent
rapture

Saturday, August 2, 2014

214/365 : the secret and the sacred


"The secret and the sacred are sisters",
wrote John O'Donohue

The soul is not meant
for a neon light of examination

Go into the darkness
With a bushel of sage
and a match

Let the scent of healing
be stronger
than the sound

Friday, August 1, 2014

213/365 : the immortal love

tell the truth, dear
the whole holy truth

this love
does not make you
feel immortal

and maybe that's okay

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

211/365 : What women do


Your name ran out of my mouth 
Down the hall 
To the glass-window door
Where it smashed it's face against it
And fell backward 

I helped it up anyway
Because that is what women do
With all their little boys

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

210/365 : two poems in

sometimes we have to get
10 fake poems out
before we can get down
to the bones
of our
knowing

I'm only two
poems in


Monday, July 28, 2014

209/365 : 2am, afraid to write



is there any poetry left in me?
my throat tingles and whistles 
so i suppose 
that's a yes

yes
there is the poem about the train
and the other one about the itch
and the big one about 
the owning

i'm afraid i can't keep writing love poems
about the same old love story

i'm afraid 
this love story
has gotten old

Sunday, July 27, 2014

208/365 : Each day we move closer to The Quiet


You zip up your jeans 
Tuck in your shirt
Pull close your belt
And gentle-grip-whisper 
Your goodbye kiss

I moan naked standing 
Legs warm and opening 
Always slipping into my kiss,
"Don't go"
"I never want you to go"

But you go
And I go
I, into my silver car
Or you, yours

We go home to ourselves
We get under our own quilts
We give ourselves our own speeches 
About who we think we're allowed to be
And if we're winning or losing 

We fight 
Alone
Until we decide to go home again
To an older home

Round and warm
Sweet as fire
A place where sweetness 
Is bigger than ego
And melting is more magical
Than staying solid
Or zipped

Saturday, July 26, 2014

207/365 : You are in


Tonight the stars tickled the back of my neck
And the grass hugged my hips happy

I didn't need your lips
But they were a bonus of moon drooling ever-so-still-cruising across the craters of my heart

I take it back
I needed them--

I keep pretending I can do this practice alone 
But your hand is missing in the fold of my knee every time I'm overthinking and under cuddling 
Every time I'm caught pretending that I can make out with myself 
I'm glad it's you who catches me
With my teeth surrendered
My jaw drawn like an open bridge
Your tongue swimming in 
Plunging in 
Diving and back stroking and butterflying in
In in in 
You are in the wet mystery of me 
You are in the silent rhythm of me
You are in the forgotten heat of me
You are in the tunnel, the darkness, the light, the drive
You are in, driving, driving in the moonlight on the back country road to nowhere but now, 
hands and music and lips and quiet reckless dreams that we never say aloud
You are in my shout 
My rapture
My clenched fist full of sheets 
My dripping sweaty belly beats
My mudslide sacrifice
My secret cubby 

You are in, and I am between your body and god
A little orb of fairy glow
A little chance for you to know
You can have the heavens in the palms of your hands
You can fuck your prayers 
You can lay unravelled there in the lap of your lady
Like a little boy in a happy home 
Like a cottonwood seed
Floating in a puddle of holy love

Friday, July 25, 2014

206/365 : a message from the sky

go home to the river, child
cross twigs like teepees
and blow generously on the spark

there is no need to start fights
in your mind
over time or fame or safety

there is only one fire that matters:
and that is the fire of now

blow sweetly into the heat
fan the friction of wood

watch the light grow
into something good and warming

let it warm you



Thursday, July 24, 2014

205/365 : the marriage of power and voice

i can hear my voice
full as a songbird, smoke-less
unhurt chords, healthy

i've remembered my belly
the bellow, the might, the source

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

204/365 : guts and breath and believing



oh gut, you mudslide,
you goopy marsh of bubbles,
popping growling doubt

oh breath, take me to the river--
baptize me a believer

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

203/365 : After Breaking Up and Getting Back Together 7 weeks in a Row


What am I learning here?


That self-love is uncompromisingly
honest

That my throat compression is trying to
tell me something

big

like, let yourself go

to where the wind flows through your body
and you are not clogged with lying 
or
"I-don't-know-ing" your heart 

you can be
brave
and
dreamy

go quietly
without a wimper
with crystals in your eyes
knowing

Monday, July 21, 2014

202/365 : Bridges


Jodi taught me about bridges
the other day after dance

To move from scarcity
to sufficiency

You appreciate
what you have

To move from sufficiency
to prosperity

You ask for what you want
And know when to walk away

Tonight Chris suited back up after we made love
Black jeans, belt, tucked in shirt, sturdy boots

I laid naked in my white jersey sheets
And watched him walk away

Sunday, July 20, 2014

201/365 : I am here to remember



The crows are black as ash down here at the river
And the fire smoke is midnight lavender, flush against my skin

I've come here to remember the weight of fallen branches
Sometimes lite with a long history of surrender
Other times dense and strong to the touch

These arms know the feeling of reaching, scavenging
Like a baby's lip to a mother's breast
Culling in her nourishment

These feet are not afraid of thorns or rigid rocks
They have walked across coals
They know buoyancy in their soles

There is a natural, quiet crackling
A slow simmer disintegration
A humility, perhaps greater than hunger

I am here to remember that this humility 
is the birthplace of warmth

I am here to toss the trappings of the crammed up digital age
Into the laughing fire of the ancient ways

I am here to remember a million years of thriving by the flame

I am here to remember the circle

Saturday, July 19, 2014

200/365 : does this make you a king?


you sucked so hard on my neck
that momentarily
my belonging
felt everlasting

momentarily
i could quiet the queen
hush the scream of knowing
you're fucking somebody else

does this make us royalty?

Friday, July 18, 2014

199/365 : THE REVOLUTION OF SOUL, AS INSPIRED BY LEGAL BROS



i like the energy of the bros to the left of me
studying for the LSATs.
rigor. scrutiny.
a weird mental passion.
backward hats.
"bring it on, complexity!"
highlighters.
pie.
livestrong bracelets.
faces close to the page.

i can feel the machete in the fields of their minds.
new pathways.
treading, grunting.
"i'm losing my mind!"
yes. lose it. lose it. lose it.
"i'm not even going to DEAL with that one."
no. don't. don't. don't.

i am whispering my stories,
my writings for the revolution.
i am typing new possibilities
in the light of an ancient fire.
i am tired, too.
i am losing my mind, too.
"none of that really clears anything up," he says.

we are in the dark swampy lake, together.
they are grabbing for slimy vines.
i am letting go, sinking to the sandy bottom.
i am emptying my lungs
the beat of my heart thumping on without me.

she is singing in the silence,
"dream now. dream now.
you will emerge later in the light
and you will not be who you were before you dreamt.
you will be full of midnight stars
and a fiery smarts
that's mightier than the mind.
you will know how to keep your soul alive.
you will wake and shake the winds of change.
dream now. be unafraid."

"those are the elements i fail to see," he says.
"because they're so obvious. so obvious."

i am writing the obvious secret of the lake.
i am calling home the dragonfly.
a spider is crawling across my arm.
i am weaving a rigorous web.
a weird physical passion
of words to catch you,
tell you the story
of how to be fed by something
as intoxicating
and dangerous
as a dream.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

198/365 : The Missed Potential is Maddening


In the spirit of bringing more raw shit to the woo woo nation of my particular Facebook feed:

MISSED POTENTIAL
by Rachael Maddox

It's 9pm in a major American city
I am in a trance-like Pie Bar in a hip area of town
There is a live DJ spinning better-than-disco throw backs 
And it's fucking magical

But somehow, the barista-bar-tender-pie-cutter 
Is paying more attention to the dude who wants to buy $5s of pie
Than the dude (who's her boyfriend) who wants to make out with her

And it makes me think about the movie Amelie
And I must admit, I start idealizing France
Because in my gut, there's this insistence that somewhere, there are people who would never put their loyalties into low wage service
Somewhere, there must be a place where distracted by romance is not a crime 
Where you can kiss with your ass in the face of the customer--
Make them hungry for meaning that fills deeper than pie

But it's 9pm in an American city
In a magical vortex of tunes, pies and booze
And no one is making out 

Instead, the room is full of laptops
Zombies on LAPTOPS

There is a dad-son duo 
And they are bobbing their heads
And we do connect for a moment
About the sparkle in the air
And people scattered everywhere
Neck-curled, hunched, missing it

And then there's me:

I am eating two pieces of pie alone.

The man in line in front of me
Ordered two, looked back and said to me, 
Of course!
Why not?

And I thought
He's right, Why not?
I never eat pie
I am here to eat pie now!
I will have two slices

So I'm in this pool of pietopia potential
Eating two slices of pie alone
My phone is not in my hand
I am taking everything in

The red dressed walls
The neon sign 
The street glow outside
The fat and vibrant DJ
The eye-glazed computer zombies
The pretty girls behind the counter
The zero dancing
The amazing music 
The rising and falling of slow-hum chests

I am secretly wishing everyone had cigarettes 
That the smell was ruining our hair--
Then at least we'd be connected 
By a poison we could see 
Floating between us
Eye to eye
Daring to find 
The pupil

I'm taking everything in, wondering
How it is possible 
That we've erased the temptation for
Real Life Sex
Where is our wild, damnit?
Must I go to the woods?

I am eating my pies
The Flirty Berry is drooling on my tongue
The real-butter crust is massaging my molars
The Peacan goop residue is still on my fingers 
from when I tore the slice apart, scooped the goop,
Recieved it shamelessly in the bed of my mouth--
Really had it like I wanted it

I'm taking everything in 
Through the pores of my skin
Through the hunger of my heart
Through the neon light eternal flicker
Of my techno-grooving soul

There is an every day everywhere 
missed potential to FEEL
And it is driving the wild in me mad

So mad that all I can think is,
I'll have sex with the first person who smashes his laptop here
I swear I will
And I will hold nothing back

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

197/365 : make your witch a broomstick




today, i did not go to the river.
not yet.
i washed the soot off my walls.
i drenched myself in salt.
i called home my witch.
i made her a broomstick.

except...i didn't.

i wish i would.
i wish i would love my dark wizard.
i wish i would see him as oz,
small and timid behind some big
talking mask.
i wish i would feed him, at last, the stuff of
kings.
100 queens. music. silks. paints. candlesticks.
drumsticks. olives. gentle lips.
kisses by the thousands.
whole orgies of power.
power like a warm glow
power that's not trying to show off
or one up the next candle over
power that always remembers
the delight
the enchanting fright
the sensual might
the ecstatic cry

of a thousand blazing flames
side by side
setting the whole room on fire
with love

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

196/365 : I think mostly we're just full of talk



i think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of
talk

i think mostly we're just full
of talk

i think mostly we're just
full of talk

i think mostly we're
just full of talk

i think mostly
we're just full of talk

i think
mostly we're just full of talk

i
think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of talk

Monday, July 14, 2014

195/365 : infinite spoonfuls


i'm interested 
in quiet
courageous
anger-love
and infinite
spoonfuls 
of forgiveness

Sunday, July 13, 2014

194/365 : mindfulness rule breaker



i feel like i break all the rules about mindfulness
except that i don't
exactly

when i read your losing-meaning-words
i want to give you something 
from my body
that requires nothing
verbal
and everything
eternal
and mindful

like a kiss
or a smile
or a hand
or a gentle line of breath across your hairy chest
that means to say nothing but
here
i am 
you are
here
we
are here
alive
alive
alive
alive

nothing's died 
love didn't die
love doesn't die

why do i fear that you fear love has died?
or worse, that you don't need it?

it's just my own thing
my own imagining
how sad i'd feel 
if somehow i believed
there was something between me
and love
and others

something between me
and the infinitude of pleasure

it's just my own thing
this desire
to stimulate

Saturday, July 12, 2014

193/365 : everlasting



I've often dreamt of 
oil lamps, tending to an 
everlasting light.

Friday, July 11, 2014

192/365 : to my poetry pen pal part 3


I forgot
Your phone number
For now

My stomach hurts
From the green chili peppers
In the beef stew
(Homemade broth)

I can go so long 
Remembering 
How to avoid the things 
That hurt me
Until I forget again

I liked following the trail
Of faces and sounds with you
It felt kind of scary
And I wanted it to feel 
Sexy or at least sweet
But scary was good because
We still loved each other
In the end
In the during
In the scary

I was afraid to hurt you
When we were rolling around 
Hardwood
I felt like I could break you
Fat kid complex
Maybe also true?

I don't feel free feeling careful
I feel scared

And even still
There's a staying happening
Amidst a hundred tiny riots
And that feels like 
Healing 
Or maybe better--
Like creativity 

When you dance,
You are a firework,
But freer

My face lights up
Nostalgia swarms my heart

I belong face-to-face
With the explosive

Thursday, July 10, 2014

191/365 : to my poetry pen pal 2




This poem is for me
But I'm writing it to you
Because I've forgotten 
My fingers for 
Writing to myself 

I've forgotten that if these fingers
Come from the man 
Who's planning is always two-birds-with-one-stone
And who's quarter jar spills over like a drooling July moon
Then they can probably hold something as buoyant as a basketball
Move it down the court with the confidence and carelessness of
I've-already-jammed-every-knuckle-so-fuck-it

I want to surf harder
Into my own wild wave 
Say it here then say it there
In the open 
Where tomatoes are thrown 
Or worse 
Nothing happens:
FUCK IT
I MAY FAIL 
AS I SHOOT FOR WHAT I LOVE
AND, BY THE WAY,
I'M CRANKY AS FUCK ABOUT IT

Last night I dove into my favorite ocean of sex
With my favorite body to caress 
With my favorite eyes-closed-where-did-we-go
This-is-definitely-home sensation

I'm not sorry for all this surrender to pleasure

We were fucking and I was wishing 
I would stop saying in my head, 
"I can't feel more.
This is my limit."

And then I finally said it,
"I'm allowed to feel this pleasure.
I'm allowed to treasure my body's joy
I'm allowed I'm allowed I'm allowed."

I howled and cried
But nothing really died

My hater is so god damn loud
And proud like a God Hates Fags campaign 
Except God Hates Your Pleasure/Power
God Does NOT Want You In Charge
God Knows You Will Fuck It Up 

Delusional child 
Delusional cold stupid chatter
Be quiet
Better hide
Better keep it in your journal
The place for dreams is in bed

Can I send you this? 
I'm so close to deleting

I don't want you to judge me 
Hate me 
Be hurt by me
For having sex with him

I don't want to be poisoning 
Everything
With my demons of doubt

FUCK THAT
Who cares?
Who can avoid the feral humanness?
It's here. 
It's alive.

Now,
I am quietly surrendering my fear to the pillow
The low hum window AC
Maybe some weed later

Because I don't want to feel
How much I want
To be somewhere or something else
I just want to go
Now
For a little while

I might also read a book

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

190/365 : to my poetry pen pal



I remember 
The thrill of writing 
Lightening-rod-real
Those first few 
Poetry dance mmmms

The disgust, almost
Like raw beef
African savage sincerity 
Kinda exciting 
In a fetish-like way

The ache has become serious now
moved Inward, stomach curled 
Barf.

I'm not surprised by what
I say
I just know 
I hate 
The taste

But then again
I kinda like it
Here, in this clinic of
Self pity hate 
There's no curiosity
But there's endless space 
For the hope
That a drop of it 
Could change
Everything 

And hope
Is a well-cooked
Cow of comfort

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

189/365 : Hygienic Lies


Self love is annoying like a nagging Jewish mother

When I was a kid I'd lie about brushing my teeth
I'd even WET THE TOOTHBRUSH
And still not brush 

I also used to click the sound of the seatbelt buckle and STAY UNSTRAPPED

Tiny rebellions
Against myself
That felt like grand rebellions
Against The Authority

The Authority that was never With Me
Just nagging me from the other room

This is how to be Safe Healthy Happy, Rachael
This is how!
(While we slam-door-curse horrid anger balls at each other)

I am here now 
In my own room
And no one's nagging me 
Except the posters of positivity 
I've made for myself
Out of desperation
To protect the parts of myself
I've managed to cherish

This is not a lie of a poem
This is not just wetting the brush

This is what happens with no double-standard nagging:

Teeth rot
Impact hits

You learn for yourself
The importance of hygiene
And helmets

Monday, July 7, 2014

188/365 : bad mood poetry



Bad moon
Bad mood
It's never too soon
To tell the full truth

I'm cranky as fuck
Pushed all my luck
Coyote's cackling 
At my attempts at tackling
The wild wave of July water
With a little flame of spite or anger

What's needed here
Is earth

Sunday, July 6, 2014

187/365 : Breaking in



I have not one pair of loved shoes
That haven't worn through the soles
Or splayed at the sides,
Torn at the toe
Or stretched to my size

And this how I like it:
Signs of mud 
Failed attempts to clean up the wild
Unpolishable scuffs

I'm not rich enough to stay pristine
I don't value a boxed kind of clean

I want age and character and signs 
Of too many puddles

I want scuff marks and stories and
toe-heel-n-kickin those babies off

My shoes do not need coddling or protection
They need adventure inside them
The kind of strength that trusts the breaking in, and breaking out 

Saturday, July 5, 2014

186/365 : I miss po



I miss po
etry,
qui
etude,
spac
iousness.

the South 
Dakota 
sky.

Friday, July 4, 2014

185/365 : what happens when you're an artist, and your father says, "there is no undoing what you've done," in regards to living FOR A FEW MONTHS off your credit card

1. after years of protest and quick-wit out lashes of passion, you decide this time, to simply say, "thank you."

2. added to your, "thank you" is your, "i hear your. i hear how scared you are. i hear that you're afraid i won't ever be safe in the world, and i hear how upset you are with both of us for getting into this spot, that you see no way out of. i hear that you want my future to be safe. i hear that you don't trust the world, and in reality, don't trust the way i am in the world. i hear you."

3. you ask, "what can you do to make yourself feel more safe in this situation?"

4. you let him do whatever he needs.

5. you hang up the phone with an, "i love you."

6. you let the swell of energy in your throat move toward your collarbone, out to the edges of your shoulders, down to your elbows, forearms, fingertips.

7. you write a new security. you write a thousand ways out. you write the truth: that you are alive and happier than you ever were under the scrutiny of cash-based worth assessments. you write the other truth: that you know you are called to make this world safer for the artists, mystics, healers and lovers. you write up an offering, an invoice, a love letter, a thank you note. you write a poem that goes like this:

8. dear dad,

the sky has plucked
my feathers of fear
one by one

i feel my nakedness
and i have already come undone

this skin-to-sun reality
this burning
is not a death to me
i know the names
of all the neighbors
and all the trees
the creek has held me
in my grief
and given of herself
in my thirst
there are worse things
in the world
than befriending the wild
isolation
is not my way
i'm okay here
i'm okay

love,
rachael

9. you get back to work.