poems for dec. 1st show at the orange peel….

on November 27, 2009 in things that have fallen out of barbie's mind.... with no comments by

the show is at 6pm at the orange peel in asheville, nc. i’ll be one of 5-10 poets performing. these are two of the pieces that i’m planning on doing that nite….

That Barbie Poem

My name is Barbie
But I’m not a doll
It doesn’t say Mattel
Upon my heel.
I’m not the babe
Who sits on the shelf
I can think and speak and feel.

My hair requires no gels or sprays,
My cheeks aren’t a blushing pink.
My legs are shapely….
My chest is not,
If you press my back, my eye won’t wink.

I don’t have matching accessories
But I come complete with a brain.
I don’t have a dream house
Or a pink car,
And I wasn’t made to entertain.

So don’t tell me you undressed a Barbie once,
And that you’d like to do it again.
Because I am not a Barbie Doll
And you sure as hell aren’t Ken.
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Ode to my Critics….

This is a poem of slamming doors,
of endless questions and pacing floors.
This is a rant of wonder why’s,
of temper tantrums and scattered cries.
And this is the place I wanted to see,
and I am the girl I needed to be,
and this is the way I can say it all,
‘cause now is the time when I have to fall.

The song that is playing is on repeat
and the guy that I love is always sweet,
but everything else is a fucking mess,
and my mind needs a place to sit and rest.
So the words that I’m spewing are overdone
and all I am doing is just for fun.
If that’s the case why the hell do you care?
See, you ride in a box while I take the stairs.

So what if I lose or what if I win?
‘Cause I am the one who lives in my sins.
I’d never tell you to be happy or sad.
“I dropped my smile?” well too fucking bad.
I guess what I’m saying is I am just me.
And I said it before, that’s who I need to be.
And I shouldn’t explain my life all the time,
why I never smoke pot and I write in a rhyme.

So don’t ask me why I love him so much.
Why we’re always kissing and just have to touch.
And I will not explain why I’m not in your bed,
or why guys like you can’t get into my head,
‘cause this is a poem for me to write
and this is the way I spend my nites….

The coffee I drink is brewed in my veins
and the song in my head has been ingrained.
The girl in my pen is alive in this book,
but she isn’t me if you bother to look.
And the girl in my past really had it quite hard,
but she couldn’t care less, so don’t send a card.
And the girl that you see may look pretty to you,
in a short little dress and some high heeled shoes.
But I’m not into looks ‘cause they never last,
so wait ‘till I’m sixty to check out my ass.

The body I’m in was a gift from my mom
and it’s really not weak, though I wouldn’t say strong.
But she gave it to me to use as I please,
it’s lasted okay, but I’ve worn out the knees….
See, I’ve groveled too much for the life that I want.
I’ve put up with violence and childish taunts,
so now is the time to use what I have,
‘cause the backbone I own was a gift from my dad.

And you can’t tell me why and you can’t dictate how,
it seems that my spine is too “strait” to bow.
Yes I am in love with the way that I give
and I am alive for how I choose to live.
If cancer can’t stop me, why do you think you can?
I’m not just a groupie for your little band.
I’m a leader you see, and I follow myself.
I guess it’s the best for my mental health.
That is all I am saying, I do this for me.
My opinion is all that should matter you see.
“You can’t take it with you,” or so I’ve been told,
so I’ll keep being real ‘till I’m frail and old.

And I’ll look back on life when I finally die
and all that I’ll have is the fact that I’ve tried.
And I’ll know that my trip has been worth the risk,
if just for the fact of the boy that I kiss.
He’s riding shotgun on this journey I take,
and we’re doing okay, although we make mistakes.
We’re together in this in a beat to shit van
but we’re having a blast every chance that we can.
We’ve been driving along without air in the tires
and the fluids are leaking all over the wires,
still my mission is true and my timing is good
and the tanks filled with gas and I rest when I should.
I know that I’m bound to get there someday,
to the place in my life where I will be safe.
Though I don’t have a map my direction is clear,
in fact I’m so close I can see it from here.

And I’m not gonna guess at half empty or full,
I’m no optimist but at least nothing’s dull.
It’s a whirlwind of chaos that carries me off.
It’s a baffling buoyancy which keeps me aloft.
And the cost that I’m paying is not cheap at all,
but it’s worth all I’m saying ‘cause it’s my time to fall.

All the doors I have slammed are closed up for now
and so it’s your turn to get really loud.
Step up to the mike and scream a few lines.
You don’t have to make sense or yell in a rhyme.
Just speak how you feel and make it all fun,
‘cause I have been Barbie and my tantrum is done
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i’m still trying to decide on two other poems. possibly one question and i’m reworking one called “the meeting”.

thanks for playing….barbie.

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