Always Unfinished
I try to piece together
This quilt of bits of time.
So I can sleep at night
With all I know is mine.
It will always keep me warm
And always keep me safe.
Those ragged little memories
Of the life I had to make.
And if you scan it closely
You’ll see that you are there
Among the stitched up promises
And the empty cans of beer.
Amidst the tears and laughter
And the lovers that went wrong.
Somewhere in between
My countless favorite songs.
I’ve struggled all my days
To keep all the little scraps
Matchbooks and guitar picks
An endless array of crap
And I sorted through it all
And I weighed the good and bad
And I pretty much kept everything,
All the happy and the sad.
Yeah it’s taken me a lifetime
To be the girl I am,
And I refuse to live in bitterness
When life didn’t go as planned.
No I’ll take all that I’m given
And I’ll be better for it all.
I know it’s all just living
Every single time I fall.
I’m sure I’ve had it better
And I know I’ve had it worse,
But I’m not one to blame another
Or think my life is just a curse.
I want my quilt to span the globe
And cover everyone I’ve met.
I’d like to buy the world a coke
and toast a life of no regrets.
I want you all to sing with me
Some universal happy song.
And know that if you’re really you
Then nothing can be wrong.
Absence
It was the absence of a soundtrack
that confused me.
I’ve never been one for that
type of action movie anyway.
I never saw Armageddon or Independence Day
or whatever that one is where the
White House is hit with a space ship.
I have too much empathy for people
to watch them suffer and die
tragically, horribly, needlessly.
I like suspense,
I like psychological thrillers
(without the gratuitous gore)
I like dramas and romance
and I love comedies.
I don’t like movies about devastation.
I don’t like movies where the bad guy wins,
and I could care less about special effects.
And as I sat there, home,
sick from work, absently watching TV.
It was the absence of a soundtrack,
that scared me the most.
It was the absence of applause
that impressed me.
All of these actors, singers and musicians
that I have admired for many different reasons
over the years and no one was applauding them.
The singers performed with energy,
the musicians with a passion I’d never seen,
only the actors seemed out of place.
Fully aware that they were there as celebrities
but with no need to act.
Merely react or answer the phone.
No introductions, no commercials,
no scandalous outfits or off-color jokes.
No need to change the channel.
And though I tried for 3 hours,
no way to reach any one out there.
It was the absence of applause
that impressed me.
It’s the absence of thousands of people
that keeps me awake at night
If you’ll pardon the writer
who always seem to have an opinion,
or feeling about everything
that crosses her path….
I apologize for my delay
at expressing myself on this subject…
I have been speechless,
without words…..
They have been absent.
Current Situation
So I’ve been here awhile
But I’m way out of style
And it seems I will never be vogue.
And my van’s still half-packed,
Old regrets in the back
And momentos of all I called home.
And I sit here and write,
But I’m losing the fight
To be who I thought that I was.
Cause the girl in my eyes
Lost all thoughts of the prize
When she found the one boy she could love.
My dilemma’s quite clear
Where do I go from here?
Should I write something
When nothing is wrong?
And if I really am happy
Will my thoughts come out sappy
Like all of those Backstreet Boys Songs
Will my friends think it’s treason
If I forgo rhyme and reason
And write only of flowers and birds?
Will they think that I’m spun
And my career’s finally done
Or I’ve expended all my favorite words?
Or is that the true sin?
That I may just give in
And speak like a top 40 tune?
If I find that’s the case
Then I’ll crank up the bass
And find a nice mattress-filled room.
So I think that instead
I’ll shove the voice from my head
And write of the truths I believe.
So I guess I should start
I’ll just write form the heart
Of all I have tried to achieve.
Do I lead with my hopes or the fears that I choke?
Do I scream all my secrets and sins?
It all seems so easy
Unless the person you’re pleasing
Is the critic who’s living within.
Should I strike the next line?
Does this voice smack of whine?
Cause I get on my last nerve a lot.
Should I try to bedazzle
With a chaos unraveled?
Obfuscate with some Pynchon-like thoughts
So what do you think
Should I just grab a drink
And fall into a dull drunken void?
Cause I’m more than confusing
And quite less than amusing
And I’m certain you’re getting annoyed.
Should I write of my past?
And how long would that lost?
Would it interest a soul besides me?
Or go back to the attic
And the words much more tragic
And invite you all over for tea?
Where’s the Benchley for my table
And why aren’t my thoughts more stable?
Why is comedy found only in my glass?
And does anybody care
That my words have led me here?
And I landed on my head and not my ass?
Should I finish with a smile
Or commend my lack of style
And tell you that I’m sure I’ll be okay?
Or should I be more honest
That I don’t know how far I got us
And I’m sitting here with nothing else to say.
Fairy Tale?
Once upon a time,
(or so the story goes)
in a land so far away,
(or right here for all we know)
there was a great occurance,
(or a mediocre one)
something to do with the moon,
(or maybe it was the sun).
This country was in turmoil,
(or it could have been okay)
but I’m sure it was a country,
(at least that’s what they say).
and the hero was this girl,
(or it might have been a guy)
and they lived happily ever after,
no wait…. I’m sure they died.
Thank You....
Thank you for not calling me again.
It seems like it’s been an eternity
since I didn’t hear from you.
People have said I’m getting paranoid,
but I was really starting to worry.
It seems that every day
there’s a message on my machine,
until today….
there it was….
no one had called….
and I knew it must have been you.
And I was truly happy.
Then this afternoon
the doorbell didn’t ring
and I realized it was you
not stopping by.
It gave me hope.
I thought you had forgotten I even existed.
But then tonite
when you didn’t show up
for the date we never made
I realized you must still care….
A Valentine.
September leaves....
August moon....
July heat....
Weddings in June....
May flowers....
April’s ducks....
March winds blow....
February sucks....
Anonymous Meeting
Hey there. Um, this is my first time at one of these things.
So, anyway, my story, right? OK.
Um, my name is Barbie an I’m a bitter, jaded, cynical bitch.
I’m 28 years old and I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I guess I wasn’t always this severe though. No, I started out being cynical. Like most people I was annoyed with the world and the frustrating fact that nothing I did ever seemed to have a positive impact on my surroundings.
But my cynicism was in small doses back then; you know, offhand comments at parties and coffee shops among friends. Then things got so much worse. I’m still not quite certain why, but I began getting into other people’s conversations and even began seeking out pretentious assholes at pretentious coffeehouses just to fuck with their pompous little minds.
Soon my cynicism wasn’t enough I guess. The more I dealt with the uptight, closed-minded, trendy followers, the more bitter I became. Just the mere sight of one of them caused an overflow of negative emotions to well up inside of me. The bitterness I felt had no trouble catapulting me into the next phase of my existence. I was jaded.
At this point I no longer needed to even speak to these people because, I felt, I had already had every imaginable conversation with them that I deemed probable and could easily foretell the path of any possible encounter I may have. It was surprisingly similar to those “choose your own adventure” books from my childhood, except in my case the main character only interacts with people who quote books they’ve never read and news bytes from CNN and think that each man’s promise of creative and intelligent thought is directly proportionate to his ability to coordinate his ultra-cool, yet highly unoriginal, name brand wardrobe. Still, I was content with who I was as a person. I was, in fact, completely unaware of my classifications and subsequent titles until my boyfriend at the time brought all of these qualities of mine into light.
Yes, one nite after hanging out at his favorite bar and watching him strike up conversations with every heavily made-up, scantily dressed, giggling bimbo in designer platform heels, I informed him that I had finally had enough and he in turn informed me that I had become a bitter, jaded, cynical bitch. And this from a man whose Alanis Morisette album never left the cd player. She was, in his eyes, the most profoundly accurate song writer he had ever heard.
Isn’t that ironic?
This turned out to be a pivotal point in my life. The end of our relationship, the beginning of his relationship with a heavily made-up, scantily dressed, giggling bimbo and the moment when I embarked on my quest for self-analysis. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am bitter, jaded and cynical, and I’m not certain that I want to change. I prefer to wear these characteristics with style. But I know what you’re thinking, didn’t I leave out the part about being a bitch? That is true, but to explain that would take up an entire poem all it’s own.
Fragile, Break With Care
Yes I have loved extremely well in life,
and I’ll be well loved when I’m dead
but for now men leave quite a bitter taste
and such a ringing inside my head.
You know that I’ve cried a small river or two
and I’ve lived in the depths seldom seen.
And it hurts when I land after falling in love
as the credits roll past on the screen.
We all want to try to make it quite clear
that we heed the sweet voice in our minds.
As if anyone else could somehow understand
all the lives that we’ve left behind.
And everyone says that they’ll stay ‘till the dawn
And everyone cries when anyone leaves
and everyone lies when they wander on.
‘cause love is the currency everyone needs.
And now here I sit in the spite of myself
with my heart in a sling and my face in the past
and I search for an answer I couldn’t have missed
as I try to believe in the girl in the glass.
I scan through the sky and the leaves on the ground
trying to capture that one perfect word.
Though I’m sure that I know it’s already been found.
And it was a meal for some hungry bird.
In the end when my heartache is finally gone
sharing cabs with the lovers that left,
that’s when I’ll know that I owe them the most
a broken heart can inspire the best.
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.