Roya's First Archive

Maybe I’m delirious

when all I can think

of is an empty stomach

or you and your

intoxicating effect

when I can’t

decide which direction

this poem should go

so it spreads out

like fingers,

like I’m hanging

onto a rope

exploring a cave

so I don’t go deep

because I don’t have much rope

maybe I’m

delirious

when I’m sitting outside

and it is spring

but I am picturing

dark caves.

Maybe I should pick another

direction to explore

maybe I should

start another poem.

My dance is bright pink

hair that swirls around

me when I laugh

it is orange eyes that flash

when I am mad

it is purple nails

and ink stained fingers

red lips and white teeth

skin like sand

and a voice to color

anything.

My dance is swirls and

rainbows

beams of light.

My dance is what I do

inside

while I’m walking in lines.

My dance is music

and color and light

fingerpainting and spinning

sculpting and crying

I dance my dance

like dr. suess, in a box

with a fox

I dance it

to your music, but my own steps

alone or in a group,

in a corner

on a table.

In the dark, I glow

I am a bright pink flash

and I am looking for

others.

The goddess of winter

broods

alone outside, while

everyone else is curling up

under blankets

she watches her white breath

and the tears freeze

to her cheeks.

She is like king midas,

and what she touches

turns to ice.

She walks for hours,

lonely,

weeping for the ground she walks on

as it freezes over.

For fire’s sake I let myself

turn to hard metal.

If I can find the one who has the skill

to forge

something beautiful

the one who knows the medium

I wil bend and flow and spark

and shape

I will endure the flames, the heat

to test your strength.

But if you are not

the one, I will return to being

cold and stiff

I want someone who knows

how to shape me with fire

not someone who

thinks he can

bend metal with his bare hands.

I am proud of my fingers.

I have strong fingers!

They are the only tools I need

and they’re strong

you can’t bend them unless

I want you to.

But I have been known

to let them soften

entertwine with others

mold to fit

someone else’s hand.

But I am proud that

my fingers didn’t keep that shape

and I am proud that

you can only bend them

if I let you.

the air would be sweet today

if I had my way

it would satisfy my hunger like food

and the flowers and wet dirt

would be all I ever needed.

The air would be sweet

with music, If I had this control.

Instead, people with voices like crows

squawk

too close to my ears

and drown out

anything

beautiful.

The air would be sweet

with the sound of

pens scratching,

of people laughing next to me,

or trains arriving

and phones ringing.

The air would be sweet

with voices resonating

if I could be in charge of what the air

was like today.

Instead I am

alone

the sky is gray

and can’t smell a thing.

Someone screeches in the background

like they are laughing at

ugly things.

I am finding only harshness

where I want to find

velvet.

i

don't think you try

to change me

you just sit at your own

computer

hours away

and wait for my fingers to

tell you

how to spell

things correctly.

i don't think

you ever thought

you'd make

me become

attached.

you were just being

you

and i was just

me

and you had no way of knowing

that you being you

was better

than anyone else

had ever been.

i don't think

you tried to change

me, you just sat by

and hoped

your caring would

show through.

and it did

it latched on to my arm

and so now

i am

faithfully yours.

i wonder if you

would try to

change this

in me

if you knew.

you fill the screen

with brightness,

which overwhelms me in

an otherwise dark room

you fill the screen

with words that fill my mouth

with questions,

my cheeks with blood

and my brain

with no answers.

i soak the life from the light

and glow from the

outside in.

but when you leave i realize

flourescent lights have no sustenance,

and your world

unlike mine

is a bright one,

no matter what.

---

what do you think when i'm drowning you

out

with my overwhelming waves of self doubt and pity.

what do you think when my moods change

like the tides,

do you ever wish you

were finding the treasures that usually hide in the deep,

or do you ohly think of putting shoes on

before you get stung.

what do you think of the shells i placed on my shore,

beautiful, aren't they? i use them to lure

unsuspecting oceangoers.

they don't realize for a while how

sharp they can be.

i just wish for once there was somebody

who came prepared

with gloves and extra oxygen,

to take the time to explore,

the time to love the deep and

the unknown.

someone who could love the darkness and

the jewels it gives up.

do you ever think, sometimes,

that this someone

could be you?

---

There is something

slightly intoxicating

(always has been)

about listening to

your voice.

I fall in love

by sound like

I touch to see.

His voice grating

gives my heart

something to record,

to play back again

and again and

my knees tremor

with the bassline.

if I could touch

you i would memorize

you, but since I

can only hear

you, I can only

love you

and feel slightly

tipsy at the prospect.

so my demons only

jumped up and bit you

on the cheek,

but it didn't make a permanent mark

so that's a good thing.

but my demons tasted

your skin

and now they want more.

they tasted salt

and under the surface,

sweetness

and they saw a little bit of

sadness?

which is news to be because

i only saw

your strength.

but when my demons

bit you

they whispered in my ears

and now i would do anything

to patch up that mark

and the ones they say they saw

under your skin.

writing right past importance, like

i'm passing someone on the street

that i don't want to talk to, so

i duck my head, or turn it. pretend

to look at something of great interest

in the other direction. these poems

are like that, i hide my face behind

a book because i don't want to see

what needs to be written about. i

don't want to give this ugliness a

body i don't want to acknowledge

it, or wave or say hello. i want to

run, sometimes, as fast as i can in

the opposite direction. but they can

smell fear, like a dog, and like a dog

it will run panting after me. it will

bare it's teeth and barrel through the

people watching, and they will

point and say "see, that's what happens

when you repress" "that's what you

get when you try to run away" but

once i start i won't be able to stop

until it tackles me to the ground,

and growling, force me to write a poem.

may i feel the way you're feeling

just once, i should have asked.

i should have taken your hand and

let you feel the pulse in my throat

that pounded in my ears

and i couldn't talk but i could laugh

because i was

so afraid.

afraid of my own blood pumping

afraid of the message my heart was sending

as if it beat like the drums of Africa

sending my thoughts

away on the wind.

i am so afraid of the blood coursing

in my veins

afraid fo the rivers rushing

ready to burst out in precise lines.

i am afraid that these lines will spell out

why my heart is beating.

and i would rather you

took my hand

or touched my neck gently

try to feel the way i'm feeling

the blood, the beat

the fear.

i am afraid that you will find this out

and i am afraid that

you will never know.

this morning i woke up

after a night

of dreams

that made me press my face to the pillow

and i wasn't sure if i was laughing or crying but i knew i was

missing you

the way you stand, remember i'd never

noticed this before

the way you watched without talking

and the way i tried to watch you

when i wasn't talking

suddenly this small hotel room has soaked in

your laughter and my chatter

it was seen me pace and blush and look away

it saw you stride and lay across the bed

and even though my memory is fading and

only a few bright moments are standing out

the walls will remember forever

and i envy them so.

you lay there smiling up at me while i

laughed, and twisted my hands

so nervously (you would have laughed if you'd known how nervous)

and all of a sudden it was a lesson in perspective

your boots were so big,

from where i stood,

your eyes were much smaller at the other end of the bed

and you, your presence,

was larger, louder now

that you were close to me and i could see you breathing

watching you made my heart pump blood

three times it's normal rate

and you just lay there, watching

and suddenly you

were larger than life.

Why do I bow my head

tears aren't that heavy

these crystals that sit on my cheeks

shine, but don't look pretty

I'm gonna keep my head up

make yours snap up too

wear the diamonds on my toes

so they'll flash when

I keep my own beat.

So they'll spark, light a few fires

blind a few eyes.

My lips have songs behind

them, a tongue to talk,

my throat is thick with music

I have stories to tell

new tunes to learn.

You can try to conduct me and

I'll learn what I can.

But my voice is best

uncaged, unleashed. My hands never tremble

when I hold the mic alone.

My head is gonna stay up

my shoulders are strong

if you want to walk with me

I'd be gad of the company, but

you'll have to learn to harmonize.

Don't let my voice take over,

It's just light enough so it rises

to the top.

Lift up your head, get ride of the

weight, turn the tears into diamonds.

Sparkle, and, Sing.

i think i am giving up if learning

makes my heart and smile old and

my eyes shadowed.

16 and feeling burnt

like a charred skeleton behind a

desk and a pile of books.

i walk so well in lines

i sit so nicely in a row.

these are not the talents i want to cultivate.

i would rather have

stimulating conversations at 2am

eating cookies

sitting on the kitchen floor.

not doodling

in the margins of disorganized notes.

with a class in the morning

i have to ignore

late night inspirations.

i am stretched too thin, and the smallest spark

threatens a fire

which will leave my eyes

cold and wasted.

a drunk who drinks up words

i fall in love with voice

an addict of speech

and everything you say.

a drunk who fills

her cup of happiness

on your hello

and sips,

large eyes,

watching you as

the sweet drink

collapses the stern

corners of my mouth.

if i could i would

carry you in a small black bottle,

and drink you at intervals

during the day.

i am a drunk,

an addict,

and they say

this is a disease.

i wear desire

like poison

deep within my heart

and you

tap into the pool

drain me and leave me.

but i am

refilling

even as they tell me

that poison will stay

in my spinal chord

forever.

it will rot me

from the inside out.

then you will see

what i tried to hide,

tried to show you,

what i wore

sometimes with shame,

sometimes

with pride.

to please her i will

write three things that

you should like about me.

but do you like them,

do you like me

Will your presence or an empty space

define who i am.

i like the way

my eyes look as

they stare over

the edge of the cliff.

as i watch birds fly

and feel the

cold shiver in my bones.

i like the way my hair looks

when it catches fire

from the setting sun.

i like my voice,

as it rises to tease

you, talk to you,

sing, laugh. i like the way

it sounds as the wind carries it

and it skims the top of

the ocean.

but i do not like

negative space

or the nightmares that fill it.

if you were a flower i would watch you unfurl your petals.

then i would be jealous of the sun

i would cry tears of hopelessness.

and you would grow stronger,

and my smile would appear from behind the clouds

when i realize that you loved the showers

as much as you love the sun.

Yes this is an obsession

with perfection.

But if there is a

perfect girl out there

will I find her before

he does? And if I do,

where will I hide the body?

but you know i'd be perfectly

happy just to see you

frown in your sleep

beside me

when you wear that glare-that-is-not-a-glare

and i ache, just a little, inside,

wondering what you're thinking

that prevents your smiling.

it's so easy to hit the delete key

when there's too much rapid thought and i can't control one word much less your dreams

but it'd be enough

to have you

next to me

where i could make you

smile

if you let me.

maybe

dis jointed

is the wa

y to go.

So I ca

n fi

nd some one

who is wil ling

to put the

puz zle back

tog

et

her

I'm looking good

When all the mirrors in my house

Smile at me.

You might think I'm just pretending

with the glitter and the coat-hangers

and the stretch-gauze material

But it's just a little help

for people who don't see

the way I sparkle,

and how high I really fly.

tracks from a stick dragged in the sand spell out words she wants you to realize

but then she looks around quickly, blushes, and scuffs them out again with her foot

not even waiting for a wave to extinguish

the words too dangerous to say out loud.

she said them once

and a million times

and look what happened then.

the tides came in and wiped away her castle.

he said them too

said them first

but then retreated where his only company were seagulls

tracks from a stick in the wet sand mark how far she's walked along this shore

with only one pair of footprints

holes filling with water as soon as she steps out of them.

Music like

they are hitting someone

angry pounding

who hit them first?

My songs turn to

tears

usually.

I guess it all depends on

the way you've been hurt.

sickness

still dirty from your touch

i feel

contaminated

my ears need

to be

cleaned

because

i heard

your

voice.

but it

is my

heart

that is

stained

with the

mottled

colors of

confusion.

my memories

don't align

with the

picture you

are showing

me. you

make me

feel diseased

but i

remember

catching

this cold

from you.

You're always going to be

cold

If there's someone around

who's warmer

than you are.

I am so happy

you love me.

I write you love poems

in the margins.

But if you don't call tomorrow

Remind me what

forgiveness is.

I lost the words. I had

a pen and the pen

had ink but the words

had waited by a

highway for three hours

waiting for a truck to

take them away from

me. Anywhere but the

page where sentences go

on like cornfields. Sirens

sound - there was an

accident. A truck overturned.

2 police cars have stopped

by the side of the road.

The truck is lying on it's side

in a field. The words are

nowhere to be found.

i write and i think that

the problem tonight is

you've left me with no material

except you and now you've left

and i'm searching in every poem for the magic words

to unlock any sort of flow

from pen to the paper

but my fingers are so used to you.

this is hopeless now that hope has left

and i don't know why i bother

but last night i seared the place between my breasts

hoping i could hurt myself

worse than you've hurt me

then i woke up

and found i'd burnt away my heart.

now i'm like a fire ring, left after a night of

pouring lighter fluid onto laughter

there's a mist from the ocean and the sand is cold

the stones are just a little grayer

i'm afraid i'll sit here too long

waiting by the fire you left long ago

waiting for the waves to release what was mine

waiting for words to wash up on shore

for material to heal

what i should have mended, long ago.

Writing with markers

the bright, fat

crayloya kind

makes me feel important,

like taking up space

and writing in big

bubble letters

to catch your attention.

(let me know if it works.)

I will let my

children

write at 3am

Because I know

What a lonely time that is.

And I will let them

turn on their lights

because I know

how exasperating

it is not to be able

to read your writing

the next day.

You stole my scissors

When I went to cut out

my heart

But I lost the glue

When I wanted to

keep you with me.

Wait

wait

wait

for something to write.

Nothing doesn't cut it anymore

because there's always

something.

ouch. bone truth

naked thoughts,

every piece of gravel scratches

every shard of glass

cuts. tell me what i need to hear, cover me

up, just a little.

You tell me about

bad trips

and i say,

baby, just look at

you!

sitting in so much

smoke

(i'll never live

past 30)

but i sit there

for you,

realize there's someone here...

you dont need that

needle.

you laugh, but

i'm a

laugher

too. i know

it's either

laugh or

cry. just

wait, and

watch the

eyes. i get

up, leave the room. I don't really, but I

wish I could.

I make collages

to piece myself together

I cut magazines

because i like

taking them apart.

I need combat boots

So I can go crashing through

worlds

And stomp on them

before they stomp on me.

what matters

most is getting

through today

without letting

your tongue slip -

biting it just

hard enough that

it barely bleeds.

what matters

most is reading

Poets and dog-earring

pages to save the time

it takes to be

inspired. what matters

most is that i

never stop singing

that my voice never

stills, that the rhythym

never slows. what

matters most is

that my heart keeps

beating, that i cut

down on caffeine,

that i call my

friends back, that

i keep in touch with

everyone, myself included.

what matters most

is that i keep talking

so i know i'm alive

what matters most

is that my pen

keeps writing - so

that other people

know it too.

Ok, turn off the light

turn off my mind.

That's enough po-ems

for one night.

I'm tired!

I'm sorry I ever railed against

writer's block.