A puddle of poetry

[puddle_girl]

Black

I have been sucked down a black hole.
I can see that at the edge of it's top
Is a sliver of light.
But I care not to seek it.
Let it remain for as long
as it's energy can be fulfilled.
I have other rustling debris
to sort out within my hands now.
The turned
charred
half eaten
wasted
and rotted memories
that despite their newness,
decayed the moment they arrived.
I have to gather them,
and sort them accordingly for
my now broken source of light.

That thing.

Who all together was glowing radiant
with the wonder of the green fields and blossomed trees,
now cowers in the corner.

Her back to me.

Silent.

She curled her hands around her knees
and pressed her forehead down to stop the screams.

So, I am left,
to put together the lamp she broke,
and gather the books she threw,
thick,
heavy leather bound and worn,
to return them to the dusty shelves.

She tore them down.

She tore it all down
when her aged and tender parts
were cleaved.
I am fortunate enough to step to her side
and only smell her fear,
knowing it comes from her.
That wretched thing in the corner.

I can hear her sometimes, sobbing in spurts.
Sniffling and wiping the snot from her lips.

I'm the strong one here.
That's why I'm cleaning up her mess.

It was quite a mess,
but it was a necessary one.
I've scraped the shattered bits
into a pile and with my broom,
gathered them up to dump into
the blackened hole in the floor.

I know where she came from,
and I know what happened.
But she won't talk about it.
Only weep in between long silences.

So, I sigh and pull myself up
to tend to the mediocre,
the everyday,
pushing the pen,
wrapping the lunch,
feeding the mongrel dogs and
running the races for this and that.
I mark the calendar and keep the appointments.
All find that even around this place
I tend to keep it tidy, even for that one,
over there.
Who in her terrorized existence,
still wants for an ear.
But I cannot offer it,
as I am just too busy.
So back to the drudgery of my every day.
I still see that split above me.
And resign to the next task,

When suddenly

I feel the tug at my pantleg
and look down to the meet with horror
the vacant dead eyes of her.
She crawled to me in trickery and stealth,
and with that meeting of a state,
hers of an all-consuming hate and rage filled vacuum
and mine of paralyzed abject disgust,
I am sucked back to that room.

That night.

Where it happened.


"How long will I stay this time?" I ask.
She whispered, "until it's over."

 

[puddle_girl]

i am.


I am looking to get to
The bottom of it all.
Through the mashed faces
Pressed into glass
Screaming and conniving
With a thread of hope
For their illustrious illusion.
I'm looking to find the reasons
Why all at once a crack
Opened wider between us
and us.
A meaning, or moreso a conviction
That predicates the forward motion.
In secret.
In silence.
Hidden.
It is all hidden. But still exists.

More mouthpieces than hands.
Offer their own intellectual sewage.
And not ever the truth.
The truth is the answer.
But no one can accept it.

So off we go, with our pretty shows
Of watermelon and rainfall.
Mixed with the horror of segregation and self loathing.
Yet in their offices,
Their smoking lounges and their chambered covens of thought.
A mighty and wealthy band churns out once again,
Division so that we
Collectively hate one another.
All while the veil hangs high,
And we see nothing through it.
If only one would rise and call it out.
The truth.
There is no "us" and "them".
Yet, sides are made.
Unnecessarily made.

 

[puddle_girl]

the woods

The barrenness of this landscape before me is startling.
I find peace in the cutting streams of light
that filter through the trees as I walk this dirt road.
I am confused with nature.
At first glance,
determined by the senses of my skin,
that thinks I am in an autumn world.
All the vibrant colors that represent the lack of life.

And yet I feel the budding growth of the shrubs
beneath my feet as I float
through this trail.
However, today is a bright spring day.
But its trickery, nature's trickery has me wondering
while wandering.
Walking down this quiet crisp path,
one that I've never been on
seems so familiar to me because of those colors.

The hues of red and gold and
green and brown and death and life.
They beg me to linger back
into my memory.
of that day in the woods,

with you.

That day where you loved me like
no one ever has.
You leaned me across the rock and caressed
me so violently
with your hands.

Your tender hands that weakened me,
found that tree limb.
Found it heavy enough to penetrate to my bones.
You thrashed me with a severity that dropped me
to my knees in the dirt
and cry out for mercy.
You showed me none.
And decidedly grasped the back of my head,
forcing yourself into my throat where
I eagerly
secretly
devoured every inch of you.
in the open,
in the woods
in the park
in the town where people were,
and eyes could find us.

The brightness of this day covers me as I
remember those sensations.
The pain of kneeling
before you
on the cobbled cutting stones.
The throbbing pulsating blood
rushing to the back of my body
where all the bruises now swelled
for weeks well past their time.
I wonder now as I walk down this path
do my muscles remember?
Swirling in my mind, I ask,
Do the vessels that flow through my skin up
and around my heart,
do they recall that moment,
that terrifying moment where you all at once crippled me
and forced me to succumb?
I did not resist.
I could not resist.
I was petrified of being found,
not by others,

but by you.

Where you found
that pure emptiness
that was me.

 

[puddle_girl]

rally

I am between spaces.
Half dumbed and almost obsolete.
it is prime real estate for me.
My sifted way acknowledges right and wrong, still.
But the fiendish pleasure sought once,
has hardened into a mask of regret,
I wear day after day.
In my younger fever
I found my invincibility.
The ether of now
convoluted my vision of tomorrow.
No one could harm me.
No one really.
I was mentally tough.
And showed off my wares like crusted diamonds dancing at the ends of my fingers.
Now, age has rusted my gear.
The memories are doubted.
Was I ever even in love?
Did I know myself then, as I do now?
I bear wisdom.
Not happily.
But such is the state.
Between spaces.
My lines have seen bitterness and death.
So much for forever.
The numbering of days has begun.
But you will not be far from me.
Your energy that stayed when he died.
That fueled my hatred of god.
You, dear bliss, which found the pressing of a man into me,
the itch scratched and tamed.
I should have died so many times.
Perhaps I did once.
So, rally with me that glow,
Come drive away in the used broken vehicle
That is my body.

Listen, she still purrs.

 

[puddle_girl]

The innocence of suffering

suffer me that which is overdone.
Breaking all the barriers of reality.
the emotion of
the feeling of
The experience of
Suffering.
Does it glorify a god, or man?
Or does it scratch the itch hidden just beneath your surface.
Gnawing at you for the tamer.
Does it drop hard into your hands and weigh you down with all the pull of the earth?
Drag yourself onward, across the broken boards.
To feel the suffering beneath your bones.
Are you alive yet?
Does your bloody skin cry out with freedom?
What purer tone than this.
Of a scream, welded deep inside your gut.
With the cruelty of monsters, you punch it forth.
And it sings an alleluia of white snow.
Falling.
Like innocence.
Like naked innocence.

 

[puddle_girl]

I do it for me
Not you.
Screaming tired of masculine personified.
What a specimen you are
With secondary assurance.
Such a figure.
We are watching,
how fortunate for you.
With the audience on all sides.
You bathe in perfection
Slathered with absolution
And they sop their souls with a narcissistic wit.
It would appear not everyone is amused with
Your bleating and honking.
I can mirror you with a sinister precision that would break your spirit like a porcelain doll.
And truly, that is just what you are.
Because I uncovered your plot
And labeled you right.

Baby, I am my own act.

And I do it for me.
Not you.

 

[puddle_girl]

How do I convince you
That eyes sunken into death pools of clay
And ripped shreds of his admission
Cannot be undone.
I was there to do a job.
And he in his hoodie
A spirit maligned with chaos
And trinkets of destruction
Traced across the pew.
Unhinged and free to roam.
Barefoot on the carpet
With a weapon in hand.
A slick stout and sinister staff
That with one swing,
Could take the house down
Better than your Jesus.
Oh we can't be a bother.
She is just over reacting.
We know about him,
Expected the same.
But an admission of escalation
Drew no reproach.
Caused no concern.

We will see next Sunday
When the blood is poured and the complacent mouths salivate for flesh,
His staff might then be a gun.
And your righteous prayers couldn't stop a
Fuckin bullet.

 

[puddle_girl]

Conversations.

I have a raging headache.
I suppose it's because I'm
Dehydrated.
I crawled out of bed
Thinking I had a chance.
But not today.
You're flaccid remarks
fucked my head up
And you were expecting me to climax in acceptance,

When all I could do was cry.

Still.
I let you put your intellect on me.
With determination and authority you leaned in hard.

One more swing and
You thought,
Maybe I'll enjoy it.

I didn't flinch when the first blows landed fresh on my
Corpse.

I'm just grew tired of it.
And
You saw no reason to stop.
Because
My lack of resistance, confirmed.


Just,
Not today.

Such conversations.

 

[puddle_girl]

Idle.

You rev your engine for attention.
Then you idle,
Seeing the terror in my eyes.
You idle because it's not you that was personally attacked.
Still, you saw it.
You idle because you fear you might lose your job if you say something.
So you idle.
You grip the wheel, white knuckled in alertness.
Knowing that what you witnessed was wholly wrong.
Still, you idle.
All those conversations
Of injustice
Of the suppression of truth
Behind the fallacy of faith.
The jockying of position
Balancing the truth with your religion.
And you idle.
Not ready to step up and call it all out.
But ready to call my experience as a moment of over reaction.
Because complacency has gripped you tighter
Than that collar on your
pious bestie.
Thus, you idle.
I'm sure you'll sleep well
Knowing the bills will be paid
By the patriarchy that churns on
Like a well oiled machine.
Oiled by your indifference and false sense of justice.
By the illusion, "it couldn't happen here."
But it did happen.
Dismissiveness will be the poison that chokes you,
Spewed from your engine
As you idle.

 

[puddle_girl]

I know

I know you do not love that in the mirror.
Moreso the image that you took.
But you posted it here for us to see.

Your body.

Misshapen and bending thusly.
Rippled, dimpled, curved and strained.
The proper angle to hide your discontent.
Don't you know we see that?
Don't you know we see all the wrong of you,
as clearly as you do?
The folds and seams, the crooked and concealed?
But, love.
And I call you that, because you are.

Love.

We, too, see what you linger up on.
But because in the moment of the flash,
and the sudden seizing of the frame,
We, can
and do study through your insecurity
to see how marvelously perfect you are.
In that fraction of time,
when the snapshot separates us from us,
We are a privileged third party to
the oneness that completes you.
And there is our love
for ourselves.

And of you.

 

[puddle_girl]

Acting.

I embrace all the parts of me that you create.
I dance a graceful ballet to the melody of your chastisement.
When I am contorted by your whims,
and allowed to sink deeper,
that much deeper
I find I am without a breath but
held tightly against your breast.
All is quiet.
Then
I find the strength to enter the void.
Fearfulness is overcome with courage.
Because your grasp never leaves me.
Your trite control penetrates without forethought.
You pour your authority
down
my
open
throat like warm oil,
and I absorb you.
A performer,
I parade my sex
and fall
Down. Down. Down.
All in love.
I fall into the pit of lust.
I want to impress you with my skillful crafts.
Unfold my delicate counterfeit wings to win the applause.
But for the show that was me,
I heard the silence.
You are the director
watching me writhe
beneath your sterned and imprisoned gaze.
I will play this art for you.

Have I captured you yet?
Or am I still.
Still,
Acting?

 

[puddle_girl]

smitten

Of a sort.
That a smite could inflict upon a willful soul.
I am that soul.

Drenched with the dew of dawn,
my fingers comb through the wet grass.
The tendrils that are my arms
caress and envelope the cool morning air
that blankets my bare body.
The sun peaked through the trees,
as with barely a whisper,
the beams shone across my strained
yet blissful face,
as I twisted and curled my flesh into the earth.
With my legs outstretched,
I am aware of
the sensation of
prickled spears of grass
pushing me up
and off,
wanting for my weighted body
to offer relief.
I cannot.
Because I am trapped, you see.
Not above the cold wet blades
that crush beneath me.
No.
I am below that man who found
my open, willing and mailable body,
a playground.
He has me,
bare with consent.
Displayed out before him.
Beneath him.
As he devours me with his hands.
He paints all parts of my skin with his fingers.
Leaving all evidential prints as memories.
He made memories with my body.
He studied my anatomy in the cool dawn.
in the woods
where we wanted to meet.
He asked to see myself.
His asking was sweetly convincing,
and all together terrifying.
But my consent was offered because,
my love.
My body was just a part of me,
that I could let go of.
Because of this simple separation,
I could float above myself
and gaze in wonder upon this act.
His hands upon my skin,
stroked and sang an echo of glory.

When I settled back into me,
I concealed all the memories that he made.
Because they are all mine now.

 

[puddle_girl]

What I mean to say



What I mean to say
Such words that
swim in my mouth
Formed by the ideas that
pool at the
bottom of my brain.
What I mean to say,
After shaking with fear
But finding the courage to
Look you in the eye.
Maybe I’ll say
What I mean to say.
That I hate you
All the parts of you
Put together with glue
And fractured
When the cold calmness
Swept over us in the silver boxes.
But what I mean to say,
Is it all shakes to a halt
And spills out in
Chatter and guffaws
Into answers where there are
no questions
And agreements where there
Is no company.
And yet, what I mean to say
Is that you are completely wrong
In all your endeavors
And sought something
I was unable to give.
I wasn’t the one
You dreamed of.
But what I mean to say is
You’re a fine man
And you deserve love
The love you thought you
Captured in me,
But what I mean to say
Is you deserve
Everything that you get.
And when your new girl
Unveils her reality
And you stand there naked and
Without,
yet again.
Thinking you are the better
of us all.
And you really are just shit.
But what I mean to say is,
I wish you,

well.

Maybe I’ll find it for real one day.
What I mean to say.

 

[puddle_girl]

The Shadow

The shadow that I love
Isn’t’ for just anyone.
Not even for me.

But I love it.
Where all those ill visioned
tempestuous lies
are bottled up.
Put there by suppression
And chided into submission.
Where corporations dictate
To us,
entertain the righteous
And the wrong.
Never adhering to
their own afforded conventions.
But we must.
For the good of the many.
But in the many, is the shadow.
Collectively and singularly.
Its ways
Of thwarting obsolesce
With rigid temperament,
Casting itself into a field
As fireflies in the swollen dusk.
Darkened only by the absence of
their own light.
With this singularity,
Defined by the patterns.
All of them, checkered and striped
Beautiful and ugly.

I love that shadow.

Who cries to be heard
And finds her voice in the
violence of life.
The lust and lasciviousness of being.

Hush now
To the bickering and sobbing.
When death falls upon us.
One by one standing proud.
In that death,
knowing it is the illusion
We bought into when we landed.
But the shadow,
It was always there.
Waiting with seething contempt
At the sad and irrelevant wilderness
Of ourselves.


How I love the shadow.
That shadow of us all.

 

[puddle_girl]

transcend

Lift me above that primal space
where flesh
and bone
and blood co-mingle.
Firing every possible synapse
to allow me
and you,
to sweat
and strain and push
and pull and claw and bite
and gnaw and shred and bend and break
and bruise
and beat down until obliterated.
Bring me to a space
where all that is noticeable
is in the mind.
Lift me higher than
that loathsome existence
of feeding.
There are ways,
many ways I'm sure
that I can be
who I am in my mind.
Who I am for you.
There's so much in my head
that needs escaping.
Where imagination is limitless
And chased from every boundary.
take me,
lay me down,
close my eyes,
and whisper into my ear.
with my existence appearing before you,
drawn out with only your words.
Transcend this simple culmination
and bring me to a state of mind
that is on another plane,
another sphere of existence,
another dimension.
Just lift me.
Because where I am now,
in my body,
I am uneasy,
I am disillusioned and clouded.
Enlighten me.

 

[puddle_girl]

Selfish

A request fulfilled
For a devilish desire I feel obligated to satisfy.
So begrudgingly, I satisfy.
See and see me.
There are crinkled ruffles under my dress.
There are shiny charms on my wrists.
There is a pink ribbon trussing my pretty hair
to one side of my head.
There are pale sheer stockings, tied with tender care
About my warm and delicately feminine thighs.
There are lengths of satin, twisted about my waist,
holding me so.
There are reams of cotton laying beneath me
in this heap that is my body.
There are lashes hiding a blue ocean,
and reddened locks hanging in concert,
Covering the mystery of my eyes.
There are rosy stains lingering on my cheeks.
There are countless freckles that dot my skin.
And so, you see.
But,
I feel a sense of urgency,
Begging for relief as one
Traces the night sky for direction.
There are curves and hills,
valleys and caverns encompassing my body,
all within reach and delightfully made.
There are heaved and wondrous breasts
balancing gingerly upon my ribs,
that can respond with immediate
excitement from just a touch.
There is wisdom upon every acre.
There is the glow of now all about me.
But I just want you to see my words.
Because I am full to the brim with
Horrible sin.
It hangs from my bones in despondent repose.
My will
Pushing every nerve to get a response.
Just see me.
in these words.
Because all this part of me
is meaningless without them.
I am all that is selfish.
and all that is not.

 

[puddle_girl]

Sacrifice

I understand now
What I am.
More than, who.
Who indicates a person,
A personae.
I, owing what lends itself
To the identity not seen
Not heard, felt or tasted.
Unseen.
Hidden, sacred.
Finding that truth
Took decades of pain,
Moments of intense anguish
Centered on the lie of bliss.
So I uncovered the lie,
And the intuitive nature reveals.
But the question posed
From within is one
Of conflict.
With a singular resolution.
The question was never
"Who are you?"
But now that I have at least
seen with my senses,
These developments have unfolded.
The question now is,
"What will you sacrifice?"
Because balance is at
its very core,
Keeping above and below
In a synchronous pulse.
This knowing demands an answer.
And requires the sacrifice.
In order to step into
What I am now.
So then,
What will I sacrifice?

 

[puddle_girl]

​

Absent identity

​

You asked me,
what are you?
I sat still and pondered that question.
I am certain of some things,
not so much of others.
I am human.
I am alive.
These are absolutes.
From there,
my identity begins to whittle away.
I see myself as female,
only because I have been told that is what I am.
I have the identifying marks of what society tags as the feminine form.
The soft curves,
the full breasts,
the openings and crevasses for useful things.
I am the opposite and the mirror of you.
What you see me as,
I am.
I cannot self-identify without purpose.
Without a beacon to aspire to,
I am oblivious.
How clever you are with the making of me.
Simply I am a form,
pressed between two opposing forces,
and spilled out at your feet.
Don't ask me that question.
Rather that I ask of you,
What do you want me to be?

​

 

[puddle_girl]

Weapons

What is your weapon?
Is it charm?
Would you attempt to employ such a tactic if only for a moment?
Enchanted with the taking of this one or the other.
Flights of all colors paraded like the plumes of a peacock.

Is it wit?
Can you one-up with your knowledge,
vast, sweeping,
claiming to know a little about a lot?
Show the medals, awards, and degrees
hanging precariously on the wall behind your monitor-
such a display.

Is it your prowess?
Your avatar speaks volumes
when applauding the one article of your manhood that screams
dominance.
Towering above, yet
weighed down by the anvil of your masculinity.
What a heavy burden to bear,
and yet you do so with the confidence of a lion
fresh from the kill, ripe to conquer.

Sit back on your heels this time-
For all these things are weapons.
To find and devour subjects to your kingdom.
However,
With this thought, a slight turn could improve your venture.
Consider mystery.
Inquisitiveness and the wanting of what cannot be.
That is the stuff.
Feel for finer things.
Set back your thrasher of fever and fiber.
You will churn and find a length of loneliness
polarized in the flesh.

You must speak to the mind and
Feed the id that pulls you,
through the ego of me.
For therein lies your saving grace and
there,
a door will open.

 

[puddle_girl]

Bound

I pushed my flesh against
the thick threads of rope.
They tore at my biceps and
wrenched my wrists in such an inhuman fashion.
At first, when you danced about me
with your grips
switching left to right,
I admitted,
my want for peace cried out in gasps.
The peace I could only find
once securely wrapped in your bonds.
You couldn't tie me if you didn't love me.
Of that, I was sure.
And there I found myself, at the start...
Whispering, whimpering,
with all the assurance afforded me,
I collapsed further inside with each pass.
Until the moment my scapula kissed.
It all was finished.
I became a hard-pressed army of chaotic flesh mustering for your command.
With each motion,
where thigh bound to ankle,
neck strained against gravity,
you pulled me.
You made me...
Quiet
Immovable
Invincible
Immortal
Perfect.
I hung deathlike in a trance.
And no one knew where I was.
Except you.
You breathlessly surrounded me like a predator.
I was exactly where I must be.
At your mercy.
I floated in a space unseen,
the space you found,
that illuminated me.

 

[puddle_girl]

the power of no.

No is a break of forward momentum.
It is the stopping of the spin.
No is my shield and my sword,
battering down the unlearned and unknowing.
No can choke the ego and slap hard
against the cheek of frailty.
Your seeping hormones spill out before you
with each no that bellows from my throat.
Even when your grip tightens,
my intent will be heard and heeded.
No is the switch blade with which
a line is drawn upon my flesh.
If you cannot hear it, you will see it.
It is a silent killer,
a screaming banshee,
a torrential storm,
an ended whisper wrapped all inside
this carcass.
No is my weapon,
my charge and my defender.
It reminds who is truly in control.
No cuts through this space
as it divides
me
from
you,
Hate from want
Can't from maybe.
It is absolute
Final
Certain.
My femininity may be the draw for you.
But no is the wall you cannot not tear down.
It is your anticipated efforts of which I have destroyed.
With one word.
That word has power and
Is my only power.
No.

 

[puddle_girl]

Nonsense
Predictive
Petty and ego driven
My words
But they surface in time
For me the clean out the garbage
Jammed in between the waxy cones
I'm feeding again
On a serpents trail
Winding through a cavernous
And desolate place
But I'm fun.
Honestly honest
I make a promise to show you what I mean.
With my legs and arms draping
Swinging
Drooping and gripping.
Because you want it for your own.
My soul
Come again to feast on what little I have left
It might as well be you.
Right?