Thursday, October 30, 2014

I'll Eat A Lot of Ice Cream: Pt. 2

Over the next few weeks she starts wearing more clothes and she never eats when he's not there.
When he's there she eats, but she tries not to make a show of it.
She runs five miles five times a week as usual.
She doesn't think he'll ever ask her to stop running.
He likes it when she runs.
They actually keep their distance.
He thinks he has embarrassed her.
The truth is they both feel embarrassed.
It occurs to them that normal people don't act this way.
He feels like he shouldn't have to ask her to gain weight.
She should have gained weight after they got married like everyone else.
He knows that one of the reasons he chose her was that he knew she wouldn't turn into a cave woman when she hit thirty-five.
But couldn't she look more comfortable?
What he wants is to come home to her in sweatpants on the couch eating wheat thins, and watching some show that he can feel superior about her watching.
And as long as he's known her she had a lot of promise tending toward that.
She doesn't watch the quick intellectual shows, she watches a lot of Criminal Minds, but that's formulaic.
She was always more of a spandex woman though.
He thinks about that for a while, picturing her in various different colors of spandex pants.
He wonders if she knows, really knows, what her ass looks like in them.
He thinks she must know and that's why she wears them.
It must be that it's all a part of her plan.
He's even seen older women who are clearly straight look at her butt, because really it's a work of art.
If her butt gets two pant sizes bigger he can relax a little more and not worry about her walking down the street alone.
He isn't afraid something terrible will happen to her.
He's annoyed by all the people who will get a good look while he's trying to work.
Since he met her he feels like he does a lot less of his own work.
He just knows that he accomplished more before she came into his life.
Yeah maybe he was doing nefarious things, but they were his nefarious things.
Now he's spending ample amounts of time on what he can see is a disgraceful habit.
She is his disgraceful habit.
So after a couple weeks of avoiding her he decides to confront her.
Again he walks up to her in the kitchen, but this time her back is turned, and she's doing dishes.
He walks up close to her and puts his hand on her lower back.
He does it out of respect actually, to let her know he's there.
She knows she's supposed to keep washing the dishes.
Then he slips his hand under her waistband and squeezes her ass.
He's trying not to squeeze it like he's the witch in the gingerbread house; testing to see if she's properly fattened up for the slaughter.
But he's gauging it.
Her pants aren't very form fitting and he's trying to abstain from sex until she's at least five pounds heavier, but it's hard to see...
He caresses her again and it feels like maybe she's softer.
But then she shifts when she turns the faucet off and accidentally flexes her muscles.
His grip loosens, and he knows he's in trouble.
He knows he's in trouble, because the only way he's going to get a good look is to take her clothes off.
This time he turns her around facing him.
And he's instantly jarred by the look on her face.
Her eyes are smoldering and she has a slightly challenging grin on her face.
He grabs her face and presses his lips against hers.
The whole time she keeps looking him in the eyes.
Then he begins to undress her.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

I'll Eat A Lot of Ice Cream: Pt. 1

"I want you to gain some weight," he says as he looks at her body.
He looks at her sideways, squinting his eyes, as if judging her breadth from a distance, like she is some kind of cargo ship.
He doesn't come closer, he doesn't want to touch her, he doesn't want to have sex with her.
What he wants is to be with her like a friend.
He always felt like they weren't close enough friends, because she never treated him like a friend.
She was ruthless the way a person can be when they want to be the most desirable love object.
Friends aren't ruthless.
When he thought about all the times she put her body on display, even on an operating table in the ER, he felt a great deal of chagrin.
Yes, he wants her to gain weight.
If she weighs an equal amount to him except in the proper proportions for a woman, or actually a little more, then he will be able to get some rest.
He thinks he's slightly overweight, even though he looks good in clothes.
Plus he knows himself and he knows if given the chance he will get fat.
She watches his shifting emotions.
And she gets a slightly sour expression on her face and closes her lips more firmly together.
"Did you hear what I told you?" He says told instead of said.
She cautiously pauses, she wants to move closer to him, but she knows better.
"Yes." That's it. That's all she says.
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
The thing is that she isn't too thin. To anyone watching this interaction from a bird's eye view it would be confusing.
The truth is she looks perfect.
Why is her husband demanding her to gain weight?
There are a lot of men who would be very proud to have a wife who is so attentive to her physical health and appearance.
She looks scared, you can tell because she's shrinking into herself.
"I'll eat more..." She stops, and then struck by brilliance she says, "I'll eat a lot of ice cream."
He finally looks at her face.
He's looking at her eyes now to see if she's lying.
Then something breaks inside of him, when he looks at her face, and he wants her.
But he waits, because he wants to see if she's doing this on purpose.
She doesn't move, just looks at him hopelessly, and he knows she loves him.
He can't stand it and he assertively grabs her, not roughly, and he spins her around.
He bends her over the kitchen table and pulls her dress up.
And while he's having sex with her his eyes devour her body.
He lets himself think this will be the last time he sees her looking like this.

Monday, October 27, 2014

The Back of the House

The back of the house was in disrepair.
No one wanted to go back there.
They didn't want to tread on top of dusty magazines.
Or look out of windows coated in yellow sheens.

And the less they looked the more they forgot.
Until they didn't even know what it was that they fought.
The doors separating the front from the back were permanently locked.
And the locks were all rusty and blocked.

The children knew only the sight of those closed doors.
Never opened, merely eyesores.
Then one day a curious son.
Slipped his hand onto a knob and turned it, hoping to have fun.

With a creak the door opened and dust settled all around.
And he coughed, then he looked, and you know what he found?
He found a place where he could always play.
And not have to worry about what to say.

If he slipped away at the right time.
The broken perfection was all finally fine.
Since no one else ventured where no one else was.
No one was there to see him do as he does.

He does what he does when he is alone.
In a way that's different, in a way more at home.
And he tried all the doors and he unblocked all the locks.
The forgotten half of the house was inhabited by a little foxy fox.

The family went on living as though nothing was new.
Their eyes never noticed the missing member of their crew.
By dinner he arrived often hitting his mark.
And in his eyes you could see a fiery spark.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

To the "BEST" Yoga Teacher

By now we know a couple things about each other.
But most of what you know about me is what you "see" and "energetic" values.
I think I know you pretty well.
I know what type of woman you like.
You like blondes with shoulder length, straight, hair, who are tall and very thin.
You like a face that looks a little bit plain, the opposite of the women of your nationality.
You are very smart, but you think you have an advantage, because you think you don't give away how smart you are.
In some ways you are pretty exposed.
Your vocal patterns and your tone is affected by the new age community.
When you lead a class you sound like a teacher from the east giving a discourse.
I don't think you could even take on the accent from your youth anymore.
You are kind of like Tom Cruise's megalomaniac character in Vanilla Sky?
I think that's the movie where he plays that character.
You recreated yourself.
You essentially transformed your persona as a result of your childhood wounds.
What you can't change no matter how hard you try is the one thing that truly affects me.
I had a crush on you for a day, but then I really thought about who you are, and I'm a realist.
Besides what you see of me isn't the person I used to be.
I know a lot about you.
You know very little about me.
You think you know a fair amount from what you found online, but that's tempered.
I guess you know enough to know I got damaged, but you don't know why.
Every time I go and sit in your class I learn more about you, because you talk to us, but we can't talk to you.
I've been formulating a response, here, where I know you'll find it.
If you feel like you're losing your mind, actually it's the reverse.
Now you know I'm not who you thought I was.
I don't think I want you to get to know me.
It doesn't really matter if I used to be your type, because I'm not anymore, and I don't want to be.
What I wanted from you, I already got.
You got involved, because your antennae picked up on something that resonated with you.
Now you're a part of it.
And you can't go back.
I was grateful and scared of what would happen in the beginning.
But hey you're misaligned.
What else would I like to say to you, while I have the chance?
What happened to me?
I went up against an emissary of death and I died over and over again.
Your comments about breathing in a breathing exercise don't apply to me, because each breathe feels unnatural.
My lungs and my heart are on timers.
You're going to die too, but you'll come back and live longer.
You don't have a choice.
What I want from you is for you to not underestimate me or yourself.
I'm trying to fit in here, but I don't belong to this crowd.
I come to practice in your class and every time I feel like a stranger in my heart.
My heart resides somewhere else.
So, I'll let you go, I know you're busy.
Thank you for your help.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Magnet for Cruelty

You look older in your disguise, but you act exactly the same.
When I see the shape of your head I feel uncomfortable.
I'm not sure how adding glasses is supposed to hide your identity.
Maybe I should wear mine more often.
When you said you felt "squirrely" it sounded just like when you said "froggy."
That also made me feel weird in a bad way.
I thought about naming this poem doppelganger, but it sounds too cool.
And it's like an evil twin situation, which doesn't count if you are your own doppelganger.
To me a true doppelganger is actually a different person.
I feel like part of your persona is to appear ridiculous.
As in I cannot even fathom how you think you're hiding in plain view.
Plainview would actually be a better alternative.
It's so exasperating to hear you talk for me.
At least it's totally obvious who you are.
I don't think I'm in any danger of mistaking you for someone else.
However sitting in the same room as you is disquieting.
An aside: don't feel bad for the subject...he doesn't exist.
The biggest mistake you made was when you told me you thought you were working on a higher level, but then you saw what I was doing.
You never should have said that.
You told me everything I needed to know in one sentence.
Anyway, sorry I can't stand you.
I knew you wouldn't go away.
I almost called you once, but your number got lost.
I don't have much else to say.
Maybe you should find a different woman to dance with.
And you seem to think your contrivances are good, but they are horrible.
Now that I'm used to seeing you without your hat on, I'd say wear it.
Maybe if you wear a hat and don't speak we can get along.
I don't know why I dislike you so much.
If you were a woman and I talked to you this way you would try and kill me.
The strange thing is I feel like you are a magnet for my cruelty.
Or perhaps in some twisted way I'm protecting you.
We'll never know.

I Might Look Back and Cringe

When I run it reminds me I can't go back.
I have never run backwards ever in my life.
I run in circles sometimes, but we're passing each other and running into each other, on our way up.
Picture a pyramid shaped mountain with a castle at the top.
We're all running around and around the mountain...
Every time we make a loop we get closer to the top and the circle gets smaller.
But the circumference of the base was so broad that it takes us over a third of our lives to get close to the top.
The castle looks different to each of us.
For me it looks gothic, like some of those castles in movies like "The Dark Crystal."
The strange thing is that I don't remember whether there was a castle in that movie, but I know what I think it looks like.
The man I'm in love with reached the top recently, but I'm not there yet.
But I saw him, because he took a walk back down to see me.
But when we saw each other there were other people around.
So we acted like we didn't know each other.
When I think about the times we've done that I feel happy in my heart.
I love seeing him and pretending I don't know him.
It's one of my favorite things.
I think he likes to test me.
To see if I still love him.
Comforting for me, is the idea that he'll provide for me no matter what.
He provides me with endless adventures in life no matter where I go.
He'll bring me what I need when I need it.
I don't have to seek outside of myself.
I can be whole and throw away desperation.
I still do things that don't make sense.
When I give someone a piece of myself it doesn't mean I want anything back.
I really don't.
I like having different parts of myself with people in different places.
I thought maybe it was a bad sign if I gave something and was instantly asked for more.
But no, I think it must mean something about someone's desire to take all of me.
I can't say.
Actually the more I run up, the more confused I feel.
It's because I'm surprised.
I thought I successfully destroyed myself in a certain sense.
But here I am and I...there's something I missed.
Come back, come back to me.
I want to know.
Give me the secret.
It has something to do with playing a part so completely you believe yourself.
It has something to do with playing a part so well your flesh starts acting too.
It has something to do with being so believable it becomes real and the marks are set in history.
And for me, only me, it means speaking to people in their own language after hearing them for only a moment.
And it means being courageous enough to allow people to work everything out with me.
So that when they walk away they do it when they're ready.
So, here I am, and I'm speaking to certain people.
But not others.
There are some people I can only speak to when they call on me.
When they call on my heart.
And if you called me to tell me you couldn't handle it.
I heard you saying so and despite your confusing messages I hung up the phone.
When you come back around to me in your heart I think I'll know.
There are people who don't understand my writing.
I don't say anything that doesn't mean anything to me.
Everything means something to me.
It doesn't matter: but I don't write for other people.
I hear what I write before I write.
This poem was written before I sat down.
All of my poems are the same anyway.
They are between me and one other person.
How could the content all be between just two people?
I don't know.
But, well, sometimes, wow I thought I lost him.
But I never did.
This emotion is so particularly strong today - resurgence of overpowering love.
I have to run now.
He's not even in the castle anymore.
He's gone, but I have to make it to the top.
Urgency - while I stall...because I want to say:
I actually don't know who "he" is.
Which is what he wants.
-I think-but thinking is overrated.
If I listened to my mind tell me what to do I would run for ten minutes instead of an hour.
My mind thinks work is overrated.
I realize I could have stopped when I was "ahead."
"I have to run now" was a great place to stop.
This has never been about writing the best poetry.
And actually it's not about love either.
I'm having a conversation with someone I like to talk to.
When I write I see evidence of his response scattered throughout my life.
I write about fourth wall breaks.
I don't write about myself finally making it to the mythical castle and having all my dreams fulfilled.
Actually what probably happens is I get there and the place is drafty.
And the light is terrible, so my lover left, because he couldn't paint there.
So, when I saw him as he was pretending to not know me as he walked down, he had no intention of coming back.
And in our relationship we're usually completely across the earth from each other.
It used to be that he acted like he didn't even want to see me.
Now I feel like maybe I don't want to see him, because I know what it means.
But damn me, because I underestimate him all the time.
And he can't underestimate me, because as fast as my processor works, it also produces public announcements.
How much I hold back being irrelevant.
And in this moment I realize what he's done to me.
He's given me a career in a position he can control.
However, I won't be surprised by alterations.
My point of view on the love of my life is that he is capable of absolutely anything.
A revelation he told me about a long time ago.
A revelation he came to by way of me.
A revelation neither of us thinks is a revelation anymore.
I think I might be a little too fixated.
Perhaps an understatement.
I might be waiting in the castle for a while.
Just to have a place to think.
And when I sigh, you'll know, and I'll know.
I have to go.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

You Are He

It's really strange.
I never thought of him as exactly evil.
I gave him a lot of credit.
But when I pull back and look at the situation from a distance...
He is evil.

I think part of the reason I gave him so much credit for being a good person...
Was because if I said he was a bad person he wouldn't have any hope.
When I told him I loved him it was the easiest way to ruin his plans.
And what I'm saying now is supposed to turn him against me.
I guess...

How long are "you" going to wait?
It is probably the most infuriating thing I have ever experienced.
I tried to do your job for you I was so tired of waiting.
I'm not very good at it.
In case you haven't noticed I am not particularly good at anything anymore.

The part that scares me is what if this just goes on and on?
What if you have a plan I don't know about?
In which I am enslaved.
Because usually I see two options.
One in which I am underestimating the amount of time I'm going to have to put in...and the other in which I am overestimating the amount of time I have before you do something.

Because part of me thinks you're losing your patience.
I have the feeling you aren't making your move on me, because when you finally do you will run out of time.
But if I'm right, you keep coming back to what you want to do to me.
So we're running around in endless circles.
I can't honestly believe that what you want to do to me is make me into a big success.

If you know what I mean.
I can only go for so long pretending this is going to have a happy ending.
The ground beneath us is unstable.
Everything is so convoluted at this point.
I feel like you may be relying on me to do something here.

If we just keep going...
I'll be busy endlessly with this ridiculous thing I'm doing.
Sometimes you only find out what you want to know from me.
Here's the scoop: I don't think it matters whether or not the project is polished.
As is is might be better, because it shows the cracks.

If the story gets blown everyone will know enough to get the point.
I can't imagine that you honestly care anyway.
This whole situation is a big mess.
I'm actually considering coming to a halt.
There is only so much I can take.

Everyone seems to think I'll be fine.
How people come up with this idea is truly beyond me.
I don't think I have anything else to say.
My intention is almost to piss you off.
I'll be here in my box the next time you come to take a peek.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The Plan...Was...

"Refresh my was this supposed to go?" Asked Moon.
"I don't remember, but this is all wrong," replied Beach.
"But you have to admit that on many levels we're, well, not early, but precisely on schedule."
"I would feel better if this wasn't all hinging on hitting our marks down to the split second."
"You can have it this way, or we all speed up and find ourselves in unison again."
"Can I have it so we create an optical illusion, and it looks like we arrive before we do?"
"What a silly, stupid question. We've been doing that this whole time."
"Sometimes I forget what we've done."
"To God I could become as forgetful about our operations as you."
"To the Devil I could remember what I've done."
"To us becoming less of ourselves with every passing day."
"How poignant."
"How dignified, and yet totally slatternly."
"Why is it when women..."
"I'm curious..."
"We've no gender orientation. Just stop."
"You fermé la bouche."
"I don't want to have this conversation again."
"Suck it."
"If you put it that way. I wish I could walk away from you right now."
"I wonder why it is they love us."
"Is it because they can count on us?"
"Men love us too."
"We will always be here, and when we're not they won't be either."
"Remember back in the day when they were all naked, with long hair? That was when they stayed off the sand. They lived in the trees."
"Somewhat accurate account."
"I remember."
"There are two things I will remember when I die. The entire universe in its entirety and mermaids."