waltzing through the forest of juxtapositions

I alternate between writing these super happy nostalgic poems, and psychotic creepy ones.
this first one is going to make you sick but it was fun to write.  Also it is very inaccurate.  I was a tomboy when I was a kid. I got into fights with boys.

 example number 1

Elementary, My Dear

I am reduced
to grade-school levels of
puppy love

check yes or no
crayon hearts on the wall
no one around to
make me scrub them off

give me a dandelion and
I will write about it
in my diary,
hide the key under my mattress

let’s build a blanket fort

let’s climb a tree
while they chant the spelling
that makes us blush

let’s drink milkshakes
from the same glass,
then make our parents pay for them
when they tell us we’re
too young to date

compare that with this,
 example number two



she has a platter
and a glint in her eye
little miss fifties housewife
little miss fanged-doily
her voice is smooth
(try my patience!
try my patients!)
just what or who is she
offering you?
The slice is
pepto-bismol pink
you say to yourself,
“this looks ghastly,
but I mustn’t be impolite.”
she is ready
she is smiling
she hands you a fork
I had a good talk with my friend yesterday.  He’s in treatment for depression in Houston, shout-out to someone he met there who supposedly reads my blog: Emily A. L.   emily? emily? are you out there???? thanks for reading 🙂
I was talking to my brother last night and it’s kind of sad when you’re surprised to see someone happy.   I haven’t seen him happy since before I had my mental breakdown.
Sometimes I get these horrible flashbacks of the way his face looked when he was in absolute misery
because of me.
That’s actually the one reason I regret well… what happened last year.  All the hell it put him through.  And my parents, grandparents, and cousins.  I also regret how public, and facebook-documented it all was.



Chivalry and Kitchen Appliances

though his armor is unmistakably cardboard,
glue dripping out from the
hasty assemblageThis is my assignment for poetry class:
Write a poem in the surrealist mode. Your poem should include genuinely strange, startling, vivid and specific language, images, details, and insights. Don’t confuse surrealism with formula fantasy or sci fi;
you want to draw on archetypal and unconscious (not conventional or cliche) associations as bizarre as anything you’ve dreamed. Be weird. Be unpredictable. Allow genuine randomness into your work

So here goes
Chivalry and kitchen appliances

She is a brown recluse spider
with a lidless blender

a very large blender
ominous in a vague

she resides in a yellow house
in the middle of a maze

a very large maze
laced with auditory hallucinations and
fun-house mirrors

an enormous crowd of people mill about
clutching hedge clippers and
poorly crafted love potions

they are all searching for the correct path
they are all trying to be the first
through her labyrinth,
past the flytrap garden she’s cultivated,
to open the padlocked door

this latest is
traipsing along daintily
fancying himself a knight

he’s picked her flowers (daisies)
he’s written her sonnets (cliche ones)
he’s doused in Armani cologne (Devoted Infatuation No. Five)
the door swings open
our hero enters, offering his gifts up,
a blood sacrifice to Parvati
Into The Blender!
His carefully chosen words mangled up
and hurled back in a puppy-love stenched tornado of
floral sentence fragments
he stands bemused, awestruck,
covered in aftermath
an insect enamored by bright lights
he will stay
and she will weave her web,
she can’t help it.
(she never can)