Wednesday, January 9, 2008

More Untitled Pieced by Theadora

pretty h
shoveled out the house
fringe of worms
stomach doubled up
what is a shoat?
all played
stumping out the door
like the back of his hand

"pointless rambling poems" -- truly a WTF. a month later it was a wTF. 2003.

they write about
finding pleasure through pain
after I cut
pink, open wounds
I went in the shower
and got down with myself
feeling the cuts burn
with the water
and the vibrations
Almost cried
I'm gone
you're home
not happy

"I am Alone and No One Understands My Pain" -- 2003 -- Two days after we moved to a new state.

at your
dark empty
lost in myself
so deep no one can catch me
and that's when people get afraid
at your
surrounded by nothing
surrounded by...
lashes made thick
apparently I have
nice skin and nice eyes
"I started with my feet
and worked up"

--2003, before we moved.

is it a crime?
one may wonder
to be out
on the front lawn
when it's about to rain?
and you know what you
be doing
is staying inside to help unpack
I ponder that question
when thinking of persons
that I left behind
Can I gain anything
from sitting here remembering the
night we held each other
tight enough to make me
(and I hope you)
I tremble now
in the rain and the cold
wanting to run back
to your fire
"It's cold outside and I have no raincoat," I stutter.
Will you let me in?
or, because you think I'm better off gone
(which I am, actually)
would you even remember me at all
even if I'd say --
"I'm the one who turned to you first
making a frantic phone call over Thanksgiving
--Help. I think I'm gay. What do I do?
taken aback by your surprise
but whatever your response
I chose you first
trusted you enough,
my friend
I listened to you.
to YOU.
Not some fake put-on-for-performance
made-up face
wallowing in whether that crowd finds you funny.
I wanted something deeper.

--2003--"I am Alone and No One Understands My Pain" -- The correct words coming out of my mouth are as follows: She say it's cold outside and she hands me my raincoat She's always worried about things like that. Thank you, Matchbox 20.

the stars
with their fiery lights and passion,
play cascading melodies on
blacks and whites
scribbling on paper sticky with everything wrong
and for a minute there is freedom.
but lights are destined to go out,
and for every paradise gained there is a paradise Lost
with vast emptiness and longing.
the compass, stone or golden, will lead to the stars -- for
somewhere in that broken emptiness is light again -- stored
for the one who seeks it.
I just wish I didn't have to go alone.

"Obvious Metaphors" -- 2002 -- another Paradise Lost/His Dark Materials inspired poem. I remember being told to keep a journal and 'let it out', hence this poem.

By: Theadora

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