I don’t want real life,
rum in my green tea,
butterfly attention-span,
I don’t ever want to be forty,
pressing down starter-wrinkles
under cakes and pies of makeup,
straightening my hair into sleekness,
pretending junior high perfumes.
I see men opening doors,
they do it for me, too,
they sigh afterwards.
I see uncomfortable psychiatrists,
sitting next to me,
and make them more uncomfortable
with unrelenting stares and
by asking intrusively personal questions,
and running my hands through my
knotted hair,
eyes black-lined around,
raccoon-addict delirium,
until they gather up their bags,
like shields,
and run, diagnosing.
If I met you in a coffee shop,
you would run, too,
because I would want to know
why you are living,
I am desperate!
Why do you do it?
I only want
every thrill there is,
and then to die
soon.
This one had a distinctly different feel and I loved it no less!
Reblogged this on .
Life doesn’t become real until you die, diosa.
As the ancient Greek adage goes: “Call no man happy who is not dead.”… Toi Theoi.
Have you published your poems?
In some collection of poetry?
every experience
is good
~
a 45 year old
beautiful woman author
read this from her book
Something Fierce
about being detained
outside
the Chilean border
~
it may be bullshit
but it got her through hell
plus she did also need
15 years of therapy
from post traumatic stress
~
you sing such poetry
chilling to read
evocative imagery
keep sharing with the world
we need you
Captures my philosophy exactly… And yes people run, but I chalk it up to weakness
forty ain’t so bad, and there’s lot’s of thrills in this life/world, the question is, can you catch them all before you die? that’s why i do it still
“Why do you do it?” I live because it’s glorious, even when it hurts. As for dying soon, you already have, many times, whenever you’ve killed a moment of your youth by worrying about aging.
haahaahaahaa!
I NEVER expected to live past 40!
You have no idea how shocked I was!
Sufi … being FORTYfied?
When every breath we take is a new life
How so then?
Sufi you are only one breath old
With every inspiration “Anew”
A few months ago… (actually, about a year now. Fuck), I got into a real deep conversation with this chick in a coffee shop who looked like she could use a friend. I say that cause she almost looked like a transvestite, I couldn’t be sure, and looked she looked weathered. She started telling me how Tupac is still alive and how he lived in her basement for a while, and then she recited a poem about it. In all seriousness. Isn’t shit like that what life’s about?
Also, if you’ve not ever heard this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08WeoqWilRQ – always brings a smile to my face.
Double also, Jesus Jumanji your writing’s fabtastic.
This one caught me by surprise. Well done!
I am reading a lot of Sylvia Plath at the moment and I see so much influence here (whether intended or not). So beautiful and sad at the same time. I feel like giving your words a hug.
I had a mango infused tea earlier, it made me babble as I been off caffeine lately
the open doorers see you’re hurried,
it’s a good man who doesn’t
No one wants forty, but it can happen..
I can really appreciate this.
I will be altering how I address you. How about SACH? (Sounds better than “SAC”).
I really love the part about the psychiatrists and their baggage.
We all want that deep inside…just not enough strength to admit it I guess.