Tag Archive for Relationships

Furry Curtains

I thought of telling you tonight

of the secrets I hold, or the barriers you bring upon me

forcing my eyes to be sealed grimly

in spite of your beautiful face,

held up solemnly to the bright light.

Too bad baby, your water is near gone

and it’s drought season this November.


And “Daddy she’s making me cry.

Daddy, she’s hurting me again.

The blue and dirty lady,

she came from underneath the bed.”

“Hush sweetheart, it’s only a bad dream.”

“But Daddy, the furry curtains are scaring me…”


Under the bed, baby, is where I’d love to be.

Just the two of us, clinging to satin sheets once more

as the night light slowly fades away

leaving us with nothing to hold

except each other.


And I’ll be all you need,

I’ll tell you all the bedtime stories you never heard before,

because Daddy was too drunk to do it.

And besides,

he always skipped the best parts.


You remind me of a river in a storybook I got

for my 12th birthday

from a sweet, but absent-minded auntie of mine

who wore her shirts inside out,

and forgot to put her teeth back in

after making love to the fishes.


And I’ll take you far away,

to the places we dreamed of going

everywhere you always said you’d rather be.

Anywhere but here…


She said bedtime was half an hour ago,

but I’m just not tired yet.

Scare me one more time,

I want the furry curtains back.

Back for One More Taste

Back for one more taste

of her sweetness.

Lying in the bath tub again.

Honey, can I get you some more wine

a little something to go with your love

or are you saving that for later

dessert just for me

between your waiting thighs?


“Again” and she comes back

Shows me all the things she’s been saving for “the one”

The one she wants to live forever next to


Does that mean I’m the one?


And she comes to me again

through the walls

this time it’s through the blood

Through the love we share and then she’s gone

gone and it was just another dream

another shitty fantasy the toaster wakes me up for

so I can roast marshmallows on my hunger

Shallow pools of saliva left in the sink

from her midnight snack

Happened to be feasting on me

It’s two o’clock in the morning

just dying to have you back baby


Break my windows

Do what you have to do

So afraid of losing you

What happens after love?

Do we just move on

pretending we never loved anyone?

What’s it to you, beautiful

Who needs your ways,

who needs your promises

All right I know

I do


And she comes on hard to me

Rips my clothes,

shreds my innocence

Wondering what it is she wants

and prepared to give it all to her

Just love me?

It’s all I ask

But that’s too simple for her

Her love is all sticks and stones,

she’s already broken every bone,

and she’s trying to scare me away

Touching me in all the right places

But baby I want you more every time our skin meets

You’re somewhere between heaven and earth

and I don’t ever want to leave

Even Public Transport Arrives Eventually

We’re all waiting

For the right one

To come along

Make everything better.

Waiting to share food

With a real life human

Not a television version

Who smiles without us.

Waiting for the voice

To articulate our hearts

And lift us

Right when we need it.

Waiting for a hand to hold

Down a street

Through fear

In ecstasy.

We can’t help waiting

It’s called being human

It all comes down to

What we do in the meantime.

Popular Cookie Phrases

or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Sister

The essence of life is to be found in the frustrations of established order.

—John Gardner

“God, Kris, you are so fucking disgusting!” I made a noise like a rhino in heat as I opened my mouth to reveal the large piece of orange gum that hung precariously from my tongue.

“Thanks a lot, E. You’re the one that called it an orange slug.” We both let out an uproarious laugh and quickly quieted ourselves. The geriatrics nearby were looking at us again. Our stifled laughter was still loud enough to make passersby wonder about our sanity, and that was just the way we liked it.

“Wait, wait! Do it again, but open your eyes wide; like you did the first time.” I concentrated hard for a second, then with my eyes as wide as I could make them, I dropped my jaw and flicked my tongue wildly in her direction. I then snapped my mouth shut and blinked heartily. I licked my lips and tasted the sweet, artificial-peach flavor. The “slug” rolled around gleefully in my mouth as Erika and I chuckled at the various mallrats screaming and laughing in the opposite corners of the food court.

“What a bunch of fucking losers!” Erika said as she flopped the middle part of her “tri-hawk” to the right side of her head and looped the barbell in her tongue through the two lip rings that protruded awkwardly from her mouth.

A putrid scent was carried our way by crowds of people that were walking by us. I could taste the stench in the air.

“Let’s get up and walk around. The Cookie Guy said it would take thirty minutes or so.” We’d ordered a cookie for my mom who had just had knee surgery. The “Cookie Guy” in question was a good-looking, nice guy who had helped us. It was more than a little strange to tell him that I wanted a giant cookie that said, “We love you, Mommy!” I thought about telling him to write something like, “Welcome back from the state pen. Thirty-five years is a long time, Daddy” or “We love you, Elvis,” but in the end, I decided against it.

We followed my suggestion and walked up the mall to the Deb Shop. Even from thirty feet away it reeked of perfume and cheap polyester fabric. As we closed the distance between ourselves and the store, the sheen of the predominantly sparkly clothing temporarily blinded us with a bright reflection of the healthy orange glow emitted by the fluorescent lights perched high above. I shielded my eyes and sidestepped my way into the store.

“Keribou!” a nickname for me. Which only Erika used. “Check this out!” With anticipation tugging at the corners of her mouth, she lifted up a very large dress, which had butterflies printed on it.

“Whoever made this dress should go to Hell forever. Oh look, Krisi, it’s a fatty dress!” Her sarcastic comment reached every corner of the store and the customers looked at her with bewildered and sometimes disgusted faces. I knelt down, embarrassed by her comment, and laughed into my knees.

“God, Erika, you are so mean!”

“You know the fashion industry has really lost its touch when butterflies and flowers are the ‘in thing,’” she stated sarcastically.

I walked away, but she continued to talk, “What a stupid combination anyway. How do you decide to make a mumu with little butterflies and shit all over it? When did… stupid… get…”

My bare skin mingled with soft velour shirts and sordid little sweaters that looked like lint balls glued together.

“Delicious,” I said to myself sarcastically as I reflected on some of the uglier outfits of the day.

Unbeknownst to me, my journey was leading me toward the shoe section, which consisted primarily of fuzzy black things and animal print shoes. By the time I reached the shoes, Erika had already picked out several pairs of them. Her favorite pair were chunky-heeled, red leopard-print shoes.

“I want,” she said as she shuddered with excitement.

“Erika, it looks like someone killed a New York hooker for her pelt. Those are gaudy as hell.”

I quickly realized my mistake as I took a step back and looked at my sister.

The short skirt she was wearing had punk-rock overtones, and many patches that were complimented by her fishnet pantyhose and a pair of clunky black shoes. The little bit of red in her outfit was pleasantly accented by her hair, which was indeed a nice shade of pink. Her black eye shadow, which made the whites of her eyes stand out, contrasted her pale face perfectly. She was a walking work of art. I suppose she resembled a Picasso in a strange, unfamiliar way; beautiful, ugly, and somewhat confusing all in the same note.

“Oh shit, it’s cookie time,” Erika said as she led the way back to the food court. I sang to myself as we ambled down the cheap tile toward the shops with fake Oakleys.

You don’t bring me anything but down
Everything just crashes to the ground
no more playing seek and hide
no more long and wasted nights
can’t you make it easy on yourself
I know you wish you were strong
you wish you were never wrong
well I’ve got some wishes of my own…

I walked behind her and watched her strut. She walked confidently, even as strangers stared at her. It was incredible.

As we reached “The Great American Cookie Company,” I started thinking about my relationship with Erika. I could remember only the terrible and heart breaking episodes of my life with her.

Her drug addictions had controlled her life for a long time, as had her alcohol abuse, lying, cheating and stealing. She alienated my family by constantly defying our moral beliefs. When she went to boarding school after she was arrested, her antics led to a speedy expulsion and the loss of a great deal of money. My family had been devastated physically, financially, and most definitely emotionally for years.

But on that day, she had forced me to laugh. Smiling at her jokes stung my cheeks, and I found myself rapt in thoughts of the past. As I paid the cookie guy, song lyrics rattled through my mind.

“You don’t bring me anything but down…”

For the first time in more years than I care to remember, I realized that I could love Erika again.

What a long road it had been. I missed the times we had spent together on our farm rolling through thick blades of grass. We had touched every inch of the property that we had grown up on. We’d climbed every tree, smelled every flower, and tasted the sweet juice of every honeysuckle. I had been near her since conception and I was forced away by her actions.

It was the most difficult time of my life when I could not love her. She had beaten the sensitivity out of my bones and had forced me into a corner. She made the choice for me, and I did not fight her.

Now it was my turn to make a choice. And I did. I made the most difficult choice I could have. I let the thing that had hurt me more than anything in the world back into my life, my twin sister. I had fortified my defenses for years, and I simply decided to submit to my need for her love. But that was just the way I liked it.

Mamma Says

My mamma’s always talking about her friend Mark,

the man she calls her soul mate.

She said they were two of a kind, the type of people just looking for someone

to talk to.

She said his hair was brown

and his eyes were blue

and if you looked just right you could see the person he was inside.

(a dreamer and a thinker)

Mamma’s eyes get misty when she smells Marlboro cigarettes

“they smell like Mark” she says “smoke and CK One”

Sometimes when the TV doesn’t work or the lights go out Mamma tells me

stories about Mark and the things they used to do.

Just when she’s about to start her nose wrinkles and her eyes twinkle

and you know she means what she says because the tears always gather on her

cheeks and she never bothers to brush them away.

(like when she watches TV)

“There are some people you’ll always love” she tells me “and there are others

you know you’re supposed to—it’s a shame the people you always love aren’t

the people you’re supposed to.

It was raining last Sunday when I found mamma crying

she didn’t brush the tears away

I knew,

I knew it was about Mark

Mamma said that Mark had to go

I didn’t ask when he was coming back

I knew,

I knew he was dead

(Mamma’s world came crashing down)

So I waited for Mamma to tell me stories

like she always did before

And just a day ago the breeze brought the smell of Marlboro cigarettes into

our yard

And finally Mamma’s eyes twinkled and her nose wrinkled

and tears came to her eyes.

Mamma says she’ll always love Mark

(I know she’s supposed to)


You own me

my world

my night and day

every crevice of the mind

you control my destiny

my past and my present

you are my every breath

my life and death

you own me

far beyond love or desire

you own my soul

do with it as you will.

The Wind

I felt the wind on my lips, and I remembered you.

The cool softness, the burning from inside.

The mood so right, the passion so intense.

Then the breeze settled, and I was left

with the same emptiness that you, too, left.

But this time, the tears did fall, and my heart did break.

One last memory,

one last dance,

one last kiss,

Now it is over.

The Breakup

Oh, hi, honey… No, no, I’m fine, I was just expecting to get your machine. Aren’t you usually at, like, hockey practice around now? Oh, right, you quit hockey to help with your dad’s business. I forgot. Heh.

No, I don’t remember what you and Todd were talking about at lunch. Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying much attention; my mind was thinking about something else. What? Oh, I don’t know, I was probably thinking about a conversation I had with Natasha today.

Sweetheart, I… What? Yeah, I totally hate Mr. Chatham, too. It is unfair that he only gave your essay eight-five percent, but come on, I worked my ass off on my essay, and I only got a seventy on it. And your topic wasn’t all that interesting, to be honest. I mean, “Romeo and Juliet: A Tragedy of Unawareness”? More like a tragedy of Leo; how many movies does that marvelous creature have to die in? Anyway, I think that my essay was much more thought out: “Homeless People Are People, Too.” I put a lot of work into it; I even made references to an article I read in People.

Oh, I can hardly wait to go to New York this summer. The Empire State building, the Statue of Liberty, the Sears tower… What? Oh, that’s sweet… Oh, yes, of course I’ll miss you, too. I’m sorry, my mind must have drifted for a second. Yes, school is keeping me really busy.

Can we talk for a second? OK, I know we’re already talking, but I mean seriously. Not just small talk. I mean it. Please?

OK, thanks. Um, well… It’s that…


I said, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Because we’re just different people. I know it sounds lame, but— Don’t be upset, we are different. And I’ve tried to deal with it; I really have. But you seem to think that you can just live your life without any responsibility, disrupt my life, my schoolwork, and my relationships with other people and— No, I don’t mean other guys, I meant my friends and family, you idiot… I didn’t mean that. I didn’t, you’re just not letting me finish. Can I finish?

Thank you. It’s just that you don’t seem to think you need to put any work into this relationship. You think that I’ll do everything and we’ll be fine. It doesn’t work that way; you have to put work into it, too. No, you’re not putting work into it. Calling me doesn’t count. OK, take our three-week anniversary, for example. I got you a card from Hallmark and those cute boxers. What did you get me? You gave me a handmade card made out of construction paper, and you pasted a black and white photo of me on the front that you made during second period after I reminded you of the event in first… Oh, that was a drawing you did yourself? Well, it looked like a photo, and it still didn’t cost you any money. Yes, a three-week anniversary does count as a special event. Of course other couples celebrate it. Natasha and Bradley celebrate an anniversary every week. They do, too. I mean, to be a real couple, you have to be committed.

Yes, committed like Natasha and Bradley. What do you mean, that’s only half a couple? Natasha does too count as a person. She is not brain dead. She’s not— See? This is what I’m talking about. You don’t respect me, and you obviously don’t respect my friends. I respect your friends. Yes, I do. What are you talking about? Of course I respect Todd. Yes, I do. Oh, please, I did not break his nose. It was only bruised. And he stepped on my foot when I was wearing my brand new clogs. That’s totally mean; he deserved me punching him. Yes, he did. Yes, he did. Yes—

OK, let’s just drop it, OK? We’re through. Finished. Well, good, I’m glad you’re glad. We make a terrible couple anyway. Good, I’m glad you agree… Oh, that was low. I can’t believe you just insulted my hair. It does not look like Chelsea Clinton’s hair. My hair is beautiful and unique, thankyouverymuch.

Natasha was right; if I want to get anywhere in life, I can’t surround myself with lowlifes like you. You are a lowlife. How? Well… OK, how many pairs of Nikes do you own? Four? I mean, only four? That’s what I thought. And I bet you don’t even like Destiny’s Child. See? I knew it. I need to find someone who appreciates me and understands my popularity.

Oh, you can so bite me. I’m not going to regret this at all. In fact, I bet that by next week I’ll have another boyfriend. I think that Peter Goldman is going to ask me out. He is not gay. OK, if he was gay, then why was he totally flirting with me today in Fashion class?

You know what? I don’t want to talk to you anymore. No, I don’t. I think you’re being very immature for this situation. Yes, as a matter of fact I do. You’re being a total moron. In fact, I never want to speak to you for the rest of my life. Fine! Yeah, fine!




Kindred Beings

Now, feelings flying like silken leather we stop

To stare at each other

In the half moonlight. Found inside

Is something like attempted paradise.


Limb over limb, grasping over the entanglement

I stop, to nuzzle your chest and

Enter the creature within.

Cry, in the guided minds together

Certain of destiny, certain of shimmered quality of light.


Have you ever heard the sigh of winter? I know you have not,

Inside your body was airy summer when created

Brought light into myself, at the first glance

I can gain life, living inside each other

Two created, instant together kindred entwined;


How did we even attempt to see what happened if we did.

Gregariously watching, One even as speaking, fluted softly

Discover what makes us become, flicking, twisting

For inside one another we sigh.


Why Am I Here?

“I’ve got something I have to tell you.”

I move my chair closer to him,

Then decide against it.

I move my chair slightly away.

“I really need to talk to you—”

He checks his watch.


I search for an understanding look

In his eyes.

There’s none.

“This is really difficult for me”

He sighs a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Try and understand”

He’s getting impatient.

I knew he wouldn’t be interested.

“If you’ll just listen to me—”

“Why am I here?” he asks.

Why did I even try? I think.