Thursday, March 19, 2009

phlegm.

(yes that's me behind the scarf)



We want more for our children
Backpacks break spines
Fingertips with slicing paper cuts
Tongues dry from turning pages
With Saliva
Blisters from gripping pencils
Chipped teeth
The result of biting erasers
Just to fix our past mistakes

I apologize for being a failure
Got so caught up in these trees
(not drugs)
this ink
(not tattoos)
and vomiting these words
(not pregnancy symptoms)
That I forgot
Creativity doesn’t pay the bills

My birth certificate was
The first degree I ever received
So everything afterwards
Just seemed less important

It’s a burden to be the golden child
When everyone
Is waiting for your shine
Diminished glimmer
I have no fancy for
Your blue print
No sparkle
To stick to your trials and tribulations
You have mapped out for me

I am no after-school special
No sand box
First kiss
Puppy love
High school sweetheart
Drunken sorority girl
Turned executive

I grew up
Threatening kindergarten boys
Writing Milky Way pen poetry
On my arms
Skin underneath fingernails
From fighting to hear the word beautiful
With the same hands
That gripped microphones
Cursed loudly
With the same tongue
I lashed at crowds

I don’t regret
The P.T.A. meetings
Enclosed between parents who’d
Forced you to come
And teachers who speak
Of your daydreaming
And talking too damn much

Haven’t forgotten
The memories
I’ve pick pocketed for poems

The men I’ve seduced with
Words like hickies
That never disappears

The teens I’ve given journals
Out of my last dime

And still
I am not accomplished enough
Haven’t gotten over the infatuations that
Were supposed to be phases
Like journals
And skateboards
And that “at first sight” feeling

I’ve embraced me

Still writing....

No paper cuts
No dry tongue
No blisters

And definitely, no eraser.

7 comments:

curiouslovechild said...

Is this what you were writing in 300? Lol it was well worth it.

she too had the drama thick said...

owwwwww


andy

UrbanTalker said...

Like Langston's River, you've got to touch Rocks, Bushes and Trees while still flowing; moving towards the big Ocean.

For a stopped River becomes stagnant and a no flow Riva is a pond.

riva. said...

haha yes shawnon, it is.
and ladies and gentleman.
welcome my father.

the commenter above,UrbanTalker.

*sigh*

-riv-

Velly Vell said...

i seriously love your poetry.

LaLa said...

beautiful.


that picture is amazing also.

MictheMessenger said...

Haven’t forgotten
The memories
I’ve pick pocketed for poems

YES.