cinaed: I improve on misquotation (What We May Be (Ophelia))
“The Old Way”

It is the old way that girls
get even with their fathers –
by wrecking their bodies on other men.

-Louise Erdrich

I want to destroy myself, be destroyed,
wreck myself upon the coral reefs that are other men’s hearts,
take my revenge in the old way
and make you weep for your daughter's loss of innocence.
But it seems like I see your face on every man I meet,
or I don't and then they suddenly tilt their head the way you do,
or they laugh at their own jokes like you do,
or they do the same passive-aggressive bullshit you do,
and I can't bring myself to wreck myself on a man so similar to you.

Still, I want to test for myself the sharpness of love,
see if I am my mother and choose a man who transforms over thirty years
and betrays me. Who knows, maybe I'll pick an old-soul, a good man
who will love me long after the world has fallen to ashes,
who will save me from myself and all my self-destructive tendencies,
my lack of common sense and my passive-aggressiveness that I got from you.
Maybe I will try to wreck myself on coral to bleed like so many others before me,
and wash up on a safe shore instead.

Poetry

Sep. 4th, 2006 07:52 pm
cinaed: I improve on misquotation (Default)
I stumbled upon this poem I wrote when my dad upset me, and seeing as he emailed me again today, I thought it fitting.

I think, if you were any person other than yourself,
I could love you -- but instead I see a selfish fool
Who clutches at his own self-love because no one else respects him
And doesn't understand that he fucked up,
That he hurt everyone who should have mattered
That he is stupid, selfish, blind, and old

I think, if you were anyone but you, I could forgive you
But you aren't, so I am the wrathful, the unforgiving
Who wants you to vanish and fade into the obscurity of the past
Because that's where you belong

To be a grief that we can put on the shelf and forget about
And shake our heads when someone finds it again
And sigh over the barely remembered loss
Because that's where you belong

Poetry

Mar. 8th, 2006 07:38 pm
cinaed: I improve on misquotation (Default)
There's a soft subtle bruising of my ego
So soft, so slow that I don't notice until it finally hurts
And when I look at myself,
I see the bruises in my eyes, in my smile,
In the crook of my knee
And wonder if anyone else sees


*

I should get angry, but instead I get tired
And feel as though the years are tons
That pile upon my spine to make me creak

I should get angry, but instead I get sad
And wish for something to numb this ache
That would freeze the very soul inside of me


*

Some people earn self-respect by performing acts of good-will
You destroy a home but say you've earned your own respect
Some people earn self-respect by creating joy for the world
You create pain but say you love yourself now
Some people earn self-respect by working hard to keep things together
You let everything fall apart but say you tried to spare us pain


*

I think, if you were any person other than yourself,
I could love you -- but instead I see a selfish fool
Who clutches at his own self-love because no one else respects him
And doesn't understand that he fucked up,
That he hurt everyone that should have mattered
That he is stupid, selfish, blind, and old

I think, if you were anyone but you, I could forgive you
But you aren't, so I am the wrathful, the unforgiving
Who wants you to vanish and fade into the obscurity of the past
Because that's where you belong

To be a grief that we can put on the shelf and forget about
And shake our heads when someone finds it again
And sigh over the barely remembered loss
Because that's where you belong


In case you can't tell, my father showed up at the house on Monday. Unfortunately, my muse only likes for me to compose when I'm angsty. *sighs*
cinaed: I improve on misquotation (Default)
Woo hoo! I got an A- on my midterm that I thought I'd failed! Yay! ^^

And I've been doing some random poem snippets....most of 'em suck, but oh well.


This black despondency of yours is wearing me thin,
As though it's my veins that you slice and dice
If I could, I would wear your battered, tattered skin
Whatever the cost, believe me, whatever the price

****

If I could save you, I would
But you don't want to be saved
You're pleased with your
Suicidal tendencies

*****

We're just exiled angels,
Trying to sneak back into Heaven.
We're just lonely demons,
Trying to escape from Hell.

****

The fifth level of Hell, as Dante says
Is for the wrathful and the gloomy
The wrathful are naked, and as furious as they've always been
The gloomy lamenting under mud

A wrathful soul is turbulent, filled with venom
As poisonous as a rattler's bite
But still, their punishment is a bit unjust
Surely some people deserve to die?

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