Because I Sometimes Dig Through My Old Stuff

As a warning, this stuff is more structured than what I normally put up. It might not read as smoothly.

Unhinged
Why?
I ask,
A puzzled thing living
On my very own
Breathing, moving
Face

But she just
Smiles that sad smile
Shrugs that weary shrug
And says
Because sometimes people come unhinged

And I leave, breathing anger
Anger, because it’s lies
Lies that they cultivate
And I am so tired of
It
All

And I want to
Lay down,
Let the pebbles bruise me,
Give it up
But
Then I think
That maybe
I am coming
Unhinged


That Boy
There is this
Boy
Down on Avenue 68
I worry
About him, times

He has an old
Beat up
Straw hat on his
Beat up little head

It’s from my dad,
He says,
Hope simply bleeding
Out his eyes
My dad’s gonna
Come right up here,
Take me home
Says the
Straw Hat Boy


Snowgirl
Chilly
Yes, yes,
chilly.
Frustration
Frustration, frustration
frustration
It burrows under my skin
I like my skin
I like the smooth way it feels
I like that is keeps out germs
I like that.
But frustration
Urg
Why won't he stop talking?
Why does she keep looking over at me
after she tells her jokes?
I don't think they're funny!
Get over it!
How old are you?
Well maybe you should start acting your age
And when they do stop
Frustration
Because there's static stuck in my blood
It's in there, I can feel it.
It itches under my skin
My skin that I like
The skin that is so creamy-smooth
And the static turns
Into a bank of ice crystals
No, no, no, no!
Get them out
Get them out
I don't want to be chilly
Turn the thermostat up
Oh, hurry!
I'm not quite keen on being a snowgirl


Bobbin
I'm being forgetful again,
I know,
But have you
Perchance
Seen my bobbin?

It's got purple thread
I know it's here
Somewhere

But my memory is suffering
Would you mind
Coming just a little closer
So I can see
Who you are

My eyes are suffering, too
Is that it?
That purple shining thread just there

That's your hair?
No, dear, I said purple
You heard me?
Are you pulling my leg?
Who told you hair could be purple?
I hadn't a clue that it could be so

I am confused,
Pressure pushing harder on my
Concentration

Too many years
Weighing down my skin
Pulling my face into
Jack-o-lantern grins

What was that, dear?
Something about a bobbin?
What bobbin, my sweet?
No, I was not looking for one!
Do not try to confuse me!
I wasn't!
I promise, I wasn't


Fly Swatter
I bravely
Unsheathed my weapon
Lethal, like those in the War

The hordes of the foe
Right up close to me
And I

Cut my way
Through their ranks,
To their leader,

And I squash him
With my
Plastic fly-spatula


This is a Stickup
I love her
He says,
his voice strained
in a lover’s strain

I wish I could
smile
and jump
and hold
his dry, calloused
comfortable hands

But I can’t.

Because
there
is
a
gun
to my head