Saturday, June 23, 2012

Microfiction and Poems!

I played piano in the hotel until dusk fell and all the guests had left from under the golden chandeliers.  I looked in the gran piano, the highest key up, which was slightly out of tune during Beethoven's 49th symphony, and found the pass code to CREM.  Several hours later, I was on the roof, staring into the white and yellow lights, listening to faint sirens collide and echo as I jumped.

Shakespeare taught me that a tragic love story needed death and fights and two entwined roses wilting with their thorns intact, still making people bleed even as they died.  But sitting here next to you, I know now, the roses need not wilt, be star crossed, or even be roses because staring at this white bed where I would wait forever while I know I can't do anything about it, is where my heart and thorns die, and I live.  I left my white roses and without a trace and you lost me without even knowing.

It was a shiny red, the kind of fingernail polish smooth red you got.  I took a hesitant bite and a cloying overwhelming sweetness attacked my taste buds as I fell to the ground letting the apple fall.
"Hah, who's the pretty bitch now?"

I needed crutches
Because of you.
Who pushed me
Down long stairwells
Of sorrow.
And watched,
As I fell
To the leeches
Of rumor and gossip.
They sucked me dry
And gave me a belt
And hook.
And you're still
Your skinny frame unable
To carry
Shame or guilt.

I love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love you.
I learned with you,
Repeating the same things
Over and over again made it lose it's meaning,
Until it was foreign
And unreal
And fake.
I'll repeat you in my head
Until you become nothing.
All your faults,
Your weaknesses
Your face
Your hair
Everything you are and were and will be
To dust.
To meaningless things,
Until I lose you for good.

When I was younger, I used to think
Was the most wonderful thing
In the world.
I'm not young

She almost finished her embroidery but like everything else in her life, she cut it out before she could ever end it.

When I was sleeping, I heard you sing Taylor Swift, you, you bad ass tattooed motorcyclist with a thousand healed bruises and a hundred broken hearts.  I heard you call me beautiful, braid and unbraid my hair, pull a blanket over me, stroke my forehead, and you wonder why I'm so tired today.

I wrote everything
my ways
When I wrote it backwards
You couldn't read a thing and I laughed.

Laughter for friendship
Words for knowledge
Love for hurt.


  1. I most enjoy the piano piece and the poem referencing crutches and stairwells because they offer strong images for my imagination to latch onto. Taking an object and building additional layers of meaning onto it is something that you do pretty well. I often find that when trying to write about a broad concept or theme--love, fear, death, etc--it works best to focus on one simple object and the details surrounding it and let that image evoke the feelings.

  2. The love love love love love one and the nail on were fun, though I'm not sure why you needed to hide part of the former.
    I liked the 'I wrote everything' poem the most, as it struck a balance between reader and writer filling in the details of the poem. Some other poems seem too simplistic to allow this('Embroidery, 'When I was younger') , but it's hard to tell whether adding more details will benefit the concept. I'd say trying to expand is still worth it as an experiment overall.