Writings
I post many of my writings on my blog, Indigobelle.net. Here are a few excerpts of my poetry:
The Playhouse
there’s nothing like this place, you know
the mood, the lighting, the sounds, the drinks –
not that he’s had one in 9 months, 4 days:
sober from the glass but drunk on the bar.
no, there’s nothing like this place – a little Clifford,
Louis, Ella. enough to make anyone high, floating
to a dive like no other week night; sexy, swanky, sultry.
where raspy voices can talk you through your troubles
and a sip of water is as good as a sip of whiskey.
nope there’s nothing like this place, please know
because out these doors he’s no more street than gravel
but in, he’s no more normal than the rest
forgotten
I am a curdled sunflower desperate for the sky but my leaves are dust and I am crumbling
down down down
to the ground, ground, ground
I am a butterfly whose artist forgot to paint my wings instead of periwinkle plum and peach
I am puce, layered with puce, with some more puce on top
I am a red sequoia tree
but my branches are too heavy
nobody dares to come near me
because each day I weep and I weep, I weep
Needles
I wish I could vomit out my addiction
day in and day out i am seduced
promises slither along my skin
up my arms and down my spine
they worm their way into my pores
and build a home inside me
i try to squeeze them out with my nails
but my body harbors them like pets
with my false hopes and crusty dreams
covered in dust and bookmarked
i feel so alive when i adopt another lie
it fills me up with faith while simultaneously
staining a red hand print across my cheek
i claw at myself in desperation
I’ll never vomit out my addiction
"play time"
my satin sheets blindly welcomed
the ice cold feet attached to you.
you stomped between my bloodied halls and
after bleached my bedroom walls,
and then you clutched my midriff,
stained my shirt with your regret,
while I sat traumatized by the puddle
oozing between my legs.
look at me! look at me —
blinded by your apologies
that shouldn’t erase
your indiscretions but yet
here I am cradled
on your lap, your baby, trusting your every word.
but here we go again,
you’re like a rhinoceros
raging around the bedroom
driving your horn between my legs
while I crumple and beg
but you can’t hear me when you put your hand over my mouth and say “they’ll hear you.”
and when you’re through —
you’re disgusted with what you’ve done.
you take me to the butcher shop hang me up next to the feather cock who eyes my broken hymen reaches over and unhitches the rope around my neck so that I’m
falling
into a maze of sidewalks lined
with your heads that haunt me
and I remember how you said
“don’t tell dad.”
what are you doing new year's eve?
the droplets pound against my spine
each one melts across my shoulder blades
and seeps in to my sore muscles
soothes me
the shower beats against my forehead
until something stings my leg, my body moves
my clumsiness coats my calf
attacked by my razor
I pop its head off its Venus signed handle
it winks up at me from my palm
teases me, begs me to just
try it
my breath is stuck behind my teeth
my lips part to welcome the cool metal
my tongue flinches as my mouth closes
around it
I let the blade swish from cheek to cheek
like a tangy, salty mouthwash
but instead of spitting down the drain
I gulp
the head is an inch worm reclining down my throat
my hazy reality now a burnished metal
my faith restored in my spasming
gullet