Are You There?

Lonely

‘Lonely’ by Sangeetha Bansal

Tell me, whisper it,
I’m aching to know,
is it a yes
or a definite no?
Find me in my dreams
and make it known,
’cause I think of you far more
than I have carefully shown.

Do you still think of me
now that there’s no tomorrow,
when ‘we’ means absolutely nothing
and memories bring painful sorrow?

Do you still love me
now that you cannot stand me,
’cause we don’t talk to each other anymore,
about as distant as we can be?

Do you still hold me,
now that I’m out of your reach,
and our vow to love each other 
has come to a ghastly breach?

Do I still matter
now that you have a wife,
and old things have passed away,
and you love your new life?

If you tell me in my dreams,
I’ll know if it’s true,
and if you say it’s a no,
I won’t feel so blue.
I miss you and love you,
and although I’ve grown,
if you say it’s a yes,
I won’t feel so alone.

For My Lady

I Saw a Man

touchhd a man

‘Sandra’ by Shairi Turner

You are but a boy;
you made me a girlish woman.
Woman had the hots for boy?
I was naive- I’m only human.

You’ve run off to play your games;
yet, I know I will be just fine.
I feel foolish for feeling something;
I could have sworn you were all mine.

Oh boy, yes, you wore the perfect mask.
Now I need deep cleansing and a ‘no-costume’ ban.
‘Cause on the day that I first saw your face,
I was so damn sure- what I saw was a man.

{in numb, slightly girlish voice}
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
If I knew you were a boy,
I’d have stuck to my first plan.

{with crying and regret}
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
If I knew you were a boy,
I’d have said goodbye and ran.

{with screaming and anger}
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!

{fades}

This is not a poem per se; it’s a song. I just need some help with recording it. I already know what it sounds like; I can almost hear it.
trans
Around 7.30 pm this evening, I found myself scribbling so fast, and the above is what I got after a few changes. I wrote so quickly, hence, the almost-illegible writing. If I ever get to record and/or perform this piece, I want the chorus to carry the emotions. I want it to be as powerful as the chorus in Patto’s 1970s piece, ‘The Man’
Listen to it. The chorus begins at around 4 minutes into the video:

My Love, I Don’t Understand

Screen Shot 2019-05-31 at 3.14.35 PM

‘ Reclining Lady’ by Margaret Garcia

Baby, now that you’re out of flesh,
do you really still see me?
Do you rub my belly when we’re together alone?
Do you still hold my hand when I pee?

Darling, now that you don’t have a mouth,
can you still taste some of my food?
Do you still giggle when I dance unclad for you?
Do I still get you in the mood?

Honey, without your hands and arms,
can you feel my temperature when I’m ill?
Do you twitch my nipples and kiss my lips?
Is my love a thing you can feel?

My love, do you like my new waist beads?
I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.
Why won’t you come take me,
so I can be with you?
Will we never make a baby?

The First One Dies First

Hip Bone

‘Hip Bone’ by Gilbert Young

Yesterday,
you braced yourself.

With all the courage that you had,
you told them how you really felt,
and what all your affection meant.

Today,
they tell you that they love you.
They’re here to make your dark sky blue.
You give them butterflies inside too,
so they show you life,
and it’s brand new.
It’s an exciting time for you two,

and there’s nothing,
for your baby,
that you can’t do.

Tomorrow,
you’re going to have a big fight;

the things that they’ll say will hurt you.
If you threaten to leave if they don’t change,
they’ll react in a way that you’ll find strange.
The words that they’ll say will be quite true,
“I didn’t come to you first,
I didn’t want you.”

Falling in Love is Masochistic

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Painted by John Park

I will never understand,
for as long as I live,
why people crave so hard,
why people ache so bad,
to fall in love.

I know that falling is nice,
falling is like flying,
and flying is nice,
but when the clock strikes 12,
one will have to pay the price.

Landing is tough,
landing is rough,
there are cuts on the face and neck,
and blood on the thighs and head.
The heart is broken into several pieces,
and air is taken out of the lungs.
The knees lose life and strength,
and the sides become so badly bent.

I hope they learn a lesson or two.
I stand by the scene and I watch,
hoping they’ll never, ever return,
but people climb on love’s hill again,
with smiles on their lips
and laughter in their mouths,
wobbling with a partner in hand,
to fall into that dark pit once more,
to die again.

The Cycle

GetAttachment

She holds the key to your heart,
after you hand it over to her,
and when things don’t work out between you,
she throws the key at you.
You pick the key up,
turn it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tell yourself that she has locked it for good,
as if she has the power to.

When you hold the key
to the heart of a new “she”,
after she hands it over to you,
you delightfully throw the key at her
when things don’t work out between you.
She picks the key up,
turns it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tells herself that you have locked it for good,
as if you have the power to.

Each person nurses their pain
and doctors their true feelings,
dwelling on past pain,
staying away from true healing,
until something or someone
shows up to show them

that the heart does not,
the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.

Thing 1 & Thing 2

Osun (Giseli Magalhães)

Thing 1 was not thirsty,
but I offered him a drink.
He drank till my cup was empty,
and threw me in me to sink.

I struggled back to shore,
you can bet that I was sore,
but Thing 2 grabbed my finger,
and told me his heart was pure.

The river of love is full again,
the river of love is me,
but Thing 2 is still famished,
’cause my cup was smashed at sea.

So tell me, ìyá mi ‘Kojú,
help me make my strength from you. 
How do I tell me that Thing 1
is all but nothing like Thing 2?

Love and Life

Little-Yachtsman

“Little Yachtsman” by Amanda Jackson

He cannot be the love of your life
if what he has is the love of your life,
not the love of you.
He praises you because you have this,
and you can do that,
but those things removed,
he wouldn’t know what to do with you;
you would have no use to him.

Love: Wings and Legs

Collete Miller.png

Painted by Collete Miller

Love gives you wings, 
but when the wings are abruptly taken away, 
your legs are yanked off too.

Love, after it is withdrawn,
leaves you somewhat paralyzed.

So,
first,
you have to grow a new pair of legs-
the process hurts like death. 

Then you develop an irrational fear of wings,
which is funny,
but also sad.

Venus in “Deadtrograde”

A plate of pain keeps
the potential heartbreaker away.
Two glasses of my old tears daily
will help me not go astray.
I am strong and I need no one’s attention,
but I want to be desired,
and I want affection,
but I was hurt,
I don’t want a repetition,
but I want love,
and I can feel the tension.

I don’t cry.
I don’t cry anymore because
there’s a pool of my tears
in my heart,
and I like to swim in it,
or go down, down, down,
and drown,
when a potential One
comes too close
to my feelings’ flat.
If anyone is to decide when I drown,
it has to be me, myself and I.
Would you give another potential
pretentious,
manipulative
dingbat
a chance to decide when you die?

Six planets are in retrograde
in my natal chart,
and venus used to be one of them,
but she’s not anymore.
My venus is dead;
a man has stabbed my sickly venus to death.