Poems

REAL ESTATE

He looked like Malcolm X and smelled like death. Our eyes met wild, both of us done with the bullshit for the day. It’s a special tightening of the lips and dead stare that relays the universal message: Not me, not today. I’m not the one to fuck with right now.

His eyes softened just a little and then he screamed:

“You think I’m gonna ask you for money. You’re staring at me like I’m homeless. I’ve got apartments all over this city! You need an apartment? I’ve got something for you in any neighborhood in this city! And rent is only $2.25. You know why you haven’t seen me in your home? Because I have respect. RESPECT! What do you know about respect?”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Brooklyn, April 4, 2010, 6:23pm

about eye contact:

1) if you are in line at Starbucks and see a drugged up man who looks like tom sizemore rummaging around in the sugar/milk area, do not do a double-take to see if it could really be him on the loose from “Sober House 2″. the addict, who is indeed not sizemore, will approach and ask you if he can come to your place to take a quick shower.

2) do not look up and smile when the questionable person outside the bodega says, “isn’t it a beautiful day?” if you do look up and smile (because it is a warm, sunny day and you are grateful to be out in it) you will end up being asked to buy him a sandwich and a soda. and you will.

3) after a run outdoors that turned out to be more of a 5-mile inhale of the city’s exhaust pipes and cigarette smoke while dodging cars aiming for you as if you were a level-changer in grand theft auto, do not look directly at the green field at the cadman plaza park. you will inevitably go sit on the grass and attempt to subtly sniff it, yearning for that childhood smell of freshness and peace. but you will smell nothing and discover it is astroturf disguised as grass. this will make you feel kind of empty.

4) do not, under any circumstance, look up when you see a tiny human on a scooter coming toward you. the little girl will dip low to make eye contact with you under your hat. she will smile, and cautiously say, “hi?” don’t look her in the eyes. this will only make you cry.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Inferno

woman has womb and heart made of ashes
staring smokey with cinders in her eyes

blinking charcoal pine needle eyelashes
she is a forest fire in disguise

motherhood sings like soft breeze in the trees
tu lips wet with gasoline and a match in between

she ignites often burning on her knees
with ember skin to begin again her spirit clean

a choice versus sacred expectation
because planting seeds is certain turmoil

as is cleansing by incineration
death is life proffered by smoldering soil

amaranth between her thighs is to blame
it’s always the moon that ignites her flame

* * * * * * * * * * *

Binge

Nasal drip
6 am Red Bull fit
oops it was a late night slip
cocaine on my keychain
world sleeping at the foot of the bed
tylenol pm and Plan B on the nightstand
ingredients for pretty girl paralysis

let’s find a new way to say what’s already been said
surrender and let the dead bury their dead
lies for breakfast, lunch and dinner
the masses gorging on infomercials
and looking THINNER!

so jaded
naked and humiliated
faded and hated
siren, the alpha female will outlast you
vixen, you’re just a lip-glossed victim
daughter, you’re searching for daddy in all the wrong dicks
primitive female, the artist woman will devour you

* * * * * * * * * * *

Purge

Stick your finger down your throat
this is how the pretty ones cope
why be ugly for all to see
when these demons offer exclusivity

It all seemed so simple once…
matriarchs in their Sunday best
rosy cheeks and the reddest red lips
a passive war
lady-like combat
perfumes fighting for dominance
in the confines of the car

Silently, tragically, it happens
a purgatory between girl and woman
no one is nice for the right reasons anymore
the world only sees a mother or a whore

young thing sitting pretty reading Cosmo
learning to hate herself one page at a time
illusory remedies in flat abs and G-spots
she will melt in your mouth, not in your hand
strutting that shiny, candy-coated shell

Stick your finger down your throat
this is how the pretty ones cope
why be ugly for all to see
when these demons offer exclusivity

* * * * * * * * * * *

OUTLAWS

an outlaw is a

suicide girl at trail’s end

seeking retribution, reward, revolution

and the rest

bullets to fearless flesh

none bleed more violently than

the invasion of womanhood anyway

an outlaw is one

who has the courage to want it all

part-nihilist, part-narcissist and

heart made of hornet dust

faces immortal like a

mug shot or a

John Dillinger death mask

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

I AM
(Self worth of a mixed girl)

i am

mango blood and papaya skin

ridgeline thighs and coconut calves

lilikoi lips and breadfruit hips

alpine bones and moss hair

 

i am

guerilla fists

bear heart

anarchist tongue

a mind that colors outside the lines

 

i am

a mountain to climb

an original piece

by ancestral design

god’s flesh

to love and adore

 

i am

truly devine.

* * * * * * * * * * *

dear henry rollins,

i love you. i’m sure we are soulmates because i am a flower that smells of gaseoline. and you like that. i incinerate weaklings just by standing here. we are soulmates because my strength cauterizes your wounds. i am a scar-maker. and you like that.

we aren’t meant to be though. i agree with most of your sentiments, but in the flesh, i think i might feel that you were always on the precipice of whining. like a dog barking. i get the gist of what you’re trying to convey, but it’s just…annoying noise after a while. plus, per many old youtube clips of you, i’ve decided you have a bit of a lisp. and lisps just are not alpha enough for me. It’s like you’re inside my head though, really. we have written the same sentences despite being separated by time, gender and copious amounts of microphones. i would never want to have sex with you because i can only imagine you hate-fucking me or crying afterward. you are extreme. and you are a warrior. that makes me wet. but that doesn’t always mean you will be a hot fuck. i’m not emasculating, just picky. promise. it’s ok. i love you. you are my soulmate.

love always,
tiff

* * * * * * * * * * *

BUILD A HERO

nose suspended by toothpicks

and some faulty wire

sniffing the world’s toes

predicting the rain

a busy signal

killed by instant gratification

disaster mascara betrays

a mysterious strumpet

enslaved in pink nouveau

mouth plump and hooker-chic

this world needs more heroines

name one

* * * * * * * * * * *

Peter Pan zombies

Peter Pan zombies eat Barbie brains in my cotton candy dreams
wake up screaming in a world full of fiends
and now I see you…

you are tree sap and moss seeping from my pores
you are AA and slit wrists and patchouli-scented whores
you are a reindeer, a biosphere, an irregular pap smear

you are big cock pop rox
snapping crystals to the core
you are baby bear turning out my goldilocks
it feels juuuuuuust right
and i want more

you are a decision I just can’t make
a lockbox I just can’t break
you are four walls and steel bars
solitary I just can’t take

so here’s what I propose:
let’s take a walk past hypocrisy and look up loyalty’s skirt
let’s bleed honey over suffering and smile between our thighs
let’s allow laughter to dance in our throats and love to cataract these worthless eyes
let’s be jasmines in bloom
no
let’s be earth-worn gems hidden in soil
it’s easy to merely shed petals and die too soon.

* * * * * * * * * * *

wasted seed

you are the mango tree on the corner
i see you
dropping your fruit carelessly
strangers carryings as much as they can away

i hear you
tossing restless in the night
alone with the moon and your heavy boughs

i feel you
every day at three
when your tired limbs dance shadows on my skin

you are the mango tree on the corner
but you’re not mine to tend
so i stay here on my side of the street
loving you too long
and knowing the story of your wasted seed.

* * * * * * * * * * *