POEMS BY: MARILYN SOUZA
he said not to write it down.
how sad... that this is probably the only horizon you'll ever get to see...
the painted metal cell phone towers are the only trees you'll ever
need...
that you'd give up on true love because of stupidity...
or the urge to be set free...
and you know in your heart...this is where, the end you'll meet...
free of this city...
isn't that what you're all longing for?
isn't that what you're all after?
isn't this city the reason you try and bide your time?
everyone i know has something bad to say about where they live...
it's not just here...it's not just us...
you live where you live...and you die where you live...is it really so
important that everything goes our way? is it really so hard to live
differently...differently than we're used to...sometimes a little
change
could do us good...or maybe just holding on to what we already have
would
suffice...
no matter who you are...where you came from...this city, has been a
home to
us all...has welcomed us...in it's own sick way...it's become our
home...it's where we leave our hats at night...
i come from the mountains, the trees, the corn, the plains, the lakes,
the
oceans, the rocks, the sand, the dust, the valley, the prairie, the
sierras...
and i have never, ever, felt as warm as the way i do on a stage...no
matter
what place the stage is...no matter in what sleezy bar, no matter what
restaurant, no matter what time zone...i feel...like i'm surrounded by
family and friends...and people who honestly...honestly...give a shit
to
hear what i have to say...
you can't muffle words and silence truth to those who inherit the
earth...
a man says not to write about anything beautiful you see...that that
is
poetry...but my poetry comes from my heart...it comes from taking all
of
the ugly and beauty and mixing it together and baking it at 365 and
sharing
it with friends...
you can't see the stars here anymore, but maybe it's because the
people
shine too brightly these days?
i feel embraced, and do embrace...
people, this city isn't so bad...
maybe we just need to change our minds....collectively...
and set this city free...
to the girl who walks alone at midnight... they'll never know the way a woman's body really moves...the way she
feels
when wrapped in silk or fine linens...the way it feels to do something
nice
for herself because no one else cares to do so...
belittled by a world that forgot her
name...meredith...miranda...mary......donna?
he'll never know that i'm the reason men write poetry and that he's
the
reason i write mine...he'll never know that these words aren't
forced...that they had a fluidity from my fingertips that i still to
this
day do not know of...they just came...but they still bear their
meaning...and they still feel just as radiant, even with this layer of
dirt
pressing neatly upon their tops...
i long for the battles of engagement and boxing matches against
friends who
aren't friends at all...i long to see the blood on their chins and to
raise
up my gloves as champion of all their words spewed from mouths who
couldn't
hold up to their owner's weaknesses...
sometimes, the shoe doesn't fit, but it still looks pretty on your
foot...
like lavender skies pressing down on the mountain tops that hold me in
this
valley...keeping me confined like the caged bird that wants to sing
but
can't find the right key to sing it's tune...i'll play mute for you...
like midnight masses on desert highways...ale in hand...leaving
religion
and care behind in the city...to keep warm was the goal...to
smile...and
feel the cold chatter of slick wet teeth...just to enjoy the company
of a
new friend whom you feel more at home with than old aqaintances...long
forgotten, and not quite forgiven...
buttering someone elses bread because they can't get the spread just
right...and they just can't seem to hold the knife...
alone in the woods, kept warm by the arms of a machine, and cotton
creatures...while i sit and ponder the pressure of the future's next
kiss...
how cold will the streets need to be, before you'll carry me?
when asking the helpless for help...you feel helpless yourself...
i cried and wept and slept...into a trance of trembles and shakes and
feelings i hadn't felt in a while...to be useless...forgotten...taken
for
granted in the eyes of those who aren't supposed to turn you down...
fingertips singed off, because i got too greedy for my own good...i
needed
that smoke to fill my lungs and i wanted it too soon...and as the dead
flesh flakes and floats off into the air...i'll remember...that i
didn't
get the smoke i wanted...
perhaps with enough effort, i'll have something worth showing
off...something worth putting my name on...
finding out...that the whole time, i really was good enough, is more a
slap
in the face than being told i wasn't selected...
i'll shed my second skin for eyes that only want to deify me...to a
status
that i'm not sure i'm ready to take on...but i need to...it's seeping
through my veins with every breath...as if to scream "I NEED
VALIDATION
MORE THAN ANYTHING!!!"...but do i really?...
isn't contentment what it used to be? isn't happiness such a fickle
thing
that we dare not try to gain or lose?...isn't complacency the only
thing
that's really ours? why isn't contentment something of a badge you
can
wear proudly...instead of a sheen of embarrassment because you still
can't
hold your own in a room full of smiling people?
and what if you've found a reason to be amongst those people, and
smile
brighter than they smile, and laugh the loudest, and not the last???
won't then, you be truly happy?
I hate postage. I can't seem to get the taste out of my mouth. I licked the envelope.
That contained the letter.
That proved to the world.
I didn't know any better.
It read:
Dear Sir,
Why have you given me nothing in return except your name?
Why do you flatter when I know in my heart it will go to waste?
Where have all your cowgirls gone?
Still riding bulls while you dream?
The ones who probably sang you to sleep.
And pet your eyes for eternity.
Where are the loves that defined you?
Where do you keep your heart these days?
And what do you want with me?
Dear Sir,
Pardon the shyness.
The laughter and hiding.
Like the river Shannon.
Cold and quick, but just as effective of reaping the masses of their
youth.
I can't seem to uncover my face and stop the nervous drone.
I'm so scared to know what you must think.
Dear Sir,
Don't use my embrace as a backdrop for your target.
I'm just as fragile as the bottles which line my kitchen walls.
I'm like a bottle, an hourglass, a vase.
Except that I can't be mended with glue.
I am obsolete.
Put me to good use.
And let me move you like the wind through the sails.
And I'll take you far.
To places unknown.
Then again, I might just get you lost.
Could you, would you want…to find your way back?
Dear Sir,
You make me melt like butter drowning on itself in a skillet.
I'll feel better tomorrow.
When the dishes can be washed.
And the greasy film of yesterday's heartbreak comes off.
And swirls down this clogged up drain.
Dear Sir,
You cause seismic waves.
This is where beginnings end.
And fault lines grind together.
Let's make the earth quake and shake and bend.
And hurt me hard and hurt me good.
Make me feel like bad girls should.
But kiss me sweet.
And kiss me slow.
This body yours.
But mind, never known.
If only something shook inside of you. |
