I told you I would try to post some of my poems, and here one is. I know it's not perfect, but it's alright for now. I just had to write something about Mr. Spaniel, although I also started writing a poem about Mama's feet. I should finish that one, because I like it too.
This is the first draft of the poem, so any commentary is welcome, even if that includes, "Jessie- just write another poem."
Monster Party
I met him at my brother’s monster party.
Me ironically showing up as a party monster-
Black heels, skin-tight 80s, glittery,
Jazz dance outfit that I found at Goodwill,
Hugging all the sexy and awkward curves
On my body. Feeling naked and silly,
I had nothing to hide. The lampshade
Strapped on my head, along with my giraffe
Legs, brought me close to seven feet tall.
He was a just-got-off-from-waiting-tables
Monster. Plaid shirt, wheat skin,
Intelligent, Dominican head,
And those orange old-school Nikes
Made him just under 5 feet, six inches tall.
Hearts on my fingers,
Hearts in my morning oatmeal,
Hearts on my Anatomy Lab notes-
I started tracing them everywhere.
Somehow I had turned into a Middle-School
Girl with a lovely crush on a boy.
Laughs, kisses, movies, and wet eyes,
I’m still finding his hairs embedded
In my carpet. I wake up knowing the head
(Or chest) from which these hairs came
Is no longer around for me to touch.
I didn’t want it to end,
But with him saying he was afraid
Of being in love (again),
And me saying I just want
To love and be loved,
There was only one lonely answer
We both didn’t want to hear.
So now I’ve learned that I shouldn’t go
For the short monster afraid of love,
And also,
I need to vacuum the carpet more.
5 comments:
My God, HoneyLuna. So you're a poet, too. There is no end to the depths of your talents. There is no end to the depths of your heart, either, and someday a man will come along who not only sees that but wants nothing more than to spend a lifetime plumbing those depths. Who wants to be a part of that endless heart.
Now I can't wait to hear the poem about my feet.
Oh Mama, your words mean so much to me. Thank you so so so much.
And yes, I will try to get that poem done about your feet. Really, I think it would have been a better poem, but I just wanted to write that one really bad last night, so I did.
Hey, that's damn good! You tell the story and you wrap it up clean - that's my problem, I never end as well as I started.
Had fun last night!
Thank you brother. I was having a difficult time with that myslef, and actually I had about ten other stanzas that I started, but I thinking, "No one's going to want to read all this crap" so I just put that stuff in.
I had fun last night too. Thanks for forcing me to come. Hehe.
That was so good! Really baby, I loved the pictures in my mind, the part about his Dominican head, the hearts in your oatmeal, it was true and clear. Now, write another poem.
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