my last three poems have mentioned fairy tales.... hm.
this is not a fairy tale.
this is the story of two pennies rubbing off on each other at the bottom of a pocket
far from any wishing wells
we love each other in the extra hours between working and sleeping
there's never enough so we've learned to love hard
keep the lights off
push our stomachs together so we can't hear the grumbling
she only cries when she feels helpless, or ugly
i cry when i'm alone
i've lost too many friends because i can't understand the act of accumulation
we love each other in never enough,
in not tonight baby...
she only fights when she feels helpless, or ugly
i always fight back
i blame it on the tired,
on the way it coils around my spine and pulls it crooked when i try to stand up
the way it clings to my ugly
she loves me, ugly and spineless and grateful
we hold each other worthy, kiss sleep into aching eyelids
i see her when she's invisible
when the scars have begun to take up too much space on her body
when her vision has forgotten how to bend upwards
i love her ugly and tired
this is not a fairy tale
don't expect anything more miraculous than survival
she iron lungs my courage and apologizes for showing up empty,
fresh out of white horses
i warn her of the rising sun
i wake up first so she doesn't have to
kiss her face before her eyes agree to sunlight
pull breakfast out of leftovers and forgotten corners of cabinets
so she doesn't have to rumble hollow
so she can pretend for another hour
she tells me that i'm beautiful
balances me weightless on her dignity and kisses my stretch marks
over and over
we're learning to siphon time out of grandfather clocks
so we can build a day that belongs to only us
it doesn't work as well with digital
we store it in pipes and pillowcases
rub it against what's left of our future
we're hoping to encourage it not to give up yet
i only cry when i'm paying attention
when the bleak and the cold threaten her cheek against mine
she always cries too
we blame it on the tired,
on the way it keeps us restless when we finally sleep,
on the way we love hard like we might forget how.
this is a working class lullaby
built for moaning quiet behind doors that don't close right
built with substance so we don't go to bed hungry
built like a wishing well to make money seem less dirty
this is the story of two pennies at the bottom of an empty pocket
rubbing off each other's ugly so we can emerge
shining and worth something
this is the story of two pennies rubbing off on each other at the bottom of a pocket
far from any wishing wells
we love each other in the extra hours between working and sleeping
there's never enough so we've learned to love hard
keep the lights off
push our stomachs together so we can't hear the grumbling
she only cries when she feels helpless, or ugly
i cry when i'm alone
i've lost too many friends because i can't understand the act of accumulation
we love each other in never enough,
in not tonight baby...
she only fights when she feels helpless, or ugly
i always fight back
i blame it on the tired,
on the way it coils around my spine and pulls it crooked when i try to stand up
the way it clings to my ugly
she loves me, ugly and spineless and grateful
we hold each other worthy, kiss sleep into aching eyelids
i see her when she's invisible
when the scars have begun to take up too much space on her body
when her vision has forgotten how to bend upwards
i love her ugly and tired
this is not a fairy tale
don't expect anything more miraculous than survival
she iron lungs my courage and apologizes for showing up empty,
fresh out of white horses
i warn her of the rising sun
i wake up first so she doesn't have to
kiss her face before her eyes agree to sunlight
pull breakfast out of leftovers and forgotten corners of cabinets
so she doesn't have to rumble hollow
so she can pretend for another hour
she tells me that i'm beautiful
balances me weightless on her dignity and kisses my stretch marks
over and over
we're learning to siphon time out of grandfather clocks
so we can build a day that belongs to only us
it doesn't work as well with digital
we store it in pipes and pillowcases
rub it against what's left of our future
we're hoping to encourage it not to give up yet
i only cry when i'm paying attention
when the bleak and the cold threaten her cheek against mine
she always cries too
we blame it on the tired,
on the way it keeps us restless when we finally sleep,
on the way we love hard like we might forget how.
this is a working class lullaby
built for moaning quiet behind doors that don't close right
built with substance so we don't go to bed hungry
built like a wishing well to make money seem less dirty
this is the story of two pennies at the bottom of an empty pocket
rubbing off each other's ugly so we can emerge
shining and worth something