3 poems
I dont want any woman. it's just "A" woman.
not any particular scent of a woman.
just a scent. not anyones touch in particular, just a touch.
do women understand my desire in its non-speceficity?
or is it sexist to not care whose lips in particular,
to not have any one person in mind?
we are not puzzle pieces with an intended place in a panorama.
i think that is both what is scary and thrilling about romance.
It's that "meant to be" isnt the reality... the reality is:
"make it happen", or "lets do this", or do we want to BE for each other, be the "other" for another?
sometimes i look at someone and think, what would you look like waking up?
what would you feel like in my arms, two inches from my face?
and if it felt good, would want to call it love?
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there are some beautiful women in this feminist history class. two behind me with glasses. one close behind me is cute and has a round face and nose. she takes issue with comments that i make with the intent to push buttons. her appropriate reactions belie her intelligence and spunk. this attracts me to her more than her appearance does on its own. tough. that is not to say that she isnt very pretty, because she is. she also isnt wearing glasses today, whups.
Further behind her is a brunette with rectangular glasses. she is sexy, perhaps because of her appearance but also because of her cadence. she always has her laptop in front of her and always builds well on the discussion with her comments.
there is a girl back and to the left of me, on the other side of the classroom, she is probably a brunette but but has more blonde toned highlights, she has soft features that aren't very model like in the traditional sense. to say what is truthful, i did not notice her until i saw her walk. she is shapely and proper seeming. she has big eyes, almost ghostly, and she has tight, young skin.
way back, further back, to the left there is a very skinny girl with ovalish glasses. she has a pretty face and could be cast as the geeky girl who gets made over in a crappy high school movie. not that i would want to make her over, because i wouldnt want to change her one bit. she is so slender in a sexy way and, what little i have seen of her smile, if feels contagious. she is a brunette also.
Far away from me towards the left of me, near the front of the class is a blonde girl, she is the classic blonde girl if one judges by appearance. she is very pretty and has a round head, and reminds me of a little blonde girl i remember from pre-school, she dresses simply, elegantly, casually and effortlessly. my instinct is to hate her, from high school experiences. but i dont know her so i ignore this instinct. i think her eyes are brown but i cant tell from here. the fact that she bites her nails humbles me towards her, because i do also. she has a somewhat pout and today her bosom makes lines of taughtness between her breasts with the fabric of her grey shirt.
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Lots of people bite their nails.
what are we hungry for?
are we thirsty?
when i bite my nails im biting for world peace.
when i bite my nails if harvesting calcium.
when i bite my nails i am spitting remorse
suckling for true love and
swallowing sorrow.
how can such beautiful people be so anxious,
so empty, so starved?
there arent enough cigarettes in the world,
not enough breaths in my lungs to stop chomping
my fingers.
sometimes i try, as im sure we all do,
to stick our hands in our pockets,
beneath our thighs, or just in each other,
tight fingers intertwined in resistance.
but i always catch myself, or maybe someone else does,
and i quickly drop my hand, still moist from my mouth.
Gnawing, chomping, nipping, nibbling,
biting, biting from the pain of being bit.
not any particular scent of a woman.
just a scent. not anyones touch in particular, just a touch.
do women understand my desire in its non-speceficity?
or is it sexist to not care whose lips in particular,
to not have any one person in mind?
we are not puzzle pieces with an intended place in a panorama.
i think that is both what is scary and thrilling about romance.
It's that "meant to be" isnt the reality... the reality is:
"make it happen", or "lets do this", or do we want to BE for each other, be the "other" for another?
sometimes i look at someone and think, what would you look like waking up?
what would you feel like in my arms, two inches from my face?
and if it felt good, would want to call it love?
----------------------
there are some beautiful women in this feminist history class. two behind me with glasses. one close behind me is cute and has a round face and nose. she takes issue with comments that i make with the intent to push buttons. her appropriate reactions belie her intelligence and spunk. this attracts me to her more than her appearance does on its own. tough. that is not to say that she isnt very pretty, because she is. she also isnt wearing glasses today, whups.
Further behind her is a brunette with rectangular glasses. she is sexy, perhaps because of her appearance but also because of her cadence. she always has her laptop in front of her and always builds well on the discussion with her comments.
there is a girl back and to the left of me, on the other side of the classroom, she is probably a brunette but but has more blonde toned highlights, she has soft features that aren't very model like in the traditional sense. to say what is truthful, i did not notice her until i saw her walk. she is shapely and proper seeming. she has big eyes, almost ghostly, and she has tight, young skin.
way back, further back, to the left there is a very skinny girl with ovalish glasses. she has a pretty face and could be cast as the geeky girl who gets made over in a crappy high school movie. not that i would want to make her over, because i wouldnt want to change her one bit. she is so slender in a sexy way and, what little i have seen of her smile, if feels contagious. she is a brunette also.
Far away from me towards the left of me, near the front of the class is a blonde girl, she is the classic blonde girl if one judges by appearance. she is very pretty and has a round head, and reminds me of a little blonde girl i remember from pre-school, she dresses simply, elegantly, casually and effortlessly. my instinct is to hate her, from high school experiences. but i dont know her so i ignore this instinct. i think her eyes are brown but i cant tell from here. the fact that she bites her nails humbles me towards her, because i do also. she has a somewhat pout and today her bosom makes lines of taughtness between her breasts with the fabric of her grey shirt.
-----------------
Lots of people bite their nails.
what are we hungry for?
are we thirsty?
when i bite my nails im biting for world peace.
when i bite my nails if harvesting calcium.
when i bite my nails i am spitting remorse
suckling for true love and
swallowing sorrow.
how can such beautiful people be so anxious,
so empty, so starved?
there arent enough cigarettes in the world,
not enough breaths in my lungs to stop chomping
my fingers.
sometimes i try, as im sure we all do,
to stick our hands in our pockets,
beneath our thighs, or just in each other,
tight fingers intertwined in resistance.
but i always catch myself, or maybe someone else does,
and i quickly drop my hand, still moist from my mouth.
Gnawing, chomping, nipping, nibbling,
biting, biting from the pain of being bit.