*Just For Attention*

Usually I couldn’t stand attention
At least not from the people who gave it
But something the way you were
Made me start to crave it

So I pulled up a stool for a friendly chat
Making small-talk to pass the time
Like what kind of faces do you like your face on
And do they look much like mine?

You declared innocence like the default was guilt
As if that could ease our tension
But I thought once I faced you up front and center
You might choose to pay back my attention

I said guess I’m not such an attention prude
When I’m wrapped around you like this
Course it’s all for show (though I’m starting to think
I might be a method actress)

What a funny kind of play where I wear
My own face as a mask to pretend
That it wasn’t quite me that was touched
And I could pull it off in the end

But I tuned out the tunes and the boys making noise
Tried not to grant them a mention
Tried to shut out the guy in the side of your eye
So I could keep all your attention

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A poem about when the N train is stopped and R rolls in across the platform (and other stuff)

When you’re stuck at the station
struggling to be patient
with the endlessly-stalling
train which is calling
itself “express,”
is it time to guess
that you’ll cover more ground
with one that’s forward-bound
at any rate?
Or better to wait?

title_ny_4thave

For all the boys who called me “exotic”

I had heard it enough to know you meant:

That I was desirable so long as I was shrouded in that cloud of mystique
(which was mostly just the fog in your eyes
but I didn’t have the heart to point out the difference)

And your foggy eyes lit up when you saw in me
Some alien freak here to show you a whole new #$@%ing world
So I tried to say that I’m really from this planet
And you’re not really the center of it
And between the deadness of Venus and Mars
We’re all life on Earth just trying to make it

But as you looked down to Earth
All you could see
Was some exotic fruit here for your consumption
To suck on the flesh and throw out the core


Despite my best efforts, I seem to have become one of those people who writes emotional poetry on the internet. Oh well. 

I Don’t Want Your Sweet Nothings

I don’t want your sweet nothings
My ear’s numb to the taste
I’ll take the salt and the spice and the bitterness

I don’t want your sweet nothings
They ring empty inside me
Give me thick globs of somethings to chew and digest

I don’t need more sweet nothings
That’s not what I’m made of
You’re mistaken, my dear, if you thought I was less

 

Flakes (The Semesterly Poetry Attempt)

It’s that time of the semester again when I write poems to make up for absences in Allegra Kent’s ballet class. I think I deserve brownie points for this one because I made it rhyme and I never make stuff rhyme. In other news, it snowed.

Flakes

Every snowflake is different

I’ve heard them say

But will each still be so special

On a warmer day?

 

When the flakes turn to slush

To murky rivers on the street

A faceless soup

Of flakes once discrete?

 

Were they ever really special

If no one stopped to see

Their brilliant little moments

Of ephemerality?