cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (Default)
GET UP AND FIGHT

Okay, I say to self.
Take you one deep, holy breath;
hold it as long as you need to.

And let it out now.

Then go on, get up, and fight,
and keep on fighting
every single way that you can,
as long as you can.

A Promise

Jan. 25th, 2017 09:25 pm
cerusee: a white blonde girl singing with flowers in the background (hagu singing)
A Promise

At night I write poetry as an excuse instead of sleeping
I swear every dragged-out morning
That this night this night I will do;
That tomorrow I will be well and rested and
I will be better and cure all my ills
I will sleep; I will be good; I will be better
I will read my books, I will and
I will
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (nana and nana)
Because I'm a girl

When I gave you a difficult name
It wasn't an invitation.
I was trying to put you off.
I didn't want you to know my stuff.
I hate to be a girl,
But you were being a guy
I couldn't dodge,
So I gave you a name
That I didn't think that you could solve.
You're my problem,
Because you think I'm a puzzle.
cerusee: a white green-haired girl sitting on top of a white brown-haired boy and strangling him (love is trust)
Dead Rot Finger Trot

Oh on the cusp of doing things
My fingers are cactus, my nails are dried leaves.
I am singing,
"I want to do things but I can’t
My nails are so dry I can’t touch anything,
I'm like a ghost.
All the cloth curls under my dead nails.
Oh on the cusp--
Of things being done
My fingers are cactuses
My nails are dead leaves falling off.
I want to do things but I can’t.
I'm a ghost."
cerusee: a white blonde girl singing with flowers in the background (hagu singing)
What Is The Octopus Religion?

Men are madly of the crowd
All we want is to be together
Or to break apart from each other in revolution.
But the octopus is alone.
What is the octopus religion?

Men worship ourselves.
Four limbs times five is twenty digits
And one brain each.
Heads over feet.
One face is one god. Each.

The octopus has eight gods
Radiant; eight fractal selves
And no neighbors.
What is the octopus religion?
The octopus worships herself,
She is her own god.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (Default)
This Is Not Your River

Passing through a door
Into a darker, quieter room
Away from asking;
Looking out into the light,
I saw my other self.

This was the room with the mirror.
But out there was the other me.
She was thinner, and less freckled, with better clothes--
It was her, the me who tried harder,
Wanting the same.

She was the me who ate less food
Even though she loved eating,
And who ran
Even though she hated running.
I think this other me never stopped wearing foundation
Even if she had to get up fifteen minutes early to put it on.
Even though she didn't have to,
And she wanted to sleep in.

Other me wasn't happy either.
She broke along the same cracks.
People mostly loved her and hated her the same.
She had the same house and the same cat and the same possessions,
Her clothes were smaller,
But she had the same shoe size as me
And her plants were just as thick and green as mine.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (eat wheaties or die)
It’s My Fault You Said So

You lied to me all the time.
For no reason, you just did.
I don't know why you lied to me; you just did.
You swore to me that they found Amelia Earhart's bones,
Just so you could laugh at me for believing you.
You told me that I was subhuman for hitting back;
I don't know why
You told me that I was an animal.
I do not know why for the love of god you needed to hurt me.
You just did.

Cornucopia

Sep. 25th, 2016 12:28 am
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
Cornucopia

I always laugh when they go away saying
I guess this city was too much for me,
This town was too much for me.
Inside, I'm laughing at them, and asking, what,
did you try to eat the city all at once?
No wonder you choked,
you couldn't swallow it all, you got gout--
gorging on all that rich food,
drinking from that endless fountain of wine.
You fool, the city is the horn of plenty.
You're just a body.  You should take bits and pieces,
rabbit pellets, one moment at a time,
one night, one concert, one party, one drink at a time.
Try to eat it all in one quick go and you'll choke on it.
You can't swallow the city in one night.
You have it give it years and years and years
to know it.  The city is not a meal,
it is a cuisine to learn slowly, a thousand recipes to try.
The city is not a bottle of wine, it is a vineyard,
forever producing new clusters of grapes.
The city is a garden with new flowers,
new vegetables, new herbs, every year.
The city is not a moment, not even a marathon,
but the thousand-day journey of a thousand souls.
The city is the hunger and the meal together;
it is the beast swallowing its own tail.
When you came to the city, you were just one second of it,
one breath, one scale on the great snake
that is forever shedding and regrowing its skin.
Too much, you say, leaving--the city is everything,
Everything, all at once, and has always been everything,
and the problem here is you,
that you don't know how to breathe
the quick, shallow breaths demanded by this infinity.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
It doesn't matter why you're gone (the new economy)

Whatever the need, they will fill it.

There is no reason, no excuse, no horror
Explaining why you are gone
That stops your replacement from filling it.

Die, sleep, take a leave of absence,
Go into a coma, pass out, have a baby,
Take a sabbatical, retire, evolve into a new body,
Reincarnate, ascend, have cancer. But

Never go away.  They will replace you.
They will replace you. They will do it right away.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
the fuck is fashion anyway.

six years later
when I was painting them pale again
i heard in my head my friend’s friend say
“your silver nails, so stylish—
she didn’t say!”

fuck if I know if she meant it
or said it just to slay.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
The ancestors who weren't

I love your phantom, Facebook ex-pat children,
Consequence and complications of a life I (mostly) chose not to have.
What will they say in forty-five years, when I know their every all,
And I am the distant husk of an unknown username
Who remembers their first recorded word?
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
Watching Leviathan / a different experience of birds

This art is too abstract;
I don't have the attention for it.
The argument:
I don't have time for this art.
It has no people,
It has no story;
It's only fish / boat / abstract people without names.

But what is art? I tell myself
Art is not just stories.
Art is not just people with names.
Everything here is a real color and texture
And happened.
It is an observation of fish flesh from the ocean
To the net to the deck to the knife to the pail
A process occurring everyday,
Concerning people and fish and god.

So I watch the colorful abstraction of the storyless fishing boat,
Feeling that I am doing a favor to art

When the silent eye suddenly swings
Upwards to the sky
And gives me a different experience of birds
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
behold the light patch of air

Behold the light patch of air, and behold it,
The light pattern crosshatch of sun on that patch of skin,
Sitting by the bus window, in the breeze, in the motion;
Drifting in the moment of feeling,
That sun and breeze.
Stop. See it.

The freckles, the light hair, the whiteness;
Sunlit, sun-warmed, sun-dappled body;
Freckled, shadowed body.
This body works to feel warm and cool,
And underneath the light hair and freckled skin
Burns the coal, the fire, the blood, the beat,
The pulse of warmth, mostly invisible and unfelt
As long as all is well.

Normal is nothing; nothing is normal.
Sensation denotes a change of state,
And then the body pays attention, takes note:
Drafts a memo to the mind
That says sun and wind and movement.
The mind drifts, abstractly, absent the moment,
But the body remains and continues on
As conduit between consciousness and physical existence
And the drifting gradually gives way to purpose,
And the mind considers, and says ah,
The sun and wind and movement, and ah,
The bend and turn means soon, and ah,
Comes the stop.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
I wish I knew you

I wish I knew you better than
Your finger swirling on a wine glass
While you whistled and lied to
the children in the room
I wish I knew her better than
Her slow decline and pain
And the empty hospital bed

And after.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (putting on my face)
Incompleted.

Cosmetological poetry

Nails

Oh, my hands and my nails are all one pink color;
One sameness, one white-rimmed pinkness.
What happened to my deliberation,
To my self-determined decoration?
Wherefore this dull and natural state of the fingers?

Hair

Shit, I shouldn't have dyed my hair;
Now my eyebrows are too fair.
Between now and Sunday
I could wash my hair a hundred times
And it still wouldn't match on Monday.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (we came out of the desert together)
When my prodigal child comes back

When my prodigal child comes back
I know he'll be hungry.
Let him eat--
Let him eat all he wants
From the fields and groves.

He'll be thirsty--let him drink
From the lake and the well
Til he's sated. He'll be tired;
Give him a good room to rest in,
As long as he needs.

He's my child. Give him all the things he needs.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (I won't back down)
I can stop the rock

I
can stop the rock,
she says.
I am the master of earth and of fire.
I am the volcano and the lava and the igneous rock
and the artifacts of fire.

I
can stop the rock.

I can make it fly through air;
I can make it run through, and
Rise above the water.

I can stop the rock.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (it falls on you and you die)
--jolted, and

terrified by the sour skip,
the little pain, peeping up its head,
from passing time to time,
under the rib; the gnawing worry,
festering in that little absence;
the missing moment where the heart should beat
becomes an abscess,
growing sick and full of fear--
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (I have been sad/the song was all I had)
Reassurance


1.

Just by smiling softly
Every now and then,
You could do me a world of good.
Though secure, I am pale
Through your unending hails.
Why not give me the comforts you could?

I'm accustomed to pain
And the drenches of rain;
I'm directed and pure in my answer:
I endure, I go on
And I wait for the sun,
And it comes. In the end, it will come.

You are a heartache inside a great cloud
And you come to the world as a storm
—But forlorn. As any can see with an eye,
So torn, alone and forlorn.

I'm accustomed to pain
And your drenches of rain;
I'm directed and pure in my answer:
I adore without pause;
I endure through your squalls.
In the end, your heart comes through the cloud.

Just to feel a soft touch
Every now and then,
It would do me a world of good
Just to hear a soft word,
Reassured that you cared—
You could give me the world that you should.



2.

Just to know that you could,
Reassured that you would
Soothe your soul
In the lull of the storm
In me and my obstinate love
(Like the air
...If breathing were only enough).

Admired excitement:
The motion of sight
Tracks the motion
You make when you sigh.
In my eye it begins,
The conception of sins.
Or is it just physical love?

Adore me, a soulmate,
Companion and comfort
Through shame and all blame
And all pain—
Respect me, my partner,
And please, reassure me
Should I doubt my right to my name.

In lacking a father
Or brother or mother,
I lack unconditional love.
Be my friend and my lover,
My border, my other,
The body that lies by my own.



3.

The sound of your heartbeat:
An ocean to me,
Engulfed in the depth of emotion.
My head on your shoulder,
I hear your heart beat
Like a shell and the sound of the sea.

The intimate touch
Of your physical self
Reminds me I live and consider
—And your shudder
Reminds me to contemplate you.

The sound of your heartbeat
Is so reassuring;
Your body still houses your soul.
You'll grow old
And you'll die as a proper soul should.

January 2017

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