Regular Poem: Conspiracy

17 Jun

It just kind of
feels like a
you know?

Like way back
in the BFE of my brain
there’s this
little B&B,
and there’s this
little part of me
that’s the lodger
about to go mad
waiting for the shoe in the
room above her to drop,

and then it will be confirmed
that I am,
in actuality,
an ugly girl–
like that d-bag
in 7th grade

I realized recently
I haven’t been denigrated
for my looks
since then.

I’ve been called a lot of stuff
since then–
true stuff, untrue stuff,
subjective stuff–
expletives and superlatives–
just stuff,
like everybody, I’m sure.

I went through a long
frumpy stage.
I got called ugly only that one time, though.

the whole situation–
the whole ugly situation–
amazes me
for several reasons:

Number one:  I sometimes become
by people’s looks.  Like
I have a mental grappling hook
I keep handy so I can pull myself out
before society deems me unfit
on account of staring.

I just
like to look
at people and admire freckles and
gaze at bizarre tattoos and
analyze facial hair and
get lost in someone’s teeth.

But I’m not sure
I’ve ever really thought
someone was ugly before
I knew that person’s personality.
It confuses me
when people don’t see people
as people with stories and souls
but as some kind of livestock
either to be given a ribbon or
to be disqualified at the county fair.

Number two: Isn’t beauty subjective
Someone thinks Honey Boo Boo’s mom
is gorgeous
I don’t have a problem looking at her.
She’s just a weird lady to me.
But some people are actually
by her.
But she has a boyfriend.
And I’ve read that she’s actually
very kind and compassionate.
I mean,
there are statistics about
facial symmetry
or whatever.
But I just have never been

by someone.
There was a guy
who always used to come in to the gym
who had all these burn scars–
like no hair and stuff,
and I wanted to stare
at his veins peaking under the surface of his taut skin
and his shapely muscles
and his interesting head shape,
but I knew it would be rude
because he’d think I was staring
because I was grossed out or something,
but I wasn’t.
I wanted to look at him
because I wanted to look at him–
the same reason I want to look at
the Evil Queen.
I just want to look at her.
Sue me.

Number 3:  You always hear
about people being branded,
typcast in their own lives.
They either internalize
the thing,
or everyone sees them as
the thing,
and they are
the thing

As far as I recall, it was
just that one incident.
I think that’s why it stuck with me.
So are there
secretly hoards of folks
waiting to drop that other shoe
only they haven’t because of
or more likely
other things I’ve been called
have deterred them–
things that are much truer
(because as I’ve discussed,
I don’t actually think ugly exists–
not in the terms people use it usually,
Am I actually supposed to be
living the life of an “ugly girl”?
And what does that life look like?
I know only what I watch in movies,
so I guess
it means I’ll be alone
eating pizza and reading?
Ye gads!

I’ve been doing that all along!
But people keep
telling me I’m
pretty, and
even if they didn’t,
I like doing that,
and I 100 percent would not stop
just so some dreamboat could tell me
to take off my glasses
and fluff my hair
so he could take me to prom to
win a bet
or whatever.

Number 4: What’s even the point
of calling someone ugly?
Like, calling someone fat, I guess
you could expect the person to diet
or something?  I mean, if
you’re a body-policing asshole, I guess.
That’s about 75 percent as ludicrous
as calling someone ugly
(but 100 percent as mean).
Because what’s a person supposed to do
about being ugly, exactly?
Just put on some make up or something?
Get plastic surgery?
What’s a person supposed to do
about being fat?
It’s like when your boss
tells you you’re bad at your job,
but then doesn’t tell you any way to be
at your job,
and you just have to
stand there and take it
because the explanation of
you’re bad at your job
doesn’t make any sense.
But at least
it’s your boss’s job
to critique your job.
But why is it any of your
d-bag business whether a person is
ugly or fat?
Surely it’s
not offending you to just
a person
who doesn’t look how you want
that person to look?

Sure, I’ve insulted people
to feel better about myself.
I’ll try anything
But it made me feel worse.
I’d sooner try pot again,
and if you know anything about me,
you know I hate cottonmouth and paranoia–
but not as much as I hate
guilt and shame and dishonor.

What Does One Even Do with a Vacation?

20 May

I’m on vacation this week for my best friend’s wedding.

But until then, I’m making silent movies.

Found Poem: Payday Loans (VII)

12 May

I know that most of these payday loan spam poems are sort of Gertrude Stein already, but this one is super Gertrude Stein.

I shall putthem into a box
and bury them in the garden
instant payday loans payday loans
instant payday loans
have you been? personal loan rates

Why, that aint a-going
payday loans payday loans
instant payday loans

loan insurance fool!

The fat man qualifies easily
same day payday loan
payday loans instant payday loans
instant payday loans

a peep
into the actual You.

Where is the
payday loans payday loans payday loans

california cash advance about Peter
and the Pain-killer-
Just as true as I live!

Regular Poem: I’ve never lived alone

30 Apr

I’ve never lived
I imagine
it would be
something to write home about.

Dear Me,
all the notes would start.
Just writing to say
hello and thank you
for buying gummy bears.

Dear Me,
the note would say an hour later.
How dare you buy gummy bears.
We ate them all,
and now we feel sick.

But of course,
as important as gummy bears are,
there are other issues
my letters to myself might address.

To whom it may concern,
one would indubitably read.
Why haven’t you been
out of the house this weekend?
Why do you eat pizza every day?
Why are you
the way you
and not some other way
that might attract friends
and better jobs
and paramours
and good poetry
and efficient life habits?

The reply letter
might be scribbled hastily
in tears and red wine
and gummy bear residue.

That’s how it goes
when you live alone.

Regular Poem: The Biggest Mystery

29 Apr

She’s from Florida,
and her perpetual refrain goes

Is it like this all the time?

Well, yes and no,
we all say–
we’re all so wise and old
about the weather here.

We give her facts and anecdotes
and tell her things that start with
and end with
…but you never know.

It’s not
Sunny California or
Rainy Seattle or
anything else that’s ever on tv, so
she’s perennially flabbergasted
at the vagaries
of the wind and rain and heat.

And she always asks
as though
Kansas weather
is the biggest mystery of all.

Found Poem: Oh, this poem

28 Apr

So, as it turns out, my payday loan spambot has its own spambot fanboy. This number showed up as a comment on Payday Loans 4.

Oh, this poem
is awesome!
It is
timely and relevant.
I suppose,

it’s a very creative approach to
money borrowing options.

And who knows,
it was not an advertisement
or spam at all!

We expect
to see
ad, but

find a masterpiece.

it was a kind of
on our reaction?
Or a kind of checking
people attitude

to spam and loans?

the person who created it
must be rewarded!

Regular Poem: The Downside to Faking Your Own Death

27 Apr

But really,
how much work does it take to
fake one’s own

Like what kind
of connections do you need,
and how
do you start planning it?

And, most importantly,
how long into it
before you go mad
quoting Emily Dickinson poetry
to yourself
as an inside joke
you can share with
only yourself
the fly buzzing when you
in the house
where you
the carriage ride you took
with Death
to get there?

And then when
you have your new identity,
every new person you meet
is like, “Who are you?”
And you’re like,
“I’m nobody! Who are you?”
And they’re like,
“Wow. Nerd alert.”
And you’re like–
internally, of course–
“Lol. No, but really, I’m dead
in real life.”

How much of this
could you stand?
Would it be worth it
to live
in your own death
with Emily Dickinson
and all your
guilt and paranoia?
Looking over your shoulder
for cops and ex-flames,
always half an ear hearing
the dialogue between
the spirit and the dust?

Like sometimes
I think I could do it,
and sometimes
the nights in my brain would just be
too wild.

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