The buzz is in my veins,
and I'm just an uncontrolled
girl alone on stage growing
my hair out again (past my
shoulder blades) soon I'll be
back to normal.
The formal slap of this unwilling
girl on her fathers fifty-sixth
birthday (20 going on 1)
Unreasonable shame, I just want
to become a solid shape (buzzing)
scream the words that make me up
through the wires (fuzzing) down my
throat - don't tell me how low to
wear my jeans - heels too high -
breasts? - I've had them sense I was
twelve (what do you want me to do
Shop around a dance floor, pick out
the darkest corner and hum to the
touch of a stranger.
The danger of youth pours out of my
skin like sweat - I just let it slide from
curve to curve - the nerve of some
silences! Like the blue of my boyfriend
(colorless) to me but noticeable to the
rest of the world - I've curled into him
like Eve before her birth. Deep inside
the muscle of his rib cage. Don't tell me
Reiterate my warrior status - slow down the
pace of my face as it twists around the noise;
the poise of a girl (uncaring) look at me like
I'm willing to be ready (but am I ready to be
willing?) filling in the patches of threadbare
water - I can hear everything, and when I talk
you can't help but look toward the echo.
What is poetry? What are words? Can
I form them in space before I replace
them in my mind -
(Fuck your overwhelming good luck)
I kind of like being stuck in my situation
(from time to time) I like to rhyme,
but mostly just chime like the salty
spray off Eliot Bay - do you hear anything
that I say?
Just a young girl. For Real! Don't steal my
wide eyed temptation - I know what I'm doing,
and even if I don't it's my life to play with.
My body to sway with.
My soul to lay with.
My internal microphone is buzzing - dear dad
in all of his silver haired splendor who read my
chicken scratch poetry when I was ten but forgot
about the hobby sometime between his backhand
that landed me on the floor, and me running away
to right here (right now.)