30 September 2009

american dreams

It's been months since I've written a poem and actually posted it, but since it's past one in the morning and I'm not tired it kinda makes sense to do this now.

So here's something I wrote on August 2, 2009. It's pretty much about adjusting back to life in the US, not knowing whether to love or hate it or to love or hate myself for those feelings. As usual with my poetry, relationships (sexual or "real") aren't necessarily literal. I guess you've gotta read it to catch my drift. Also, for some reason the indents are non-functional so forgive me if it seems a bit runny.

I wake up at dawn
these days
with too much to do and
too much time to do it
but here in the city
nothing seems right
where the roosters are
and the birds are lazier
than I am

whoever thought a place like this
was a good idea?

no one touches me here
because it's all about
distance from the boys
and men
I have loved and always will
their names nearly cover the alphabet
these days

I try not to chase them
any further away than
they already are
because here in this starless city
I cry most for the lovers
who are to come

the first morning afters
the taste of unbrushed teeth
and the smell of potential
oh, the potential
of being full of life for
years to come
that studded ring finger
and lips swollen from his touch
amidst the smell of oatmeal and honey
for just a moment
the kind that you keep on
perpetual pause
just because you can
so that when another man
wears his cologne on the 5
you remember his crow's feet
and the way his fingers memorized your body
that night

so here
in the city
no matter the futility
I will wait for his crow

[Okay, okay, I changed it up a bit. Seems that August me is definitely not September me. This is why I love words and not numbers.]