9/21/10
7/21/10
The Girl with One Ear. (Painting- "Rabbit 2")
The first time I had met my cousin Mal she tucked her long brown hair behind her ear and I noticed she had dried blood on the small soft skin that had been hidden by her perfect hair. She had fallen asleep with earrings on and the earrings had torn down her flesh. She sat there staring at me with dried blood graffitied over her perfect right ear. Her mother was gentle but ruthless in keeping things hidden. Her father was a doctor who probably added the stitch to the ear. I wanted to steal her and hide her and tell her all of my secrets. Although our stories were different I thought she could understand. We both had a way of getting lost in thought so that we could block out how different we all feel. We could take our little girl loneliness and claim it as something that couldn’t be taken away by other people.
The first sleep-over I attended was at her house.
I lay at the floor of her bed looking out the window watching the trees outside make finger puppets on the wall.
“I’m not scared of anything” I said.
“Me neither" she said.
She was a liar.
She was scared of the sun sinking into the earth and the dark bullying us .
Scared I could see into her perfect life.
Scared I wouldn’t.
I could and I didn’t. I was a liar, as well.
I was scared.
When we were twelve I told her about the last time I had been afraid of the dark. I didn't go into the quiet visits my Uncle Moe kept in the shadows. I just told her to stay away from him. To keep her little sister Rose away. She said she would but she again she lied.
My uncle Moe was my neighbor and Mal kept falling in his path, quietly daring him to try something. He did nothing. Still she came over one day yelling,
"We beat the living shit out of him! He won't touch you anymore. Not with me alive, he won't! We killed him! Me and you!"
"Liar" I said quietly.
She didn't respond instead changed the subject she said something about running away to meet some star of some t.v. show.
At dinner the next night my father said a prayer for his bestfriend, Moe. He was heartbroken that his great friend, a person as gentle and kind as the day is long would be hurt so senselessly hurt by a bunch of hoodlums.
It was one of her half-truths. Everything that she was, was a mixture of fantasy and reality.
We hadn't killed him but he didn't bother me again.
At eighteen I moved to San Diego. Mal and her family had moved to Yuma the year before. I didn't know very many people and would spend most weekends driving the 3 hours to visit my aunt and hang out with Mal for the weekend.
Something changed in me and something had changed in her. We were different.
The first sleep-over I attended was at her house.
“Me neither" she said.
She was a liar.
She was scared of the sun sinking into the earth and the dark bullying us .
Scared I could see into her perfect life.
Scared I wouldn’t.
I could and I didn’t. I was a liar, as well.
I was scared.
When we were twelve I told her about the last time I had been afraid of the dark. I didn't go into the quiet visits my Uncle Moe kept in the shadows. I just told her to stay away from him. To keep her little sister Rose away. She said she would but she again she lied.
My uncle Moe was my neighbor and Mal kept falling in his path, quietly daring him to try something. He did nothing. Still she came over one day yelling,
"We beat the living shit out of him! He won't touch you anymore. Not with me alive, he won't! We killed him! Me and you!"
"Liar" I said quietly.
She didn't respond instead changed the subject she said something about running away to meet some star of some t.v. show.
At dinner the next night my father said a prayer for his bestfriend, Moe. He was heartbroken that his great friend, a person as gentle and kind as the day is long would be hurt so senselessly hurt by a bunch of hoodlums.
It was one of her half-truths. Everything that she was, was a mixture of fantasy and reality.
We hadn't killed him but he didn't bother me again.
At eighteen I moved to San Diego. Mal and her family had moved to Yuma the year before. I didn't know very many people and would spend most weekends driving the 3 hours to visit my aunt and hang out with Mal for the weekend.
Something changed in me and something had changed in her. We were different.
Her eyes seemed to shoot around the room in anticipation of something that never seemed to come. She laughed too long and screamed too loud. She was always too much and never really made sense.
She had grown into woman so striking. She was limitless with a soul that couldn't be trapped in flesh and limited in her control over her predicament. She was beautiful. I wish I could say this was both internally as well as externally but I can't because I didn't know her anymore. Mostly, I thought she was selfish, excessive and boring. This was as far as she let me know.
I liked her enough. Just not enough to ask,
I liked her enough. Just not enough to ask,
"What the fuck, is going on with you Mal?"
"Are you okay, Mal?"
Not enough touch base outside of holidays and mandatory family gatherings.
And so, we lost touch, except here and there.
Once a reality show was on television and there she was. I rememember the guy saying,
"Mallorine has great tits but she is dum as door nails!"
My defensive reaction provided me with of a memory of when we were fifteen and Mal told me Camus made her still. That sentence came like the eye of the storm. A random thought somewhere between what color she should dye her hair and whether she should marry a black man or a white man.
I didn't pay much attention until years later when I finally understood what she meant.
After seeing her on the show. I called my older sister, Rene.
Rene is Mal's blood sister adopted out by my aunt to her older sister, my mother. Rene had not told Mal yet and it was one of my aunt's well kept secrets.
Rene is Mal's blood sister adopted out by my aunt to her older sister, my mother. Rene had not told Mal yet and it was one of my aunt's well kept secrets.
"I just saw Mal on TV giving some dude a lap dance! Ha! She's fucking crazy." I started.
In one breath, Rene responded "That was awhile ago! I guess Aunt Chris went to Vegas and brought Mal home. She'd been stripping and got into some stuff. Ended up homeless and when she found her she was covered in body lice."
I knew right then that Mal wasn't trying to play some drowning Ophelia. She wasn't tragedies muse. She was a tragedy
"What?" I asked.
"Her hair was bleached and burnt to the scalp and she's half gone." Rene said.
I knew right then that Mal wasn't trying to play some drowning Ophelia. She wasn't tragedies muse. She was a tragedy
"What?" I asked.
"Her hair was bleached and burnt to the scalp and she's half gone." Rene said.
She was always half gone. When we were nine I told her my bestfriends brother had smoked grass. She told me that she did as well.
"You do not" I said.
"Kiki, I have smoked grass my entire life" She said, with her eyes closed as if she were envoking the spirit Janis Joplin.
She quickly ran inside and came out with her father's tabacco papers. She pulled some grass off of the ground and put some in the paper. She rubbed her hands together like she was trying to start a fire. She was always trying to start a fire. When she pulled a box of matches out and lit her "joint" I begged her to stop.
"It's going to make you sick Mal, STOP!"
She laughed and asked if I wanted some. She started running around a tree with her arms spread like wings. Chanting, "a girl with one ear smoking grass, grass, grass!" She was in one of her moods and she needed me to believe her. I knew this because she offered me a small glimpse to one of her rare truths. The night we met, many years ago she had somehow lost hearing in her right ear.
I didn't know what "grass" was. I only knew that my bestfriends brother was pushed against the wall when and accused of "smoking grass" right before his dad told him to get out for good.
That was enough to scare me.
Mal was always half-gone but hearing that her hair which had never been shorter than her waist was chopped to the scalp had me worried that she may be completely gone.
The next day, I called me aunt.
"You know Mal. She met a bad boy but she's better now. She loves to cause a scene. She just needs the attention" My aunt explained.
"May I speak with her?" I asked.
"Oh honey, she's at work." She replied.
My Aunt Chris had built a life on lies. She had ran away from home at fourteen and got a job in a brothel. She had two children by the time she was nineteen and actually tried to sell them. My mother and her older brother were able to intervene and took custody of Joel and my older sister Rene. They brought my aunt home and she began to clean up her act but she was already pregnant with Mal. When my Uncle Tim met Aunt Chris she was a completely different person than a few years prior. They met in church. She was a young, charming single mother who doted on Mal the way he had never seen his mother do but always wished she had. He fell in love with her, married her and adopted Mal. She never told him about her other children or her history. She seperated herself from who she was and grew gentler, kinder and more secretive everyday. She and my uncle had three more children. Good children. Warm children. Sane Children. And Mal.
Mal had heard some of these same stories as well. She'd have explosive bouts with her mother. Craving a truth to start from. My aunt had the most pleasant way of evading timelines and hear-say. Shutting doors and tight smiles became weapons against Mal's sanity. My aunt was too worried about the heavy tapestry she had sewn together coming apart at its seams that she couldn't see Mal was coming apart. Or maybe she decided not to.
When Mal took off to Vegas, my aunt told everyone she had fallen head over heels with someone and they had moved to Vegas. It never made sense to me. Mal always seemed to selfish for selfless love. I always thought when Mal left it was to completely loose a life born from the womb of lies. A grand "fuck you" to my aunt.
Even though I had known all of this history, even though I knew how easy it was for her to rewrite the story and even though I needed to speak to Mal, I hung up needing to believe that Mal was at work. That she was still capable of keeping a job. It was a sort of counterfeit currency I paid in order to get through to the meaningless things I ended up tending to instead of my wild-spirited, colorful and crumbling, beautiful cousin Mal.
A week later she passed away. My aunt had called my sister. Who flew out from Hawaii to San Diego and we drove to Yuma. My sister told me how Mal, her sister, had called her about a week ago. Rene had just put the baby down and was about to fall asleep when Mal called. She said Mal didn't sound too different. The random lines about men and complaints about her lying mother and how she couldn't sleep because she could hear them talking.
My sister stayed quiet for a little while before continuing,
"Aunt Chris went to wake her up so she could get to some sort of welfare appointment. She said she knocked but that Mal had the television volume all the way up. Aunt Chris said Mal had pulled her ear so hard blood covered the pillow and when she went to wake her she had noticed she taken her entire bottle of Clozapine. Aunt Chris said Mal's body had already gone hard but that she put her angel, her saving grace in her lap like she used to do when Mal was little and rocked her for two hours until Uncle Tim came home and called 911."
When we got to my aunt house for the wake. In the group of some family and strangers I saw my aunts tear soaked face. In front of them a large picture of Mal. My aunt got up to greet my sister and I.
"Hi Rene. Hi Kiki" She said with a half breath.
I gave her a tight hug. Measuring heavy weight of her small bones I held her while her tears wet my shoulder.
"Kiki, honey" Don't tell your Uncle about Joel and Rene okay? He doesnt know yet. Okay?"
And like always, I didn't.
"It's going to make you sick Mal, STOP!"
She laughed and asked if I wanted some. She started running around a tree with her arms spread like wings. Chanting, "a girl with one ear smoking grass, grass, grass!" She was in one of her moods and she needed me to believe her. I knew this because she offered me a small glimpse to one of her rare truths. The night we met, many years ago she had somehow lost hearing in her right ear.
I didn't know what "grass" was. I only knew that my bestfriends brother was pushed against the wall when and accused of "smoking grass" right before his dad told him to get out for good.
That was enough to scare me.
Mal was always half-gone but hearing that her hair which had never been shorter than her waist was chopped to the scalp had me worried that she may be completely gone.
The next day, I called me aunt.
"You know Mal. She met a bad boy but she's better now. She loves to cause a scene. She just needs the attention" My aunt explained.
"May I speak with her?" I asked.
"Oh honey, she's at work." She replied.
My Aunt Chris had built a life on lies. She had ran away from home at fourteen and got a job in a brothel. She had two children by the time she was nineteen and actually tried to sell them. My mother and her older brother were able to intervene and took custody of Joel and my older sister Rene. They brought my aunt home and she began to clean up her act but she was already pregnant with Mal. When my Uncle Tim met Aunt Chris she was a completely different person than a few years prior. They met in church. She was a young, charming single mother who doted on Mal the way he had never seen his mother do but always wished she had. He fell in love with her, married her and adopted Mal. She never told him about her other children or her history. She seperated herself from who she was and grew gentler, kinder and more secretive everyday. She and my uncle had three more children. Good children. Warm children. Sane Children. And Mal.
Mal had heard some of these same stories as well. She'd have explosive bouts with her mother. Craving a truth to start from. My aunt had the most pleasant way of evading timelines and hear-say. Shutting doors and tight smiles became weapons against Mal's sanity. My aunt was too worried about the heavy tapestry she had sewn together coming apart at its seams that she couldn't see Mal was coming apart. Or maybe she decided not to.
When Mal took off to Vegas, my aunt told everyone she had fallen head over heels with someone and they had moved to Vegas. It never made sense to me. Mal always seemed to selfish for selfless love. I always thought when Mal left it was to completely loose a life born from the womb of lies. A grand "fuck you" to my aunt.
Even though I had known all of this history, even though I knew how easy it was for her to rewrite the story and even though I needed to speak to Mal, I hung up needing to believe that Mal was at work. That she was still capable of keeping a job. It was a sort of counterfeit currency I paid in order to get through to the meaningless things I ended up tending to instead of my wild-spirited, colorful and crumbling, beautiful cousin Mal.
A week later she passed away. My aunt had called my sister. Who flew out from Hawaii to San Diego and we drove to Yuma. My sister told me how Mal, her sister, had called her about a week ago. Rene had just put the baby down and was about to fall asleep when Mal called. She said Mal didn't sound too different. The random lines about men and complaints about her lying mother and how she couldn't sleep because she could hear them talking.
My sister stayed quiet for a little while before continuing,
"Aunt Chris went to wake her up so she could get to some sort of welfare appointment. She said she knocked but that Mal had the television volume all the way up. Aunt Chris said Mal had pulled her ear so hard blood covered the pillow and when she went to wake her she had noticed she taken her entire bottle of Clozapine. Aunt Chris said Mal's body had already gone hard but that she put her angel, her saving grace in her lap like she used to do when Mal was little and rocked her for two hours until Uncle Tim came home and called 911."
When we got to my aunt house for the wake. In the group of some family and strangers I saw my aunts tear soaked face. In front of them a large picture of Mal. My aunt got up to greet my sister and I.
"Hi Rene. Hi Kiki" She said with a half breath.
I gave her a tight hug. Measuring heavy weight of her small bones I held her while her tears wet my shoulder.
"Kiki, honey" Don't tell your Uncle about Joel and Rene okay? He doesnt know yet. Okay?"
And like always, I didn't.
Phobia (Painting- "Penny")
"Penny" Oil on Canvas, 18 x 22"
She is deathly afraid of clowns. Once when we were grocery shopping I heard a scream that I had instantly recognized as a sound of terror escaping her lungs. I put all the random labels that I had been reading down and ran protectively from aisle eight to aisle three where her voice reached out. As I turned the aisle I bumped into the culprit. Actually, first into those big clown feet, a dirty yellow dress and sad face painted up to look happy.
"I scared someone." Penny (the clown) said to me.
"Yes, yes, don't worry about it" I replied.
"I'm with her its okay. I'll take care of it."
Penny insisted she apologize. I insisted she didn't. She persisted.
I knew I had to find her first. Get her out of the store. She was scared for her life and in her self-defense I knew the clown would end up hurt.
I wove in and out of the fruit and vegetable stands and back to the corner. Finally, I found her hiding behind the pharmacy counter with the Pharmacist. Holding each other.
He was a gentle, small Filipino man.
"You're getting rob?" He asked.
"No, no" She said.
"A clown, a disguuusting clown"
He interrupted, "Ahhh...I hate tat too. So agly! AGLY!"
I grabbed her hand, "Lets go! Take my hand and look at the floor"
She took my hand all the while mumbling, "so gross, disgusting".
We walked through the automatic door and I told her to go home. "Run, I said!"
She ran.
I walked back into the store and everyone looked confused and worried and everybody directed these looks at me.
Instead of looking back and explaining what happened or defending the situation, I went back to reading the label on the Oreo's package like it mattered. I laughed a little to myself and when I was done I paid for our groceries and walked home so we could make dinner together.
Ironically, while we cooked we listened to a show on public radio about phobias. We remained silent, allowing talk radio to do all the talking about what just happened.
6/18/08
friend
Since I was a child I have held my friendships, in a quiet reserve. I have felt unwavering love with an unabashed loyalty that may not always be apparent. My very first best friend allowed me a unique opportunity to experience unconditional love. I think that, without each other, we may not have been able to endure some of the darker sides of childhood. She was my light and when I open up my past, more often than not, I hear the sound that I cherish; the sound of us, two little girls laughing so honestly that I can live the rest of life with the comfort of knowing that no matter how much time passes even if I could not talk to her again, I am never alone because I have those times in my heart. She has always been down for me. Even as we entered our formative years of high school she stood, with her pom poms cheering me on as I sharpeed overly dramatic poetry on my bedroom walls, on my shoes on her arms. I must've been an irritating lil fuck but like I said her friendship was unconditional.
When we were 16 she moved away and we didn't see each other for sometime. In the in between years life’s experiences had changed us. When we met again she was braver, stronger. She was no longer the goofy knobbed kneed girl I'd run to defend. I was however more quiet, more timid. Not the girl who was once ready to take on the world. We talked, laughed cried. As she heard me bending to one of my life’s situation she asked me what happened. I used to be tough and brave "deserving". She asked why I had changed and nothing I could say would be ample enough of an excuse. She believed me to be who I am and when I cower I always think of that and pick myself up.
After a rough patch that life hands us sometimes I needed to detach from my life I needed to live nameless and faceless and pull myself together. I took time in a new city acting like a sight see-er to people I encountered. I hid in a city where there are people living on top of people on top of people. In retrospect I was extremely selfish but I needed to be. I remember right after Christmas, my roommate Ralph and his girlfriend Erin got me a Christmas gift. They aren't celebrating type so I didn't think they would. I was embarrassed as I sometimes get when there is too much attention directed my way. I hugged them and thanked them. I went to my room, not letting them know how touched I truly was. Their gesture and the things they said showed me they cared. I hadn't even realized they had. I care for them very much but I was selfish in thinking that they could care less. Even when I met really amazing people I kept a protective guard over who I am. After all, I was barely able to give to the really amazing people I already knew and loved. I hadn't felt deserving of what could come. I also had some trust issues with friendships, relationships and with myself.
Recently I saw some old friends. There is something to be said for friendship that endures past infatuation through the years. The kind that spans its colorful and tattered wings weaving in and out of our lives until initial attraction, exciting new adventures and interesting new perspective simmer and those moments which sometimes occur with very close people where we take things too personally, have fear, rivalry and codependence. When the aforementioned fade and there is still a friendship that exists, what left is a beautiful, worn, loved reminder of who we are.
Seeing these faces were enough to call me out the same way Jae once had. They showed me that I had changed and while change can be good I realized I didn't want to change too much the way I loved. I was not making the effort I could be simply because I needed for a moment to wallow in my loss and the life I had tied to it. I had been horrible at drawing boundaries and lost myself in a mess because of myself. I took it to the extreme other end and became someone who was holding so much back by building barriers against anyone who wanted to know anymore about me than how much wine I could hold down. (Which, by the way is quite an enjoyable past time). I opened myself up to 1 new person in the last year and a half and even with that she has had to come to me with both patience and persistence. I am grateful because once again I feel I've been blessed with someone who cares without ego and ownership without making me feel replaceable or dispensable. I have also met people I know will be part of my life. I know it, and knew it I just hadn't allowed it, yet. For the people I call "friend" I don't have the vocabulary to let you know how important you are. If its been a day or if it has been years- I love you.
I vow to make more of an effort with my past, my present and my future.
I think everybody deals with circumstances and situations as they occur in the best way we are able to at the time. I feel that now I am ready to engage and interact without worry of being spread thin, bending too much, losing or being rejected. I really do love some of the people life has blessed me with and for the ones that are no longer a part of my life, I do miss the times we were connected.
I know once again, I am capable of being a good friend and I intend on doing so. I welcome my new friends and cherish the ones I have had for years.
When we were 16 she moved away and we didn't see each other for sometime. In the in between years life’s experiences had changed us. When we met again she was braver, stronger. She was no longer the goofy knobbed kneed girl I'd run to defend. I was however more quiet, more timid. Not the girl who was once ready to take on the world. We talked, laughed cried. As she heard me bending to one of my life’s situation she asked me what happened. I used to be tough and brave "deserving". She asked why I had changed and nothing I could say would be ample enough of an excuse. She believed me to be who I am and when I cower I always think of that and pick myself up.
After a rough patch that life hands us sometimes I needed to detach from my life I needed to live nameless and faceless and pull myself together. I took time in a new city acting like a sight see-er to people I encountered. I hid in a city where there are people living on top of people on top of people. In retrospect I was extremely selfish but I needed to be. I remember right after Christmas, my roommate Ralph and his girlfriend Erin got me a Christmas gift. They aren't celebrating type so I didn't think they would. I was embarrassed as I sometimes get when there is too much attention directed my way. I hugged them and thanked them. I went to my room, not letting them know how touched I truly was. Their gesture and the things they said showed me they cared. I hadn't even realized they had. I care for them very much but I was selfish in thinking that they could care less. Even when I met really amazing people I kept a protective guard over who I am. After all, I was barely able to give to the really amazing people I already knew and loved. I hadn't felt deserving of what could come. I also had some trust issues with friendships, relationships and with myself.
Recently I saw some old friends. There is something to be said for friendship that endures past infatuation through the years. The kind that spans its colorful and tattered wings weaving in and out of our lives until initial attraction, exciting new adventures and interesting new perspective simmer and those moments which sometimes occur with very close people where we take things too personally, have fear, rivalry and codependence. When the aforementioned fade and there is still a friendship that exists, what left is a beautiful, worn, loved reminder of who we are.
Seeing these faces were enough to call me out the same way Jae once had. They showed me that I had changed and while change can be good I realized I didn't want to change too much the way I loved. I was not making the effort I could be simply because I needed for a moment to wallow in my loss and the life I had tied to it. I had been horrible at drawing boundaries and lost myself in a mess because of myself. I took it to the extreme other end and became someone who was holding so much back by building barriers against anyone who wanted to know anymore about me than how much wine I could hold down. (Which, by the way is quite an enjoyable past time). I opened myself up to 1 new person in the last year and a half and even with that she has had to come to me with both patience and persistence. I am grateful because once again I feel I've been blessed with someone who cares without ego and ownership without making me feel replaceable or dispensable. I have also met people I know will be part of my life. I know it, and knew it I just hadn't allowed it, yet. For the people I call "friend" I don't have the vocabulary to let you know how important you are. If its been a day or if it has been years- I love you.
I vow to make more of an effort with my past, my present and my future.
I think everybody deals with circumstances and situations as they occur in the best way we are able to at the time. I feel that now I am ready to engage and interact without worry of being spread thin, bending too much, losing or being rejected. I really do love some of the people life has blessed me with and for the ones that are no longer a part of my life, I do miss the times we were connected.
I know once again, I am capable of being a good friend and I intend on doing so. I welcome my new friends and cherish the ones I have had for years.
9/28/07
Nice to meet you, San Francisco.
In the course of a month you called the Salvation Army 3 times to pick up my things.
I couldn't give you the couches. I stored them with an easel and two paintings and California King bed in a facility off of Fairmount Ave. Pushed upward in a 10 x 10 room aligned with other 10 X 10 rooms storing possessions people no longer had room for but had $80 dollar a month to spend on the hope or fear that the items represented. You hardly let me cry you gave me a job putting out fires if I typed quickly enough and stuffed me, hungry, into a U-Haul.
In my initial loneliness you taught me lessons in autonomy and peace of mind. You forced me to stand naked in front of the mirror and you wrapped bandages on my broken bones.
You kept me warm inside of the cold and awake with nothing but my thoughts across the street in a church I never stepped inside of.
(maybe my sins were enough to burn it down and I've done enough damage coming here)
You fed me vegetables and surprisingly I didn't mind.
You took me to the Mission and gave me burritos next door to sweaty dance floors and South American banks and Liquor Store poets.
You took my cigarettes and I would hide in your Tenderloin asking a friend for just one toke isn't this place notorious for a fix?
You dressed me in pseudo reality and offered me a view of the Bay bridge from an office window.
You introduced me to that boy on the 31 that I never really spoke more than 31 words to 'cept of course the endless conversations I've had with him in my head about the books we were each reading.
You listened when I told you I was starting over but walking a different way now. You listened and you held me hand.
The arms of your buildings remind me to stand up straight that the adventure is happening even as I wait and you've found a place for me at least today.
You've got airplanes to and from missing and being missed. You bring me my heart to play tourist. You send me people that make me feel like its Christmas eve full of lights.
You graffiti poetry on sidewalks like,
"Its okay to cry here"
you've only been good to me, so good to me
and I fallen in love with you and everything you let me be.
7/1/07
you are the poet
my shoulders pull back
i look you in the eyes,
take a drag and look away
my thighs want to betray me
but still i hold them still
i am afraid of you
you are the poet
somewhere in this room laughter (yours?)
innocent as a boy
kind and soft
i want to break you,
rock you,
take you to your knees
you are the poet
i've read you
and loved each brutal word
but i knew,
there was something in you i despised
something i despised
you are the poet
far too easy to believe
because of course - you are sincere
you are sincere with everything you do
more than most, more than most
and just as quickly
a lie
you are the poet (stay back)
i'll search these pages if i need you,
you lay there like a mattress
left out on the street
blood stained
cut open
and i'mmm jusss- so f u c k i n g tired
you are the poet
watchful, wary, careful of me
your gentle bravado
with what looks like,
an erect tail between your legs
you'll stay away
keep a distance
you are the poet
we are timid
we are beasts
in my eyes
you see
everything pure and good
everything horrible and grotesque
you are the poet
you see YOU
and i am afraid of you
so selfishly hungry - so easily bored
and i know, that should we come for each other
only one of us will be left to write of it
and you are the poet.
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