Page
Writing/Poetry
i have a little apartment
with cheap carpet cheap paint cheap neighbors drunk
on cheap beer, stumbling
down the dirty hall's creaking floors, shouting cheap
profanities with their cheap beer breath
in my apartment there is a tiny kitchen
with a garbage disposal (!)
and a fridge that opens--BAM--into the 1968 gas oven
a living room a bedroom
a bath with a pink-and-white tiny-tiled floor & a
bathtub made for mold
i have a bed and a bookcase and a dresser
blankets to keep me warm
towels to keep me dry
a TV with a retro TV stand (a prized Target purchase)
a second-hand kitchen table with four chairs
two loveseats from my mom
i have
books and books and books
and stacks of CDs i never listen to
i have a bike and a stereo
a computer a phone a radio
i have connections
with the outside
world
but i seldom use them (??)
i have a desk to write at, a chair to read in, a halogen lamp to cast
the perfect glow
i have a little money, most of which needs to be paid back
eventually
with interest
but it gets me through the week
i have a family i seldom see
i have a few good friends
i have a mom and a dad, two brothers and a sister
three nieces, one nephew
& one devilish black cat
and i have lots of makeup
to hide behind
to fix my flaws
& shoes to make me taller
& bras to make me bigger
i have closets full of clothes--some that fit, most that don't but are anxiously awaiting my return
i have a thigh master to thin my thighs, a stationery bike to tone my tush
i do not have a garage
i do not have cable
i do not have dsl high speed internet access
i do not have a million dollar smile
my measurements will never be
36-24-36
my teeth are not bright white or even straight
i rarely floss; sometimes i forget to brush my teeth at night
i talk in my sleep, i sweat, i snore when i'm sick
in the morning my breath smells awful
my skin is not the perfect shade of summer tan
i have freckles.
i'm not tall.
i'm less than graceful (especially in high heels)
i can't dance
i never was a cheerleader
or a pom pon girl
or a talented athlete of any kind
i've never had 8-minute abs, 8-minute thighs, buns of steel.
i never know what to wear.
i never know the right thing to say.
i have a pounding head
an aching heart
a sick stomach
an unquiet mind
i have overwheliming destructive impulses
i have no idea where this is going
i have no idea(s)
i have the urge to throw my television out the window
to set my apartment, my belongings, on fire,
to start over
fresh
from the beginning
to do things different
this time
i think i would keep only my writing, the writings of others, a few books, a few CDs...
things that mean something,
things that speak
(to me)
(in my own language)
(etc.)