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11:15 PM
Searching for wishing stars again I have a request that I need to ask a star tonight And please don't stop me. I want to undone you from my heart. I tweeted earlier about writing a recipe poem. I don't know where I got the urge to do that, but I found that I really had to, even if it was crappy. So I wrote two. AND THEY ARE CRAPPY. But surprisingly I didn't have to struggle with writing them. They just came out. Maybe that's why they are crappy lol. But I don't care. I am happy that this journey is almost over. When I find my strength to write about it, then I'll tell you why. Because this year, doing this month was not easy. But I got through it. Now the poems. Cooking up disaster on a quiet and pleasant day 1 cup of desire 2 tablespoons of regret 3 oz of I don't give a fuck A dash of a cool day 1 quart of tweeting birds held too closely to the ears. A sprinkle of a song that isn't yours and a 1/4 of dreams rolled and flatten onto a chopping board made of heart flesh and a knife sharp enough to cut the mixture into tiny squares, small enough to pack into take out box but not before you take the lot and stick it in the oven to burn. --- The Ultimate Recipe (Six Worder): Take everything and put into blender. i.
there needs to be a moment for the just-a-friend. where are my love songs? ii. the rain doused us with sewing machine droplets, stit- ching us to the ground. iii. my hips buckle against thunder claps, toes slick with drops of your skin rattled. sticky, sticky, sweet
shot of secrets air out my cobweb heart. thrill me, thrill me, willling particip- ant for a game of heartbreak. You feel like the beginning of a beautiful summer day:
warm, heavy, and humid. My lungs feel like collapsing as I think about your smile, heart's racing and aching a mile a minute. Body goes cold with a fever as I try to catch my breath. Slow down, don't work up a sweat. Slow down, don't let your heart ...oh that's what you feel like. You feel like the beginning of a beautiful heartbreak: warm, heavy, and humid. 15/30 4.15.11 - Six Worder found love. tore off the tag. 16/30 4.16.11 - I ran shaking fingers under your heartstrings, ready to negotiate the fire burning through a line already charred and e- rased. can you swallow fumes so my lungs can air out? i pause, you have al- ready pulled the strings away. 17/30 4.17.11 - I will keep house in a home never built (late night draft) I’m so lovesick that I have no original lines pumping through me. I feel as though I will die with this burden held below my chin. All I want to do is tape love letters to your front door and make everyone you love fall in love with me. Would you then reciprocate? I play house in the arms of another, waiting for you to knock on the front door with a bottle of milk and promises strong enough to knock out any decaying secrets. I know I might become a desperate housewife, but keeping you underneath my pen will make me a millionaire. Love stories about the one who got away always become bestsellers, but I’ll always be bitter that you sold me out. It was love versus tradition. I would have written it differently. 18/30 4.18.11 - El deseo de los cuentos de hadas Todavía te quiero debajo de mi lengua. ¿Podemos actuar la segunda parte de cuentos de hadas? Creo que podría ser la manzana el príncipe se comió a unirse a su princesa. ¿Puedo quedarme con usted cuando el flujo de los jugos? 19/30 4.19.11 - Denial Old patterns tell us nothing more than what we possibly desire. I burned our old letters in defiance. 20/30 4.20.11 - Courir à toute allure Je t'aime plus que les battementsde coeur rapides dans mapoitrine. Il me tue quand vos yeux d'accélérer le rythme. 21/30 4.21.11 - Filled Too much love lays at the edge of my pen. I could write you a love poem every moment you're awake. 22/30 4.22.11 - Journey greatness can only chase you so far. don't give its fears road blocks. just go. 23/30 4.23.11 - Cocina  24/30 4.24.11 - Buried, Not Saved* Golden Child, dearest love: You're the white sands of the islands. I bury my toes, break your perfection with my imprint. You brush me away. * Entered into a random contest for Gotham Writers. 25/30 4.25.11 - Lessons with Alice (Haiga)  First draft of this haiga Yesterday, I decided to have some fun for my poem of the day. Blackberry is running on haiku contest and the prize is their new Blackberry PlayBook, which is about to come out. You can post about ten haiku via Twitter. I did about seven. It felt liberating to have some real fun AND not be worried about producing something grand. @Blackberry Easy swipe, Flash and/it fits in one hand? Go Team/Playbook! You're the man! #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @BlackBerry Playbook in one hand/Curve in another. It's time/for double trouble! #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @BlackBerry I curved you in my/hands. Now I want to play./Book us a prize please. #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @Blackberry What do women want? Good love, fabulous shoes and/Blackberry PlayBook! #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @Blackberry I know who your win-/ner is. It is: fill-in-the-/blank. ME! Haiku Queen! #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @BlackBerry No crazy wires,/everything down to RIM. Please,/please, PLEASE let me win! #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web @Blackberry The number one gad-/get on the planet, Blackber-/ry's PlayBook Tablet. #PlayBookHaikuless than a minute ago via web I wish
I had a choice. Blood lines consisting of DNA strands that I can pick and choose; a grab bag of
who would never let me down. I wish I had a choice. Not relations thrown in my face, expectations hypocrisy or the solitude of being the functioning normal sane one... just a
to belong in. it's time to leave
your falsehoods in a glass coffin. nothing thrills me more than seeing the decomposition of a past gone bad. spoiled dreams taste sweet. ...sparkle in her growth.
peel back her stages and souse your lion's tail in the futurity of her imbued motherlands. |
Christina D. RodriguezA Latinx poet and entrepreneur who blogs about poetry, music, writing, and life. Archives
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