poetry and the upset

Polish

White lace turned to silver. As says the woman who refuses to color her hair. No denial for the strong. They’ve already faced the space for face. Bushy legs for the laughter that haunts gym class girls. Hitching up their jeans just in time for the no-razor policy at home.
She sneaks one in from a friend only to have it yanked from the shower a week later.

“They stole my clothes when I was in the shower.” She protests but strength is stronger when women are older.

An old man told me the answer when I asked if it ever gets better.
‘Only easier.’
Strength is curious when the pull isn’t hard. Falling flat isn’t the option that anyone looks for when their pressed against the shiny floor. Reflection is the only saving grace when embarrassment steals it from us.

The antique jewlery stayed hidden in a dusty box on a forgotten shelf. Trinkets become alive. Discovery becomes real. Gold and jewls decorated in thick chains of social events still remain in tact. They decorate the memories of old and forgotten, but still saved. Still saved.

Light orange walls with the paint peeling stayed hugging the sheetrock. They’ve been making love since the fifties, but no one looks anymore. Their secret is safe with me. The evening crickets understand when background noise becomes white with pale intentions.

“I’m never going back.” The little girl says to her mother in a heap on the floor. Naked as she is, her clothes were found. Wrapped up in disaster, her eyes are pleading for the shaving razor.

White lace as she was, the hair color remains untouched.

________________

So today was one of those days that was the best it could get before everything went downhill. Niccolo and I spent the day together. He took off work, we hung out listening to techno and talking to the roommates.  We had the BEST sex ever. Aggressive, fun, daring.

And then came the diner. As we were walking to the diner fifteen blocks down, things took a turn for the worse.  He started talking about how he wasn’t impressed with my trying-to-get school in progress because I wasn’t there yet. He said I was dependent and also warned me he would not be around as much since he would be attending school. He kept talking and talking and talking in this snide way that he does that I consider not only patronizing, but demeaning.  I said that I agreed with everything and that he was right because after a half hour I couldn’t argue anymore. Then we got to the diner.

He said I was starting to act like Jessica. He told me that Eric told him I lied a lot when he reconciled with his dope fiend friend who has an anger problem and blamed me for his GIRLFRIEND stealing 200 dollars outof his room.  Nic kept insulting and insulting me until I finally walked out of the diner and didn’t speak to him. I told him to leave me alone.

And that’s where the night ends.

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4 Responses to “poetry and the upset”

  1. julietcabalfin Says:

    hi

  2. julietcabalfin Says:

    do you have friendster…
    can you add me…
    tropicana_twister18@yahoo.com

  3. julietcabalfin Says:

    w8….my e-mail add hve .ph at end..

  4. Yes, I am a Christian. I don’t like to call myself religious. That word has a bad connotation, turns people off. And I’m new to the site as well. I’m not sure if you can message back and forth. Interesting blog, by the way.

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