Category: annie e

The Hardest thing

The hardest thing
is to live with love and kindness
in a cruebullshitworld
I am an atheist so I believe in kindness
And love not because of what is to come
But what is. I am is
Every day I am reminded of my frailty
And temporary status by the pain
That burns my heart and body

I am doing all
I can to stay kind
Anger and pain trick me
somedays I want to die too
The abyss, the last breath
Seems both terrifying and reassuring
At least I don’t have to worry
About forever
My body, fat and aging and full of pain
Is all I have. It has mostly bad sides
If I am touched it hurts
If I wake up it hurts
If I walk it hurts
I have lost all hope of not being in hurts
I have accepted it
It has made me free
I dress how I like. I laugh how I want.
I live how I like
And say what I want

If I feel like it, I say fuck you dog shit liar
And if I feel like it, I say, I love you dog shit liar
I know what is mine
my time, my love, my life

I don’t know if you own yours
or
If you are still trying to become some other time
I could tell you, don’t waste yours
Feeling less than -It’s your brain sucking you
But it’s your choice and sometimes necessary
you are dog shit, after all
You are a dumb dumb. You’ve proved it.
Who isn’t? Who hasn’t ?
Don’t worry if you hate yourself
You probably have good reason
Most of us do
Just accept your a fuckturd
And go from there
The important thing you must
Consider is what kind of you, you’re in
if your going to wear stonewalled brutal you
Or are you going to allow love
space inside your body?
It hurts you, at first, just so you know
And you will have panic attacks
And you will lash out at those around you
You may attempt to take your life
Or run away to another town
And maybe you will
And maybe you’ll find a better job or lover
Or view and a minute
You’ll be able to breathe in your body
And feel the earth between your toes
Just maybe the fear will lessen long
Enough for some love to get in
Some kindness to shuffle to the front
Or a smile widen across your body
And in that moment breathe
Just breathe you in
This is you
Then, look out and see us
The forests and dogs
The 13 lined squirrels and corn flowers
The creeping Charlie and the crows
We are hard and uneven, like you
Breathing here too
Learning to love here too
Sometimes failing here too

Please be gentle with
Your existence.

Press it lightly on
With us
And witness the spec of time we are

My Husband is time

My husband is a not real
He is my fantasy.
I made this world
In a sweet slumber
after drinking the last
of summer’s rations
Where I am loved so well
And kissed so tenderly
With the scent of cardamom and orange
his touch of warmth and electricity
He is a God with a magic penis
That can stop time and suspend gravity

Some strange luck loops
Has stopped war and given

me this dream life and his to share

I am day dreaming girl
sleeping in a dirt tent

if you find me
do not wake me

there are dark shadows
in my world.
I am fighting in a war
on the wrong side of a line

With a broken foot and a belly wound

I don’t make it out of here alive
this dream is all I’ll know of time or love

Drop dirt or petals if you must

Raining Ice Again

You have been in your head too much
this doesn’t work for you
You are a doer. You must stay busy and engaged
Right now, you are not. You are tired and in pain
Your mouth is dry, your skin is dry. It is cold outside
…You’re an idiot.
I’m bored of this already
This needs to be erased
I need to go for a walk

Off a cliff. dive into a dream of cold water
I want summer in Lake Superior
I want her freedom
Her sweet clean air

It is winter. White and dirty and grey
I slept like shit again last night.
My neck hurts. Blah
That is what I feel like
Blah
Blah blah blah
I am wasting my living
Here
Far away
I am giving it all, for what I can’t grass anymore

Da Vinci

The greatest painter to ever paint
Made sure to fuzzy the line
Where one ended and another began
That is what I am trying with your love
And poetry

This is not the poem I want to write
The poem I want to write is about taking
care of one another
But that poem is boring and nice
It is too polite for us

What the hell are we doing?
Why are we not fucking?
Must I beg for your cock in my mouth?

You are doing dishes and Im pretty 
sure you have fever too
Both of the girls do. 
I can barely stand. We are dizzy
And puking and coughing and shitting 
But you are doing the dishes
You come and check on us
bring water from the other side
of the universe and those cool magic pills. 
Yesterday I went to store 
and got a bunch of groceries. 
you were sleeping and had a fever. 
Then I cleaned. 
Brought you some pills 
And helped the girls. 
We take care of each other. 
When people complain about being married
I want to say, have you tried sucking his dick? 
Maybe if you give it all 
maybe the someone else 
will give it all back to you

Wash your face

Somethings don’t have to be said

I know that all humans are not bad

But I have a hard time fingerings out the good ones

I don’t trust my ability fully. 

 There is always something I can miss

This uncertainty is my armor 

I try to keep one foot on the ground

And one hand on my pistol 

I not going to put up with bullshit

Its nothing personal, you understand?

It just, you see, I don’t know

how long I have to live

It may end soon or something

so I don’t want to waste any time

on bullshit -You get it

You’ve wasted time on bullshit

I see it on your face

On Christmas past

The Christmas lights on my tree

            twinkle, unnecessarily. 

Its all I have kept of tradition

You never put me right

Maybe you tried  

Maybe you loved me

But that’s not enough

Your love can’t cover up your abuse
I’m not a little child. But I’m still vulnerable 

I admit it.  I’m at accepting 

I can’t live for you
I’m not sorry.  

You wanted me to carry you

Like a pointless backpack of rocks

like a bucket of shit  

sloshing on top of my head

I was your surefooted mule

I took pride in how much I could carry

For you

I’ve put it down 

The bible, the apologizing, the pride,  shame,

And now – the fear and bucket of hate.

I’ve given up being the ass
Its no longer my surprise

I’m not passing it on or boxing it up

Or hiding it in the basement

Wrapped tight for later
You fucked up

You 

fucked 

up

you carry it

  

 

As A Child I Did Childhood Things 

As a child

I did childhood things

I packed a small bag of clothes

A journal, my one-eyed doll

and fled from war

The fireworks popped houses off the streets

Shattered and exploded

I hide among the debris

When I was raped and beaten

I was the cold mud and the roots

beneath my body, rustic roads

The maggots of the dead were my citizens

The worms, the trains

My blood, the smoke from the chimneys

In the darkness of the ghetto street

I was a ninja in a forgein land

guarded by red branches hiding

as the gun shots ran on window glass

I snuck across the ground under abandoned cars

hid behind old burnt out homes

Flipped over piss stained mattress

A child with missing sneakers

had penny candy by his side

with a bullet in his brain

So I took his candy and savored the sweetness

as I hid in a mulberry tree until the hungry blue

zombies came and went

When my belly was swollen and empty and my back

bare I was a monkey girl and searched

for apples and pears and blackberries and goose berries

I scavenged wild morel mushrooms and dandelions and greens

I sucked up tiny green sour grapes

I climbed and swung

when I found a fruit I’d eat

the core and worms and all

If I fell and got bloodied, I hid it

It was a curse. I didn’t limp

When I found nothing to eat

And a warm AK 47 in my hands

I was a great hero

when I killed the hawk men

and freed my homeland

The people would throw me a feast of roasted

venison and turkey and pies and cakes

With juices and butter and sweet red wines

with songs and dances with large walls and warm fires

I’d have a dry warm safe bed one day,

I would have people, I dreamed as I aimed into battle

felt the sting and pound of the ground

And my fallen brothers coming at me

In the winter snow with frozen toes inside plastic bags

I was the first to explore so far north

I followed the smell of bear and stole into old ice caves

I made a house under the great pines

broke the ice and fished with my hair and beer can

I followed the river and stole north

I stole bitter acorns from squirrels

when I found a dead thing it did not go to waste

Covered in scraps of lost artifacts

I was the last of my exploration party

My one armed doll chewed and rotten

my journal wet and dirty showed the map of my trail

well beyond where dragons or fairies ever go

I pushed on until the trail softened underfoot,

There I stepped into sinking brown mud

grasping for the first of wild leeks,

with rocks in my in mouth

I was beaten with bondage

I was warrior captured

forced to labor for the enemy

I would not shame self by crying out

When the demon goats shoved me in a bag

And throw me in the back of a pickup truck

I did not panic like the screaming

children under me

I found the seam and breathed slow

I did not cry for help

I saved my energy for the chance to run

when I had it, I ran in the shadows

barefoot with only the rope

that bound my hands behind my back

I ran til the city was new

and my legs strong enough

to kill and the rope a bracelet of freedom

I stole food and shoes and diamonds and life

I was a master spy behind enemy lines

I stole until I had enough to find home

In middle of a concrete street

I gave birth to a blue dead jar

it was a tiny fluffy head SOS sent out to sea

riding the waves and currents to bring back aid

It’s dark eyes searching for an island of refuge

a man of honor

When it came again and lived I hid it

and gave it all I could

I gave pieces of myself for coins

to buy it blanket and food

I gave everything

still, I sent it out to sea

Four times I sent an SOS

Until my blood found the riptides and the sea turtles

met the mermaid queen on the corral of the sea

When the sickness came

I could not walk, my knees swelled

my body ached and my scalp was a drum

for the great wolf chief to beat with his tail

I was poisoned by the evil hound

who wanted me for his bone

Under his jagged teeth

I pounded my fists into his mouth

I splintered and my marrow filled his belly

Covered in dirt, wearing lice

I walked hand and hand with my sister

With one mismatched sandal each and bone thin

I was blessed and happy

When the nights were cold I was her blanket

And She, my pillow

We ate avocados and little fish

when luck and pennies were on our side

We were best friends, ladies on a stroll

In the darkness I heard her scream

I tried to hold onto her

Her finger nails dug into my body

Tore my flesh

her hair was in my clenched fists

Her blood under my nails

the dark shadow lizard

Dragged her away screaming

and left me alone in our rock pile home

I was in the shadow of a great temple

writing my name with my wand

To bless the yellow dirt
when a blast went hard and heavy

I could not hear but the ringing of ice cream truck

At the park where children yelled and played

I could taste the metal in mouth

concrete and salt in my flesh

I was buried under the rubble

the stick still in my hand I was a wizard

becoming all powerful but first I had to fall

through the black hole to other side

and find the evil wizard

who had blasted my temple

let blood magic into the world

I had no hair, on a sheet

I laid hooked up to robots

my body shook with cold sweat ache

The vomit came out my mouth

shit and piss was cold and sore on my body

My eyes could not focus

Blurry and heavy all around me was tiny grey

hands holding me down

I could smell their copper and plastic spaceships

The aliens were inside me

trying to harvest my body

I had to fight so I made a clone of myself

climbed in my nose and slayed the creatures

until I could no longer

badly wounded I found my heart

kicked it when slowed

I kicked until my legs fell off

then I punched until my arms rotted off

Then I head butted and finally bit

Until their beeps and buzzing stopped

I could not feel myself

I was no longer a child

guilt is a funny thing

 

 

 

it doesn’t matter if you knew better

or if you were doing your best with

the knowledge you had

 

if your own hindsight doesn’t shame you

someone else’s will

 

if it doesn’t, you’re probably not human

 

I Use Poems

I use poems the size of war.

I write them in the morning

after the pretty city motions work.

When other citizens shop

for beans or rake progress

I arrange sounds that fuck people.

 

So high they get, after my oos and aahs

they promise not to kill again 

 

Teddy Bear

I am not happy in my playhouse. 

My teddy bear changed.  Or I did.  

Or the world did. 

 

I got some mad inside me and 

said fudge.  Teddy hissed. 

I snuggle with a stressed out bear

who paws my tongue. 

Ha.  Good great pancake syrup.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My number one fur wants to gain morality or sensibilities. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some days aren’t ours 

they come and they go

and what are we 

 

we are what is left on the chair

watching and loving 

and for what and why…

 

when we realize our mother

loved us best and that was as good 

as we can get. And then   then

we think someone else might love

us. We think we’ve found 

some magic that the rest 

was too dumb to find….that we are

lucky and blessed. Then… then we come 

home early and find our cat on the neighbor’s lap

purring.  Then we say suck it and we find

our lover in some odd position giving

goo glue eyes at some slender beef

and then… then we leave and walk and walk

and walk until we forget who we think we are 

and we stop caring about this life. This life goes

by too short but then, then we don’t want it

it is meaningless. It is pain.  We are all there is.

We are not enough. We are not garlic or a sunset.

We are old. We are still stupid. We don’t 

like to be alone, still stupid and old

 

But others can’t be trusted. We can’t stand on their back

to see farther.  We can’t make them hold us. We smell.

We are cry babies.  

 

There is no pudding for cry babies.  

There are no songs for cowards. 

 

 

The bath water is cold and the flies are in.

we have sand in our butts. We are freaky 

looking wearing blue all the time.  We 

write. We shit. We pace. We write. 

 

No one reads it because it is lame. It is not

smart. we can not write smart. We try but 

everyone tells us told you so.  

 

We say fug off but we hurt and want someone

to tell us we are ok but we are not ok and so 

no one will say it and we wouldn’t believe

it and so here we are   

 

and yet we talk politics and paints and pens

 

is there anymore ale

no 

it doesn’t matter -I’ll have a glass of tap water

mumbles

I don’t how it began.  I think I was born this way. not that I’ve haven’t spent years workin’ on sound. i have. I’ve made sound into a friend.  I’ve made it into something that happens when I sit down and write.   I’ve made it automatic, and not that I can even call it sound.  its not sound. most of it is irregular, the meter is like a hobo’s hum.  the tone playful, simple, and humdrum.  its the hour after your grandmother died, and you don’t know it yet, but you expect the worse when the phone rings.  Its the process of mopping a floor that doesn’t need it.  You do it because you can’t sit still.  you can’t mourn uncertainty. you can’t pace into a hole. so you clean.  you put everything in a place.  you double check, under the bed, you hang up your robe that fell two months ago.  Then you mumble “give me thousands of lovers,” maybe rock or shake a leg, or crack your neck.  you ask what’s the point of this, sigh.  Then city lights shut off. the sun comes over the houses, into your window, and for some reason, light hits your hand, and you smile, and your eyes drop a little dumb tear, and little laugh begins to fold and open your chest, and a voice begins. its says, now there was a time, oh of course there was a time,a normal time, really just yesterday, a p and j was made on homemade bread, the bread was toasted, and the j got all over and p greased the counter. it wasn’t that good, but it was good enough. the p and j is rotten. it is not fit for a last meal.  it is not a beef stick.  you call it dinner with anger, but you eat it. and sleep the same.  in the late afternoon you say, I think I was born this way. you pick up the cheap guitar and sing for hours. you don’t remember how it began.  you’ve worked years at raising your voice into a responsible companion. Now every time you pick up a guitar, a voice comes.  its automatic.   there are problems.  nobody values a voice. its taken for granted.  no one wants to hire or buy your voice. people turn the volume down.  the people want dance music, not throat songs, not blues strums, there is no place for your sound. you go into the box and color on the walls.  put pictures up, settle in, reserved to die that way. somebody kicks the box, you look up, a girl is moppin up. she’s says, i heard your song, its good, you need practice.  she climbs in the box and hits her fist into you. she sets a beat.  you look at her, hard, long, it hurts.  your sound at first is a scream.  then a melody,  then your voice falls out in hobo meter, its a tone. a vibration. a seed. a bomb, a gene, you don’t know.  you can’t say if it is this or that you don’t know where it came from or how.  you stay in the box, and let your brain thump out.