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I submit....

littlemissmcrapey's picture littlemissmcrapey
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... entries for the literary conference I've been vaguely referencing.

5 poems (they might be good, they're probably not, but they're what I've got)
and attaching one of the papers (it's like, 7 pages, and about Sineating, so I doubt anyone'll be interested)

All poems are titled by the first line because I am shit at making titles for whatever reason.

1:

I am twelve
with frizzy hair and stick-legs
and red-rimmed glasses that eat my face.

I am sun-kissed and free
in the lake of dreams and boys
and mud and secrets.

We are there - all four of us.
Together for May September,
like always,
even though it makes the rest unbearable.

Flat-footed, she and I would plod along those streets
like tramps with no money,
but an endless supply of cream soda and candy cigarettes.
Our feet would bake on the black-top
but we walked it anyway,
lifting our silent salutes to passersby
and nodding solemnly, as though we were a
funeral procession of two.

How could we have known?

I missed the procession of the first,
although I carry his face in the
corners of my heart
somewhere.

I am a terrible mourner because
I missed the procession of the second,
though he’s in there somewhere, too,
keeping the first company, I suppose.

Maybe they wait for us,
maybe they don’t.

I imagine they’re stuck in May September
like we are.

I never liked cream soda, anyway.

It is just she and I left, again,
strangers with smiling faces,
though there is nothing to smile about
and all that’s left of the lake are
secrets.

2:

I don’t believe in this madness,
I won’t buy into this crisis of
Sun, Moon, and Earth;
This tearless mess we’ve created
and born into the world.

Before, I wept without knowing,
without understanding.
Now I am complacently numb,
having laid my blanket of tears
at the feet of many.

These brittle bones are empty now,
the flames I once kept have turned to
ash and I am a
slowly-dying ember;
back to the earth with an
open body pleading to the Sun.

3: (this one's about New Orleans)

I feel a great loss,
mourning a culture
that was never mine.

I haunt it anyway, as though it lost me.

I wonder if it grieves because I am gone.
I like to think she weeps for me,
though she doesn’t, I know,
and yet I am still her dutiful specter,
roaming her streets in search of my former self
which never was
and never will be.

I am an imposter,
an anonymous voice that cries
into her open arms,
before she sees
I am not her own.

And yet she holds me just the same
and keeps me
in that soft, warm place between
where I was and
where I will go.

oh! this city
this city that keeps me
and lets me loose
this city that lets me
live and die
and continue this strange
give and take with its mother
oh how she lets me leave
only to come back
when I have lost myself
again

I feel a great loss,
mourning this culture
that was never mine.

4:

Find strength and joy
in this womb that has created
both life and death.
Revel in this body
whose curves and planes
have brought nothing but grief.
Find solace and comfort
in this knowledge with which
you are powerless to use,
for you have eaten at the tree.
Embrace the bare
bones of the new goddess
for these daughters of Eve,
these unwitting martyrs,
repay that debt.
We are the eaters of Sin.

5:

You'll leave me,
like you left me before.
When the dew was still warm
against your skin and
Your face was flush and reaching
for the sun.

And I'll accept what you say,
or don't say,
with such quiet conceit
you'll think I'm ok.

And I am.

You will come back to me,
in that silly, childish way you do;
eyes twinkling for forgiveness,
with a mouth that smirks
as if to say,

"Here we go again."