V. Broken
Monday morning's minutes, minutia & microtragedy:
peel eyes from eyelids. OPEN. (one in a bed built for two, bought for two, betrayed by one) 4:30 am says the wristwatch on the carpet. (he took the alarm clock when he left).
STRETCH. taut, clenched muscles scream protests between feet & knees, knees & hips. hips & shoulders. shoulders & elbows & hands. girl limbs mourn the sting & sweat of Surya Namskar. a twice broken foot bone throbs in apologetic cadence. no yoga again this morning. the foot sends morse code messages: so-RRY. SO-rry.
UP. the ocean crashes. good morning quiet, lonely girl.
no, it's not that good at all.
a self destructive nicotine breakfast matches poison bitter taste to bitter poisoned heart.
GO. trying muscles mutiny against a lying foot. lady pacific beckons. hush-roar, hush-roar. metal click tap of crutches on sidewalk. swing-thud. swing-thud. the stutter hobble frenzy of broken girl away from hollow house. (not a him shaped hole, just a who? shaped hole)
OUT. somewhere under grey, wet, morning ocean -stealing clouds, the sun rushes to meet its deadline- hurried along by toungue clucking, morning fucking birds. the sky tries colors on for size. purple-black. black-blue. blue-grey. grey. blue. shutter speeds & f-stop variations- for maximum exposure.
EXPOSED. broken girl. rust nailed tree-fleshed staircase, still pregnant with soggy memories of high tide, leading to the tar blemished beach sand.
two boys sit, pass a fag forth & back. their shameless four eyed stare makes pajama shorts too short, exposed stomach skin & sharp hipbones suddenly vulgar.
"what happened to your foot?" one calls.
(he means, "can i taste your vagina?")
"broke it", quiet voice responds.
(meaning "fuck off perv").
but the boys dont hear that part.
they keep filling the not empty spaces with forever chains of words, muting ocean noises: hush-roar, hush-roar, fuck-off, hush-roar.
questions fall from dull mouths, settle expectant.
2 boys write their own answers for 1 girl. she is only lips, skin, teeth, hair, imagined beads of procurred sweat, the things they'd do to her. (TO BARE SKIN IS NOT TO BARE THE SOUL)
broken girl dreams, scrawled ink screams. silent, splintered skeletons of optimism are littered in the sand.
REPOSED. alone-to-cry sunrises. stolen. you want to know girl secrets, boys? try this on for size: i'm torn & gaping. scarred & broken, wrecked & sick. not wet with lust but tears. i'm cynical, afraid. i've been raped by fucking promises, made nauseaus by pretty lies.
(EXIT: NIGHT. stage left)
monday nudged open, wide as a spread thighed whore. salty pacific gossiper slides cast away secrets ashore.
RETURN. metal click tap, swing thud back. & still the fucking birds. back to hollow house, empty bed, nails where pictures once hung.
naked, shaken vulnerable girl left behind on tar stained sand.
fog horns, rude as meal time farts, demand COMMMME BAAAACK.
alone girl offends with not wiped away tears. you cant do that here.only opened mouthed, spread kneed girls allowed. (name brand clothes and designer smiles patch up all the holes. )hobble stutter step run away-from high hopes discarded in the sand.
pretty passing jogging girl lips melt "good morning" in a casual breath. "gmrng".
crutch handed, cigaretted lipped rude girl answers with a sneer.
"the fuck's so good about it?".
but no one hears that part.
Monday morning's minutes, minutia & microtragedy:
peel eyes from eyelids. OPEN. (one in a bed built for two, bought for two, betrayed by one) 4:30 am says the wristwatch on the carpet. (he took the alarm clock when he left).
STRETCH. taut, clenched muscles scream protests between feet & knees, knees & hips. hips & shoulders. shoulders & elbows & hands. girl limbs mourn the sting & sweat of Surya Namskar. a twice broken foot bone throbs in apologetic cadence. no yoga again this morning. the foot sends morse code messages: so-RRY. SO-rry.
UP. the ocean crashes. good morning quiet, lonely girl.
no, it's not that good at all.
a self destructive nicotine breakfast matches poison bitter taste to bitter poisoned heart.
GO. trying muscles mutiny against a lying foot. lady pacific beckons. hush-roar, hush-roar. metal click tap of crutches on sidewalk. swing-thud. swing-thud. the stutter hobble frenzy of broken girl away from hollow house. (not a him shaped hole, just a who? shaped hole)
OUT. somewhere under grey, wet, morning ocean -stealing clouds, the sun rushes to meet its deadline- hurried along by toungue clucking, morning fucking birds. the sky tries colors on for size. purple-black. black-blue. blue-grey. grey. blue. shutter speeds & f-stop variations- for maximum exposure.
EXPOSED. broken girl. rust nailed tree-fleshed staircase, still pregnant with soggy memories of high tide, leading to the tar blemished beach sand.
two boys sit, pass a fag forth & back. their shameless four eyed stare makes pajama shorts too short, exposed stomach skin & sharp hipbones suddenly vulgar.
"what happened to your foot?" one calls.
(he means, "can i taste your vagina?")
"broke it", quiet voice responds.
(meaning "fuck off perv").
but the boys dont hear that part.
they keep filling the not empty spaces with forever chains of words, muting ocean noises: hush-roar, hush-roar, fuck-off, hush-roar.
questions fall from dull mouths, settle expectant.
2 boys write their own answers for 1 girl. she is only lips, skin, teeth, hair, imagined beads of procurred sweat, the things they'd do to her. (TO BARE SKIN IS NOT TO BARE THE SOUL)
broken girl dreams, scrawled ink screams. silent, splintered skeletons of optimism are littered in the sand.
REPOSED. alone-to-cry sunrises. stolen. you want to know girl secrets, boys? try this on for size: i'm torn & gaping. scarred & broken, wrecked & sick. not wet with lust but tears. i'm cynical, afraid. i've been raped by fucking promises, made nauseaus by pretty lies.
(EXIT: NIGHT. stage left)
monday nudged open, wide as a spread thighed whore. salty pacific gossiper slides cast away secrets ashore.
RETURN. metal click tap, swing thud back. & still the fucking birds. back to hollow house, empty bed, nails where pictures once hung.
naked, shaken vulnerable girl left behind on tar stained sand.
fog horns, rude as meal time farts, demand COMMMME BAAAACK.
alone girl offends with not wiped away tears. you cant do that here.only opened mouthed, spread kneed girls allowed. (name brand clothes and designer smiles patch up all the holes. )hobble stutter step run away-from high hopes discarded in the sand.
pretty passing jogging girl lips melt "good morning" in a casual breath. "gmrng".
crutch handed, cigaretted lipped rude girl answers with a sneer.
"the fuck's so good about it?".
but no one hears that part.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
I don't mean to cheapen your gift (or your pain), but someone should be paying you a fucking lot of money to do this.