and if it takes all night, i'll get you out of my mind, but first out of my bed...

in case you haven't noticed, i've been trying new things when it comes to poetry...please tell me what you think about this poem and every other one you find on my blog

you're the stand up type of guy:

when are you going to realize all that i've ever been asking for
was a small bit of horizontal alignment? i mean really...
i don't care if your family thinks i show too much skin
or you don't understand why i can't sit still. i'm restless.
i'm a dancer. you can't pick and choose perfect formulas.
they just happen. poison does too,
but i guess that is the chance we have to take.
don't act like you are stumped. you're bad at it.
i'm not asking for a single thing back, honestly.
i don't even mind if you look at me
only when you're bored and frustrated.
i like it just fine, after all.
i bet you never expected to hear that type of thing.
i sometimes think you bring out the worst in me,
but maybe that is a good enough reason.
wait, that's a lie. we both know the fallacy of words.
you're still a poet, aren't you?
i don't think that is something you quit easily,
but i could be wrong. it has happened to me before.
i know what good decisions are though,
and i think you should give up the fight,
my bed is only 505 miles away and even you can't deny
the sun rise is much better from this angle.

once i saw you naked there was nothing to show....

sean's mom (i don't know your name either):

i never liked your house
or your smirks,
not to mention your reputation.
that little son of yours,
he's so sure of himself.
throw a chemistry book at him,
he'll try to hit you through the window with a golf ball.
he sure made me giggle.
but not you. i couldn't even wave.
not that you knew my name, anyway.
i was just another one of those stereotypes,
oh, so different from your teenage son,
i bet you didn't know he borrowed my janis joplin cd once.
i used to make jokes about him.
i'm not sure how it started,
but he was the root of a handful of dares.
i'm not even sure if he's ever been naked,
besides taking showers and changing and all.
not that he'd know, but the parties are always better
on the other side of the road.
just go ahead and call the cops, again.
i hope you're proud.
you sure looked it at that ceremony the other night.
i could tell that pompous motherly security,
even though i hadn't seen your face
in the light for a good five months.
you never remember me though,
even when you're buying damn cookies
in line beside me.
gee, it's a small town.
i'm surprised you haven't moved yet.

it sounds so soothing to mix a gin and sink into oblivion...this will all blow over in time...

we're running away:

my man likes to ride the trains. our house was not built
for lonely wanderers. i live like a widow when he's gone,
carving tallies in my furnished jail. when he tramples back,
he traces the patterns of my dusty dresses
and tells me how much they remind him
of the wilderness. he's never truly happy to be home
and there's always more time to breathe
when i'm alone. we're too young to forget how much we cherish
freedom. we are built to be love's biggest failures.