Thursday, 06 August 2009

  • kevin told me to write.
    i think he told me to write because he wants me to do what i love
    he wants to see me soaring through some horizon
    lifted and lifted and lifted
    by all the things i realize i can do.

    i love him for that,
    for even picturing me
    tumbling in the air through the pollution
    for wishing it upon me that i'd rise.

    i love him in ways that make me double over from being grateful
    when i'm drunk i cry because of it and then i make up some excuse.

    today i heard a song and thought about how i felt.
    my loneliness throbbing through every second.
    its like the ticking stopped suddenly.
    do i thank him for that?
    do i thank myself?

    and how?

Friday, 12 June 2009

  • It all starts innocent, oblivious.
    One day she's inching toward you,
    smiling.

    And then you realize:
    You fell in love
    all that time she was talking.
    Like it was nothing, innocent, nothing.
    You forget that I make little moans in my sleep
    and reach for you when i wake up.
    You realize I'm states away.
    She is
    smiling
    skinnier;
    you picture her nipples.

    I forgive you,
    but guilt follows you around.
    You can't stand to see me outside my cradle
    accumulating more chances to blame you
    for looking away, even for a second.

    The subconscious drunk and curious
    leads you down an unexplored hallway
    and you are robbed of content
    again and again
    until you are nothing but a turbine of disappointment.


Tuesday, 26 May 2009

  • She told me she was embarrassed.

    Embarrassed. In Spanish, you would think it would be
    "embarrasada," but that means pregnant.  You would think
    it would be "embarrassed" in English, but that means invaded.

    She told me she was embarrassed
    and the old shame rippled through my blood.

    Invaded.  In times of war there must be conquest
    the inexplicable stamping out of something precious
    provided there are those too weak to protect it.

    I wanted to tell her everything, wanted to admit
    I couldn't draw a map out of there if I wanted to
    that violated sense that puts you on an uninhabited island
    where you expire if you don't learn quickly
    and if you survive, you're not really sure how.

  • Friend Request

    kinkygirlx, did you just want to read some poetry
    but upon violation of the blogging community's terms of use
    you were stricken from all cyber-testimony
    moments after you came upon a stranger's writing?

    Two of my own friends took advantage of my teenage sister in just one short weekend!
    They touched her everywhere they could:
    her skinny pale legs, the scar that hovers
    over her bellybutton like a moon.  I was drunk, asleep in my bedroom.

    kinkygirlx, does the x mean a kiss
    or x as in the first in a sucession of typically capitalized x's
    to denote in pornographic material not suitable
    for the poor celibate cherubs under 17?

    They rubbed her small breasts, her once broken collarbone,
    still slightly jumbled beneath the skin of her left shoulder.

    kinkygirlx, are you really young enough
    to be just a girl, a kinky one at that
    one that likes strange or even violent sexual encounters
    enough to make it her publicly known name?

    My sister isn't familiar
    with the dialect of no she needed
    to chaperon herself in such strange situations
    to descend barefoot from the leather couch and hide
    where? under the kitchen table? in the crumbling fireplace?

    kinkygirlx, do you like poetry
    despite the fact that you spent so much time making porn?
    did you always fancy yourself a sylvia plath
    or an anne sexton, swathed in spray tan
    fuck me echoing through your swinging tonsils
    the thumping more and more like a warning?

    If i could pick anybody to love my poetry,
    it would be the other poets
    it would be you, kinkygirlx.

    In her own sister's living room
    they touched her as if to say, Beware.


Sunday, 17 May 2009

  • Inbox (1): "S Darko the Movie"


    Kristin,

    Your mom and I just watched the sequel, S Darko.
    S stands for Samantha, Donnie's sister.

    It made no sense whatsoever, so I ate a barrel of sunshine
    and backed it up with a tab of microdot

    and it all became perfectly clear.

    During the final scene, the background music
    was a Cocteau Twins song from the 80's.

    I was sure that it was them
    because the lyrics were completely incomprehensible

    as all Cocteau Twins songs are.

    And I thought it clever, a sort of inside joke,
    that the producers would pick such a song

    knowing full well that the movie was equally abstruse.

    But in the end, I felt vindicated
    triumphant even

    in my esoteric music tastes.

    I know full well that I am one of a very select few
    really myself alone and the movie producers
    that knows who the Cocteau Twins actually are

    certainly not a single person in the target age group for the movie.

    Knowing that you once left my vinyl of them laying about one day,
    as I had to return it to its sleeve

    and put it in its rightful spot in the bin,
    picking up after you

    I thought you perhaps a kindred spirit
    perhaps the only other person east of Los Angeles

    who could possibly recognize them
    after having played them on my turntable.

    Victory is mine.

    No longer will I have to tolerate ignorant fools
    that criticize my music tastes.

    I will bask in the smug satisfaction that my music
    is a soundtrack for the most hippish of an idiotic sequel

    as any that has ever existed.

    -Dad

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Profile Info

  • First Name: Kristin Cash
  • Birthdate: 10/21/1988
  • Gender: Female
  • Country: United States
  • State or Province: Illinois
  • Metro: Chicago