Fire part 2.

Fire Pt. 2 

I can’t remember the last time I struck a match,

Or caught fire in someone else’s eyes. 

The first time I tried to get close to an old flame

He said there wasn’t enough of a spark 

So I opened fire and then burnt us down 

Like that B-52 wreckage he walked me to

Just to light him up and ignite his memory

Like scorching the earth between us could 

Make him wish he burnt his tongue 

And loved me back instead

As if cauterizing my heart could mitigate 

The damage he spread from his broken one

And like the smell of napalm ever won our Vietnam War,

But still, strike after strike, I called in for another one-

I made sure I got him every time. 

Every last bit of him, 

And I’ve been setting arson to my lovers ever since.

But men still like me like they like playing with fire

Like putting a finger through a candle ever won a science fair

Like an affair could save them from themselves,

And the most piteous of them still hold that candle,

As if just the mere idea of us could gas them up

The more I re-fuse, the more they pile

Embers underneath my throne, 

And I always smile before I throw Molotov cocktails 

Then watch their pedestals burn to hell. 

Because I’m not the perfect woman

Not the anima or the goddamn

Manic pixie dream girl either

I’m just a pyromaniac

Who gets off on blazing up

Just a fucked up little girl,

Who had to learn how to throw 

Hands off from other hands 

By putting up a firewall

I do not want you to get close. 

I do not want you to exalt me

And spark plug me just to

Exhaust me and put me out. 

I will sear you to the crisp if you dare.

_ the dog

Puff out your chest

And spread your legs

In the car seat

Exalt your voice

Over every melody.

I thought I’d be nervous.

But it’s your secret

That’s on the tip of my tongue

And it’s got you conversating 

And compensating.

–

Turn on your charm

And pretend like you’re innocent

I’m so glad your head grew

Three times the size

But your body didn’t

Because even as kids

You were always so

Fucking arrogant.

–

Smiles for miles

Mr. happy-go-lucky

You’re lucky I even

Let dogs like you

Say two words

In front of me,

In front of your mother.

I could have torn our

Whole family apart

But I kept my trap shut

And your sister in the dark.

–

Because who am I to turn kin on kin?

You’re lucky the only reason

A blunt bitch like me 

Isn’t akin to violence

And swallows her tongue

Before she can even bite it

Is because I know the

Amount of blood I’d spill

If I ever broke my silence.

–

Fifteen likes on my pictures

Occasionally in a row

Oh you feel so brave

To try to torment me

When I am not so close.

But whenever you see me,

Every eight years or so,

Just know-

I still remember what you did

That December night before

My mother turned on the light.

I tucked your skeleton

In the closet that day

But I keep a bone for a rainy one

And I swear to God-

I’d fucking bury you

With it, if I could.

Michael

Michael. 

Michael with the deep blue eyes

And the screenplay between his hands,

Michael who dreams of oceans

And sea monsters,

Who doesn’t have 

Monsters under his bed,

But in his head.

Michael who charms a room,

And smirks too long

With his every witty remark,

Michael who is quiet and reticent

But pauses the whole saloon

When he speaks or sings in the dark. 

Michael, who makes elaborate cards,

But never shows his hand.

Michael, who raises money

For charity 

But can’t take his medication

Or save himself.

Michael, Michael, Michael

Everyone’s favorite person,

Except well- Michael’s.

Michael, the weirdo

Who makes maps

And weird tunes 

To tune the whole world out,

Michael, that lush,

Whose eyes are red and blotchy,

When no is looking.

Michael, who alternates eternally

Between tiny violins

And feeling “a great deal of nothing.”

Yup, that same Michael

Who you’ve heard on the streets

Playing second fiddle

To ghosts of his ghosts

And many girlfriends past. 

Michael, who had a whole anthology,

But could not come up

With the right two words 

To say to me.

Michael, who thinks

His whole ego will be decimated

If he has to be sober,

And come up with an apology.

*

I loved Michael

In a tragic way,

The way a woman 

Always loves a man

So absent for what she

Is so ardently present for.

And the way only a despechado 

Man like Michael,

Can love back retrospectively. 

I still think of Michael,

And I lie about it.

All. the. time.

Sometimes when I’m standing,

Before a horizon or set foot in a new sea,

I wonder what seas he’s seen since me,

Wonder if he ever even noticed 

The oceans I saw in his eyes,

And wonder if it was ever even true

He saw the same four

And blues in mine.

The last one I wrote

“Sweet as”.

That’s the way you like to remember me

Must be nice

To remember only the nice things.

You know I don’t pray

Or say that lord’s name

But I pray for you in vain

All the same

Sometimes, I think we were too alike

Cut too close

From the same fabric

That if things had been different

And you had had a lobotomy-

I’d always leave

And you’d always find something wrong with me. 

But we’ll always have New York

That bright July evening

At Washington Square Park

My heart racing underneath

The summer heat,

Cats heated in the dark.

Kissing between red lights,

Wondering if you might be my next green light.

Beat me to the punch

Cancel your plans with me,

Text me it’s just today,

Then say you’ve had enough.                

 Good thing last weekend

When I thought I was overthinking it-

It wasn’t my gut just acting up.

You’re now so stoic, gotten so tough,

Guess that veneer of sweetness

And desire to “slowly” build my trust

Was truly just a front.           

 Stop saying you’re sorry,

Sorry is as sorry does.

Spare me your “we shouldn’t”-

Just say “I can’t, I won’t face you”-

Give up the crutch, man,

Man- man the fuck up. 

If you’re only kind when you’re “feeling it”

Well, I guess then another one bites the dust. 

Therapy

I listen to him.

Validate and point out his positive assets

Notice discrepancies and inconsistencies,

Voice them,

I challenge his automatic thoughts,

Doubt his inner critic,

Guide him through deep breaths,

Question the origin of his stories,

And ask him for evidence of his assumptions,

But I cannot change him.

I cannot quieten that voice in his head,

Cannot keep him from pulling his hair or intellectualizing,

Cannot make him any more present

Or any less apprehensive of the future.

I am merely a sounding board,

a mirror, a witness.

I see him and I let him correct me , When I can’t see him precisely That is all I can do.

That fear he holds or has a hold

Over him-

It is neither mine to grasp

Nor to relinquish.

Only he can let go or break free,

So I myself have to relinquish

Any hopes or thoughts or things

I wish I could help or change

And I hope in this moment,

In this instance,

He knows it is okay to feel 

And to cede control here,

In this encounter,

I hope he can encounter

Himself just as he is.

And maybe, I too

Maybe, I myself

Need to cede control

Of any views or circumscriptions

Of how I thought life would be,

How I thought I might be.

Maybe, this encounter

Is just as much teaching

Me presence, as it is him.

He thought he knew me

Put me on a pedestal so then he conveniently 

Didn’t have to live up to it

Mistaking my kindness for softness.

My humility for weakness.

He knew the Madonna,

The maiden,

The damsel,

Even the vixen 

But he didn’t know the 

whore, the dangerous woman, 

Or the freak.

He knew the girl next door,

The best friend,

The martyr,

But he didn’t know the vibora,

The woman scorned,

Or the ice queen.

He was too busy trying to divert me 

From all his personas,

He didn’t even see the persona right in 

Front of him.

He never bothered to look within,

To see all the women menacing, raging inside of me,

Inching to get out.

He never took the time

To know and relish me in my multidimensionality.

He knew how I could heal,

How I could turn something gold upon touch,

But he didn’t know how hotblooded I could

Scorch earth or run hell.

He didn’t know the depths of a woman’s fury,

The caverns of her pride-

Or how quickly I could demote him from number one

To persona non grata.

And yeah, maybe I got a sick kick out of it

introducing and then leaving him

With the kind of bitch I can be.

 

They can call me a spend thrift, a hot head, a capricious, spunky little thing.

They can call me intense, obstinate, and arrogant.

They can say I did all for the the vanity and the glory-

They’re probably onto something.

They can go on about my pride.

Talk about how my tongue is as silver as it is sharp,

But oh when it cuts, it cuts straight through the heart. 

They’re probably right.

They’re probably on point.

And then they’ve got another thing coming.

I’ve been a hedonist,

A “cheeky little bitch”, an impetuous f*ck.

I’ve been a neurotic,

A gypsy, a weirdo

A whore.

They can say what they want about me.

But they cannot say that I did not question,

give, experiment, and challenge convention.

I’ve been a basketcase

A vixen, a virgin, a shrew.

I’ve been a wise woman,

A viper, a spinster, a fool.

It’s all true.

But they cannot dare say that I did not live,

that I was not free, 

that I did not choose.

New Type

I like them aloof, borderline- emotionally dead

I like ‘em, neurodivergent

Lost and fucked up in the head.

Daddy issues, mommy issues

And a looming ex.

Depression, anxiety

Their cards too close to their chest.

Good boys are fun,

But they always want to commit.

Their certainty drives me crazy

And their projections make me sick.

Safety’s enticing, but too much to soon

And the walls always start to cave in.

Narcissists got tricks,

But I can always out smart them.

Yeah, I’ve been a sucker for lovebombing

But their callousness quickly ousts them.

I like that you’re honest

And along for the ride

I like that you’re not trying to change me

And not trying to hide.

I like that you tell me you want me

And don’t give a shit if I leave.

I love that you do your own thing

And don’t keep a single trick up your sleeve.

So if you’re bad news baby,

Then I want to know all about you first

So if you’re a bad boy baby-

Well, you can get ahead of the herd. 

You left me with no milestones to remember

No sweaters to return

Not a single picture to burn or untag,

No conversations to fondly look back on

No scar tissue to pick on

Just a lingering sadness that’s taken me months

To rinse off the sleeve from where

My heart once used to sit.

You left me with more questions than answers

The man always speaking in metaphor,

Left me with but a few words.

The vivid memories of the contortions of your face, ever irritable.

Your past in passive voice,

But always a run on sentence.

An ever looming figure, before me.

But I left you suddenly,

Defiantly

With resolve. 

I left you the way you were always afraid

Of keeping me, with commitment.

You were so afraid to be consumed

Or to be abandoned

That you never saw how slowly 

You were cementing me to walk away.

How every single abridge, built my case

And how slowly I was gathering embers

To start a fire,

Just so I could burn the bridge,

And keep it burnt.