Anew
am waiting for gums
to thicken, for skin
to color,
am waiting for lyrics
to unravel in meaning,
for the melodies to stop spinning,
am waiting for words
to start meaning nothing,
for letters to lift and sweep,
am waiting for my elbows
to stop pulsating,
am waiting to see
the ocean swing,
am waiting to touch
your collarbone,
am waiting for when I will
stop
punishing my own
consciousness
through misled notions,
through devilish tears,
through a drenching frustration
toward
everything I cannot change
nor control
nor relinquish
nor redeem,
am waiting for moments to start anew,
for dialogues to change course,
for paths to entwine with those
who can bring an end to my
perpetual sadness.
Continued...
Don’t Lie To Me
Disabled arms
curled
raised from the
browning fields.
Truths enclosed within
coffins structured
with instinct
with pride.
The rain of maroon droplets
sliding down the window bars,
the ashes that float over here.
Girl’s parents withdraw
the breath from her chest
forbidding promiscuity,
there are gasps
in disdain
in horror.
Imagine the corpse
flying in the air
white, discarded
and over what?
We cannot right
a wrong by threatening
with machinery,
or save a life by
replacing one with another,
or bring peace
through contradiction,
or satisfy with words
of freedom
by instilling democracy
and then leave it to
drug addiction and
foreign contractors.
Make promises
without understanding
how words are easily broken.
Cannot promise a beginning
when there is no ending
in sight,
except ridding every
human being who raises
fistfuls of pride,
of spite.
Growth-stunting morals
play the role of
a Death Reaper,
punishment by a
daughter’s guardians.
Hatred
between strangers,
between continents.
Tell me where the lines
are because I see none.
Treatment for tyranny
they tell me
is found
within barrels and
darkened forever-s,
but I see it somewhere else.
I see it in our right
to strip the lies
from their freedom barks.
Don’t lie to me.
I Can Say
it, say it until
I am hoarse to the kneecaps
until I choke on my lips
rapidly moving
but it won’t change
a thing
I am still the same,
I can write it until my
fingers grow blisters
until they stack up
like fleshy
towers,
until my mind
wraps
and unwraps
like some
paper pyramid,
until it changes texture,
but the facts
will still remain
drumming on the tips of chests,
can say it forever,
can harbor it
like air
and push it off
to somewhere safe,
shelter it from
the gray rains,
make it dance
like something
obese
dreaming on tip-toes,
can think about it
endlessly
like a song from the fifties
but
(I keep waiting
for you
to morph
into someone else
and you keep
waiting
for me to have
sex
with you)
and everything will still be the
same…
do you know what I mean?
Jamie Lin is currently at college trying to major in creative-writing and minor in human rights. She has been published at Storyglossia, Blood Lotus, Edifice Wrecked, Laura Hird, Pequin, Sub-Lit and some others. You can visit Jamie via myspace.
Last update : 09-04-2008 09:40
|
|
|
Users' Comments  |
|
Average user rating
 (0 vote)
|
|
Add your comment
|
Lit Circus 
