some poems... plz comment

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Tapia's Eyes 4/jan/09

The flashing lights made me dizzy
until you turned them off;
sliding your long legs out of the car.
You looked so child-like somehow
with your freckles & "knowing" grin.
You wanted to see my apartment
& I was happy to show you my space.
I thought we'd talk a while
& maybe kiss a bit.
(I am so young sometimes.)
I lead you up the stairs,
asking questions
& chattering about nonsense
"getting to know you."
My place was a mess (as usual)
but you didn't seem to mind
as you made yourself at home
saying nothing as you touched the objects I let no one see
& explored.
I sat on the bed watching you
move around my tiny studio
until you stood before me
looking enormous in your green uniform
& staring me strait in the eyes.
I wanted to flinch
but I just shrunk
and you seemed to grow taller and taller.
I let you pull my shirt off
while I undid my pants
and crawled backwards with my knees together
as you crawled after me.
You had fuzzy white socks
and the t-shirt from under your uniform still on,
but your face held none of the expressions
I had come to know as yours
& your whispering voice
did not sound like you anymore.
I had been so long since I last felt this way
so confused and uncertain.
"Te gusta" you asked in that voice that wasn't yours
and I HATED IT
but I just bit my lips.
I hid my face from you & my eyes
and tried to give you what I thought you would like.
I just wanted you to leave
but you kept on and on.
I couldn't tell if you were trying to impress me,
I couldn't understand your face at all
and you hurt me.
Finally
I was sitting up
watching you pull your clothes back on,
the silence was smothering
& suddenly there were no more excuses.
You looked me in my wide, wide eyes
and I could see my own confusion on your face,
while neither of us knew quite what to say.
You
kissed me on the cheek and ran away
and I
kept the handcuffs you dropped in your hurry
as a prize
or maybe just proof
that I had finally grown up.



Your Face 4/Jan/2009


I float through the crowd
seeing everything
and registering almost
nothing at all.
A voice behind me,
someone speaking my public name...
I turn
& my brain freezes the frame
instantaneously.,
like some computer facial recognition program
or casion jackpot.
Your voice
saying the right word
your face & how you move;
it's pulls some mental trigger
ding, ding
DING
Images aligning
random bits of information matching up to
I know you.
I smile
& in my mind
the machine overflows with coins.
I've won again
this secret game I have to play
every time we meet,
and you have not yet realized
that I never remember your face.


To Josh

..> I doubt you even remember me,
eight years is so much time,
an eternity in your three day long memory,
and even I
hadn't thought of you in years.
But today
I met a little boy on the bus
and his eyes were huge and reminded me of yours.
And I felt so sad
that he would never have our memories,
because his stick skinny legs
have never run or played
in the weeds or
picked wild strawberries
to put sugar on and freeze,
like we did that summer.
And I wish I had told you then,
"I think you are so brave
for walking to school all alone."
And that I always thought you were so strong,
for all that you were three years older
and still weighed less than me.
I wonder if you've learned to read yet
and I wish you could read this
(writing is still easier for me than speaking is):
It always felt nice
when we pretended that I could take care of you.
Ironic, isn't it, that you have Down's Syndrome
and are still the wisest person I've ever known.
You knew death before I ever did,
and you felt it deeper then,
over a crushed infant bird,
than I can,
even now.
You were supposed to be innocent and carefree,
more of a child, than any child could be,
you weren't supposed to know such things,
but somehow,
you always ended up teaching me.
You always were so sweet.
And I held that boys hand
for a very long time
and I thought of you
and how very much I miss you, Josh.
..>



Choke

He wanted to kill you that day
he grabbed you by the throat
and kept squeezing after you started turning blue.
I'd always prided myself on protecting you
but I was selfish right then
too scared to breathe or move
too scared that if I tried to do anything
that hed hurt me too.
I remember screaming at mom
make him stop
make him stop
make him stop
but she didnt move until your eyes were huge
and the veins were standing out on your face
and I couldnt breathe with you
watching her pat him saying
stop Angel thats too much
as if until some point
it had been just enough
& I couldnt breathe
when I called 911 and the hung up
becuz all I did was choke
and choke and choke
& you hit him until he let your neck go
and grabbed your arm
and you were growling
let me go
and I called again
and spoke
and oyu broke away and ran and ran and ran
and I was standing there
with the phone in my hands
when he turned to me and asked
what did you do
what did you do
& I couldnt move
when mother said
you'll make something up to tell them
sometimes boys need discipline
* I hated her so much
I couldnt stop shaking
and fell on the ground
and when they came she said nothing
while he lied and lied and lied
and they
and she
told me to go to school
to ride with him so I wouldnt be late
to not be afraid becuz everything was OK
& our mother pushed me to the car and said
Go.



This is just a game, ok?

..> They say it's a sexual deviance
and I think that they are right,
but a taste for pain
was all that stayed
when the memories had gone.

When I was a kid
I learned to play
a very special game
(it's dark)
It was kinda fun
I thought
like telling scary stories after dark
(I can't breath)
a giggling about how scared you were
after the lights were turned back on.
(I'm scared now,
I'm really scared)
But somehow
(that tickles)
the fear
is never quite enough to put you off.

And isn't it strange
how these little meaningless things
can change the rest of your life?
I wonder sometimes
if my 5 year old self
had not come to be sure
that this was how things always were,
maybe as an 11 year old,
rape and fear and pain and hurt
wouldn't have been the only things
I thought I had to know.

I used to tie other kids up
and leave them like that til they begged and cried
and the next day they'd come back
and let me do it to them again.
And isn't it strange
that they would accept it in exchange for my love?

And isn't it funny
how easy it is
to change someone else's life?
I wonder sometimes
if in their minds
pleasure and love
still go hand in hand with pain and fear?

It can't be just me.
(it ITCHES)
I can't be the only one
who hates this smell.
THIS SMELL.
And not remember why.

Do you think maybe
virginity
is like the toy you love as a child
the one you carry around everywhere with you
the one you guard jealously
and only maybe one day
(someday?)
share with your very best friend?
Except you lost it,
under the bed maybe
or on the way to school
and you look and look
and never find it
and oh what a pity it is,
oh it's so sad,
when you realize
that some people who had no right
(To you?
To judge?
To care?)
treasured it even more than you did yourself.

And I refuse to be the only one
looking back from 19
and piecing together a life
in fragments
and nightmares
and half memories
and destroying it
(me)
with medication and razor blades.
Deny (it), deny, deny…
They're lies.
I'm telling myself lies.
I'm such a liar.
And such a b***h
and a whore
and filthy and filthy, so filthy.
Who gets a sickness
and doesn't know from who?
And what does it matter if he hits me,
with his words as much as his fists?
(you deserve this)
Because I deserve this.
(I)
Because this is what I'm worth.

And now?
Now I want you to tie me down.
…

(love me?)
..>





Get off

Blood flows crimson
from the hole in my foot;
incessant,
a river,
it runs.
Staining my skin wiht it's too harsh brilliance.
It looks fake.
Real blood should not be so bright, so clear, so RED
& it doesnt stop coming.
The dried bloodb stains my skin like ink.
It wont come off.
It wont come off at all.
I scrub and scrub and scrub.
It wont come of
or else maybe it just keeps coming?
Does it matter?
I want it to stop.
I want it washed away.
I want it gone.
But there's still blood on my feet
and now I've got it on my hands.



Rambling
..> Look.
Thats me over there.
Watch what I do:
(strangely incomprehensible actions)
a vague realization
that one of my buttons is undone
(or is it?).
My clumsy fingers grasping
at something I refuse
to look done at & see.
Talking laughing and smiling
all the while,
this strange struggle seems somehow
a mockery.
One little button
that seems
to not want
to get into it's hole;
too big when I try to get it in
so small it constantly escapes.
Is this even the right hole, anyway?
A duel:
is one silly little button going to beat ME?
A contest:
let us see who wins...
My,
oh so brilliant
mind
seems strangley disconnected
from these
easily
befuddled fingers.
Vanity.
I know soooooo much
I have no need to watch what I'm doing...
...damn hole is too small...
I'll make it bigger when I get home
...damn button is too big...
I can only get in half of it.
So,
how will I get this damn button in
this damn button hole
without stretching it?
Oh, to HELL with this.
I'll shove it in any way it fits.
Odd euphoria
and a silly sort of pride.
My cheeks still flushed
with rage
at having to do war
on the inanimate.
LOOK at me.
I've finally won.
So,
why do I feel
like such an idiot?