September 15, 2005 - 7:04 p.m.
sometimes the edit don't work,
like fingers that skip on the keys and wont stop sliding into locks,
my lips slip open.
breathing hard and heavy,
eyes full of bedroom and pillows and
memories of jumping
i bit my fingers, getting shy
remembering, remembering
i have so many names now
do you still know me
do i know myself?
i wonder sometimes,
but then i know, harder and stronger than ever
because i'm still being this difficult bitch
fragile and wise
poised and so so clumsy with my own heart
offering it to you
offering it up
so you won't notice
my knees shaking
i kill myself, laughing
when i am so myself
and only a few
will see it
can you see me yet?
there was a play, by that title,
directed by a man with a huge superiority complex.
he didn't like my books,
didn't like my critical gaze
but i tied myself in knots, stitches
sewing up my two cents
until my pockets spilled and all there was
was a comic strip
and the main character was you
you didn't like it one bit
the stage, where you're center,
was too bright to hide
sorry, i've never been good
at understatement
