The Parisian Players*


#1 – Comfort

Drew knew it best by the swoop of her neck, like the letter J, and the downing of her breasts as she breathed in sleep; without it beside him, wrapped undeterminably around him, he’d set like stone, with a loss forever of the warmth and wetness of earthen clay.

# 2 – Kiss

It was dripping and oozing like hot fudge, hot marshmallows, hot metal, drying and cooling in seconds when reality and honesty and disillusionment set in, making kissing not as melodious before, but routine and ruthless, welding her to him in forced blessed bliss.

# 3 – Soft

She was soft; she knew that, even before now, before Drew aiming and attacking her vulnerability, making a ring of bruises around her heart that set in like the stained ink of a contract.

# 4 – Pain

 With a forged signature and fake ID, he took off his shirt to allow needle bury dye beneath his skin and spell out her name in the only way, the only form equivalent to what every heartbeat in a day felt like in and out o f her presence.

# 5 – Potatoes

She peeled, boiled, mashed them herself, rolling them in butter and spices to purse his lips and warm his belly therefore his heart—this homemade love vs. the store-bought, overly smooth instantly created kind.


*a note: the word players in teh title does not indeed mean romantically or sexually promiscuous. in fact, it is the term most familiar with actors in a play. so there :p

eta: although, it could be :D

 




Apollo & Athena

His lips slid across my cheek
wet and wet
from tears and spit
tickled me, took my senses
of sight and sound away
till all i sighted, sounded, knew
were those pair of tulips,
pink red rouge,
all I knew were those two lips
stilling me to have my breath

His lips slid down and down
my neck
hurried and wasted
full of what's tasted and wanting
more an' more
killing my realistic paramour:
logic,
I crack and logic is no more.

Fingers
hold me, trinkling my face my
back
my waist and that feeling
is full of chastisement
for what I've done
they run, fingers, through my hair
breaking the rooted threads
so strings falls
and flutter and flap
helpless
in atmosphere
So what he feels is plastered
on my skin
on my lips on my sin
He is spilling everything and
I have to swallow it all
inside between underneath
my subconscious

Fingers fallen, folding, foam
up on my body my beating
my bones
and my nose will hold so
many memories
after this
I know this--we flutter
and float feel eachother
in atmosphere
his lips, they tear and then
my hair
flying flooded
and my senses are mudded
and blinded for a moment
and so I don't see him (do you
see?) I don't see him (see--see--)
turn his eyes upon me,
smiling that exquisite ended
mile of ecstasy that I
help make...
and break
but he is caring less, tearing less
on my sin and my skin
needs this,
told him a thousand ten times
and he crimes that we've committed
in the second, third, twenieth
degree
were made and made and making
them for me,
and me,
me letting lould lucifer's lonely lips slide all
across my cheek.
until his whispering wishing wetted
washing dies whimpering
upon that peak.

11/13/06

7.
honey heart

I want to be a good father. I want to be everything--a good man, a good father, a good husband. I want to get married when it comes. I want to marry you.


I met someone else the Tuesday
he was out of town.
In a bookstore
in the mall
was the cutest light-skinned
boy with freckles and gray eyes.
In the manga section.
I passed him while to
African-American Literature.
Passed him and fell in love
with his afro.

Picked up one of Toni Morrison’s
and went to the desk.
He was there with three
mangas held tight in his
hand.
I smiled and he saw
and I saw he was much
older than I thought.
“Toni Morrison,” he said, his
voice the serenade of a cello,
“she’s good stuff.”
“Manga,” my voice an awed murmur of a pipe.
“That’s cute.”
He laughed softly, smiled softly
at the same time.
“Am I allowed to not act
my age for a while?”
“Yeah,” I gave him, “But just
for a while.”

As for Fate, we
went to sit in the cafe
after paying.
I wanted coffee
and he liked tea.
We talked, he and I
and soon, so soon,
too soon I found my-
self hooked through the
heart by his fluttery
gray eyes,
hooked and caught and pulled
toward those dainty pink
lips of pleasure.
The kissing was the easiest.
The killing of the attraction
stung my honey heart. 

8.
torn butterfly wing

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me at first, pretty girl, when I saw the shirts that smelled like someone else on your bed. I thought my ears were mad with passion when I heard his name escape your lips so innocently when we made love. And I thought my mind had gone away from me when I found the notes scattered in the bathroom. But I saw him with you today, pretty girl. And I think I am crazy.



He went mad with so much
jealousy
when he found out about
Elex.
I cried for him to just listen to me
but he flew about the apartment,
tearing up the memories.
Oh god, oh god.
I was so scared
for Elex. 

9.
hollow be thou way


How could I forgive you, beautiful? I have never been hurt like this. You wearing the scent of another man, loving and laughing and living in his scent // is more than I can bear. Who am I to compare to // when you must not have been // all that happy // anyway.


Lost the baby
lost the baby.
She/he escaped in a sea of blood
that mixed in the bath tub.
The flood had hurt but the baby
was my death.
I watched for days it seemed
she/he float freely among the bubbles
I parted the bubbles and held my
soulless baby.
He/she/me was so small and
hopeless...
...helpless
my baby
Help me.
Drowning, the blood had turned cold.
Sobbing in shivers.
Shaking.
Help my baby.
Somebody.
Drowning was me
in that big sea of dying.
Me.
She/he/me/we, lost in an openness
too small
for air. 

10.
let our tears be married

Forgive me, Beautiful One. Was it I that hurt you and made your sweet petals wither like time? 


He wanted me. 
I wanted Elex.
and his calm-coolness all over me.
Elex, Elex, Elex
will he make me a new one?

When Elex came, I told him
everything--
about earth, the seeds, the fruit
about the father, the baby, the
black red ocean.
I told him the story and he conceived it all.

Elex was careful.
He took hold of my face
and stared deep
with those gray made eyes
he said, “Don’t hide.”
That’s all.
That was all and I began to cry.
Waterfalls and rivers course down my cheeks
but Elex
didn’t
care.
He caught it all
with his pleasurable lips,
drinking in my sorrow, becoming heavy with it.
My tears rain hurricanes of grief and
despair
and Elex
swallowed it all.
And that was when I
woke up, knowing good and well that
Elex
was in love with me.
And because of that,
I cried cried cried
some more.

11.
forgive him forever


Where are you hiding, O Lily among Roses? Where art thou? Let me found you again. Please, let me come to you. 


I let him see me
Did he like what he saw?
The love of someone else
burning deep inside me,
his Earth,
where a new seed had
been planted and the fruit
already trying to bloom.
He fought it hard,
the realization of an
inhumane reality.
He fought for the life
of us in his heart
but he knew as I knew,
knew as sweet and rare
as spring’s snow
that the Earth was no longer his. 

12.
lay, lady, lay


How could I let this happen? Am I to blame? Wasn’t this love enough for you, Beautiful One? Did you really have to shift your plates and leave me standing in the abyss?



Elex was merciful.
He let me say goodbye to
my old love.
Let me say it the unpoetic way.

My old love clung to me,
like the tears upon my lashes
and I clung back afraid for the
first, worst time of it,
afraid that I would come to
need him again.
But then he said a shallow shallow hollow
thing to me,
“Tell me, tell me, tell me you still
love me”
and I woke up, knowing good and well
that the sores of his power had all closed up.

I went back to Elex in the morning,
fresh and young and new.
Elex was careful.
He took my face into his two
ever steady, ready hands
he said, “Don’t hide.”
Don’t hide.
I smile. I didn’t. I won’t.
“I love you,”
I said and he breathed a
wave of appreciation all across
my face. “All right, lovely lady. All right.”


14 August 2006
11:08 pm.

3.
fallen fruit

I can’t wait to see you again. Beautiful you. I miss how your hair was as it flowed between my fingers, but I like how soft and subtle it is now. Hey, Beautiful, let me come down to see you. Now.

What his visits were like--
painful and unplanned
like our child’s birth would be.
Hurting and holding onto hours
hot from our unpoetic passion.

Mixing and dipping into candle’s wax
was the time and I
knew it was late, but how could I tell
his fingers that, his hands,
his lips, tongue inside and out,
how could I say that it
was time for him to go?
I couldn’t, no.

So let him see me
and call me
his Beautiful One.

So let him
bury his seeds inside my Earth
for his delicious fruit to grow.

let him see me
and melt my words
into memories.

4.
he killed the roses

Are you for real? Are you sure? Oh, excusez-moi, mademoiselle. I am supposed to be excited, happy, ecstatic, right? The marriage of our bodies have created something so innocent and pure as life. It is life. God, beautiful girl. We made life.

Dare I call him God?
Such blasphemy seems too deep
a burden now.
Such worship too wayward for
peace now.

It used to be so simple then,
God,
and I was the fool thereof.
I cannot tell you how many times
I crushed my fists into my chest,
crying of how my God took
away this everything, this life.
I cried, I choked, I cursed God.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Did I call him God
and beseeched tohim for me
to be His Goddess?
Should I confess to every
prayer I made to him?
His secrecy and endlessness
baffle me even now,
how to keep something so
insecure inside?

I trusted him with life
and he let it rust with
embitterment.
That old idol of mine.

Had I called him God
and let his silence suffer me?
Had I called him that
to make the storm in me still?
Had I called him God
to make him stay?

5.
rusted regret

Don’t do this. What can I do say...do to keep you here? Don’t do this. I don’t think you understand because if you understood you wouldn’t be scratching out my heart and pouring acid all over it like you have. Don’t, don’t do this.

He used to beg
every time
I grew distant.
So afraid
I’d leave him alone.
He used to say
that he still needed me
and I was a fool
to think
to be wanted
was so much lesser.
I was a fool
who listened.

6.
submission silent

I am in love with you. You want to make it seem so much less when it’s supposed to be more, this love. I have so much love for you. How come you never say anything like that? I want to hear you say it. Tell me you’re in love with me. Say you love me.

I love you,
words made with movements
of mine.
I love you, love you, love you,
does it make sense to lie?
Why do he want so much
how could he “need” so much?
I give him all that I am
that I can
that I send.
I love you, love you , love you
things said without sound,
without words.

I want to be a good father. I want to be everything--a good man, a good father, a good husband. I want to get married when it comes. I want to marry you.

Watching

I
died
today.

You
were
busy
watching.

I
died
today

And         you
were
watching.

I
didn't
make
it
past
falling--

I stumbled
crazily
I
crumbled
carefully--

I didn't
make
it
last
calling

OUT
your
name
YOUR
name
your
NAME,

I let
fall
your
name
for it
to be
Caught.

It wasn't
Caught.
You watched

Me
dying

Limbs
on ground
Eyes
holding
down

ME.

Me.

And
I
believed
I
cried,

Dying
For
You

Now
dead
from you.

Soon.

--Apirl Roshel

I've always wanted to do SLAM poetry. I was always in love with the idea, the passion.

And now I've think I've marred it.

Please. Read to your discontent.

He calls me her name. I call you his name. And you pretend not to care, you pretend as you walk away, anywhere; you pretend as you throw yourself against your bedroom walls; you pretend as you still love me.

My negligence makes you love me still, love me endless, love me more. With every prick you want me more, want it again--this pain--because you believe it holds some sophisticated meaning. Baby. It doesn’t. I’m in love with him. I call you his name.

And his flaw is so like mine, like the grimace in your face, when he says her name while staring deep in my eyes. His shame seems to match mine when he catches, corrects himself, but isn’t it obvious? he is so faraway. His green, blue, brown, grayed eyes graze over when he mentions her (and it’s only her name) when he’s looking at me. He calls me by her name, but his affection doesn’t equal the attention. Does he even notice?

I so wish to conceive so when his lips touch mine so delicately yet determinedly--he has to notice the difference between she and I, the divine line that separates the defined intelligences. I pray he realizes as he gets lost in the folds of our ever bending, dipping bodes, as he melts inside of me over and over again in destruction, that he calls me her name, that he screams for me to be her like...

I scream for you to be him. Everyday, when we’re alone, me and you, one-on-one. I want you to be him, need you to, because the difference in the atmosphere amongst us three is suffocating. And that difference is the only thing that divides you two. I call for you to be him through the punishment of his name, because you are in love with me. You care. You see. You’ll want it, bad, when he will refuse. Oh, I use you, but I don’t mean to. I must be delusional, I must be mental. I’m insane. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you are in love with me.

When I call you his name, when he calls me her name, when I can’t even keep my emotions straight, I see how we are a three-piece puzzle, that has lost the final, missing part.

He calls me her name. I call you his name. And we all pretend not to hear.

He was twelve when I was fifteen, the summer we met. My best friends always tormented me about it, my fling with so young a kid. I’d hated being teased like that about him, especially from them. What did my “friends” know, anyway, about those three, hazy months? They didn’t know that his legs were too long and his eyes too blue. They didn’t that his hair was the sun, shimmering as droplets of cool water sprinkled from the tips. They didn’t know his lips felt like rose petals pressing against mine, tasting like honey. They didn’t know, and I didn’t tell them.

It would have all been kept secret if Taea hadn’t decided to come back from Jamaica two days early.

“Gabrielle?” she’d cried out when she saw us entangled by the lake my hands in his golden hair, flower like lips on my chest, such a sedate moment. I hated her for ruining it, hated her for not just walking away and ignoring the fact that she just caught her best friend engaged in a heathen heaven. I hated her for telling the other girls.

“Christian Daughtry?” Alexis had cringed.

“Gab, he’s, like, thirteen-years-old,” Jackie reminded me. “You can get in serious trouble.”

“Jax, I’m fifteen, not twenty.” I couldn’t believe how closed they were being towards it. I tried everything I could to fix it, to make them just forget. But they wouldn’t have it.

“Child molester.”

“Pedophile.”

“Cradle robber.”

I threatened to harm them bodily if they ever told another soul. This they agreed to, but they never did let me live it down. Pathetically, their spite got the best of me, and I never went near Chris again. I never saw him again, until senior year.

Red/Love/Roses

Love, red like roses erupt
inside me on this 
Springtime eve

as I feel the confidentiality of
your skin surpressing
my loud loneliness, leave
Brilliant, beautiful rubious
red to fill me warm
like greed.

Tying the 
thoughts together in heart,
my head is impeccably
possesed by the power of
penetrating you
probably.

And while lips pressing
prickles me, unbroken 
and 
relentless, the
delicate red, intricate red,
the composite red thickens 
and
flow like painted oceans. 
Knowing
you, I know that you
don't care much about drowing,
love.

(3/13/06)

This love is way too loud.