Dana's eJournal

Poems by me, Dana R. Jackson, original not to be duplicated.

"Sylvia Plath"

Dear Sylvia
sometimes the world is cold
and the ordinary becomes frightening
the tragic
becomes mundane
a girl falls down the rabbit hole
quite like Alice
and locks herself inside a crystal palace
the world is topsy turvy
road is curvy
never straight
the world becomes a show
you become life's audience.
a woman loses herself in small moments.
losing sight of the big picture.
the beekeeper becomes the kept
words become inept
and all is never as it seems.

Someone deems your pain a nuisance
a condition of your emotion
an ocean meant for only you to drown in
You wish the weights wouldn't pull you down then
they blame it on your condition
the complacency within you listens.
A man you love is now who you thought he was
behind the peach fuzz
he takes off his mask
and gives you a kiss
Every woman it seems does adore a fascist.
The villagers never liked to pry
and even after you stab it's fat, black heart
the thing just will not die.

It watches while you sleep at night
and eats your sleeping thoughts
it lounges in your tightening throat
and all the words get caught
it mixes with your hate and fear
and turns in on itself
it takes your conscience by the ear
and pulls you to your death.

Do not cry,
Dear Sylvia
I too sit too long in silence
and stare longingly at my wrists
I make myself a new monster
with each new catalyst
I pick apart my problems
and cry along the stairs
I sometimes create problems
when none are even there
I over react
I dramatize
I feel so all alone

Dear Sylvia,
Dear Sylvia
You're not the only one.

I wrote this a couple nights ago, thinking about things.

"evan"

I looked into your eyes and
thought I saw something beautiful
i thought you were fragile
like a butterfly
like if I touched your wings
you wouldn't be able to fly away
i wanted to wrap you up
and protect you from the world
and yourself.

I sat contemplaing things you had done
or said
that rented space in my head
and would not leave
i wanted to build you up into a fortress
to keep the world out
Mommy and Daddy lying stranded in the moat
at least I'd hoped.

I wanted you to be your own person
to be free.
but selfishly I didn't expect your own person
to be a person
without me.

I wrote this that day when you melted down about kissing me with meatloaf breath.

Meatloaf

The sky is crying
And you are sad.
My heart weeps too.
The day is gray
like your eyes
the wind hurls itself against our bodies
we walk along the wet bricks
the broken bit of umbrella hangs down
sadly too
Your face is book-open
like I can see straight through your eyes
and the only thing visible is a glassy, empty sadness
All because you don't like meatloaf
and you don't like Meatloaf kisses
And I don't know how to take it
When you don't like me.

This I wrote the first day after we broke again.

Love is a Machine

There in the back room
a silver thing sits
it scrapes its feet along the wooden floor
approaching slowly it lifts it's head.
I lift mine as well
I feel a tension overwhelm
a bigger feeling swells.
The gears turn in my head,
and in his too
the logical assumption is
there's nothing left to do.

We step back from the moment
entranced in the silence.
Each look we give
each subtle glance
is quietly laced with violence.

There is no love here.
Never was.
Emotion was a wind
it stopped and stayed a little while
and then it turned within
it didn't want to stretch and curl
and wrap us in its arms
it turned us from two living things
and robbed us of our warmth

it made us into silent walls
staring at the sky
it came a while
and stayed a while
and then it had to die.

Posted by dana at February 10, 2003 07:14 PM

Posted by dana at February 13, 2003 10:16 AM