I take bullets by mouth.
White and round and oblong and square
Poison.
You want me sterile
Until you decide
What to plant inside me.
I’m just a woman
With hips and lips
And the balls to decide
What to put into my mouth.
Washing down the small white dose is
My ritual cleansing of
Psychopathy and
Your possessive expectations.
And then I breathe
Pure thoughts
Released by these
small bullets of freedom.
LROSE
There once was a girl who went down
To the circus that came into town
She sucked dick for money
And thought, “this tastes funny”
On her knees while she pleasured the clown
LROSE
I’m going away a while,
My body will take my place.
Enjoy yourself.
Don’t be embarrassed,
I won’t be here to see what you’ve done.
No repurcussions
What will you do?
Who will you make me for you?
Now I’ll go and you
Enjoy her. No, really it’s fine.
LRose
Girl on a
Fashion mag
Defined by stillettos and a
Burkin bag
The word celebrity, a
Masquerade
Because she’s only a product
Society made
LRose
I hated opening the body bags
Of infants zipped inside white plastic
My brain would try to protect me
Show my eyes a perfect doll
But there was no safety
When I picked them up
Because no doll
Ever felt
Cold as
Ice
LRose
Love and Hatred
Dance
My chest heaves with thier
Pounding steps
The image clears
I see
Joy and Hatred are the same person
And Apathy another enemy
Fuck
I just can’t process
Clarity passes again
Electronic colors in wave
And the unnatural whir
Of the fireplace insert
I can’t crack this shell without dying
Gauzy wings vibrate,
Norepinephrine’s flight.
Her stinger penetrates,
Norepinephrine’s fight.
Tell you about myself?
What do you want to know?
Look at my instagram
Happy in each photo.
Or do you want statistics?
Name, age, date of birth?
The city I was born in?
Amount I’m worth?
How about some letters
At the end of my name?
Or high school, colleges,
What I became?
Or the juicy ones
That you’ll spread around?
Bipolar Type 2, Pure Obsessive,
Chronically down.
I don’t think you understand.
You can’t SEE me.
You can’t tell who I am,
By my degrees.
Not by email,
Not by text,
Not by picture,
Or what I do next.
I’m not who I was,
Nor who I am now.
Or what you see:
What I allow.
You have to talk to me
You have to learn
You can’t know a person,
It’s something earned.
There is no I AM
I cannot just BE
Bipolar, these obsessions,
They’re part of me.
I’m always changing
I don’t know who I am
I can tell you facts,
But you’ll never understand.
I’ll tell you
What I think you want to hear
Because I know how you think,
I know what you fear.
-LROSE
If want to open her storybook,
You need a saw.
Get your rib spreader and your clamps,
Your scissors perhaps.
Cut her deep
Then grab between her breasts,
Her ribs open like a book.
But if you try to read her,
Try to take a look,
There’s just guts and blood and pills.
Try her eyes
There you will see
Her story waiting.
But you can’t read that either.
-LRose
“Thank you for having us!” My father said. A show of white teeth. He said it was important to be polite.
Even though we didn’t like the food.
When I was 10 I went to a friend’s house for dinner. When my dad picked me up he said, “Did you thank them?”
“Thank you for having me!” I said.
Even though I felt awkward.
When I was 13 I went for a girls sleepover.
“Thank you for having me!” I said.
Even though I didn’t have fun.
When I was 16 I met a boy named Steven. He was so cute, everyone said. We ate dinner with his dad, who swore at his Mom.
“Thank you for having me!” I said.
Even though it made me uncomfortable.
When I was 17 I met a man named Bill. He bought me a margarita I think. I went home too late.
“Thank you for having me.” I said.
Even though I vomited on the sidewalk.
When I was 18 I met a man named Roy. He said he loved me.
“Thank you for having me.” I said.
Even though I said no.
Even
If you cut me open
Midline
Ribs opening like pages on a spine
My organs reveal
You still can’t see all of me
Check out my twitter for micropoetry and misc.
@redelfrose
-LRose
Excited and anticipation are not a morning.
Dry eyes, chapped lips, nausea, and dread.
Sudden awakening, grievance of my loss of unconsciousness
This cycle, is it my meds or my head?
I lose eventually. My heavy marionette moves.
Why does it scare you when I say
I have obsessive suicidal thoughts?
It’s white noise to me now.
An invisible solid interrupted my fall, breaking me.
My painful gasp leaked out, a cartoon bubble.
Icy water enveloped me, my final cocoon.
Shifting obsessions,
fallacy of self control,
the scale controls me.
“But as for the meaning of the poem as a whole, it is not exhausted by explanation, for the meaning is what the poem means to different sensitive readers.”
– T.S.Eliot
I have a polar mind,
But that does not mean two.
My brain’s not half and half.
It’s more a feelings-stew.
-LRose
I Trust too easy.
In elementary school I gave away the brownie mom packed for me, if someone asked.
The kids learned to ask.
In middle school they called me a pushover.
This was my first epiphany.
In college they called me a slut because, I let boys sleep with me.
If they wanted to, why not?
Now I am a nurse, they pay me for my trust.
They trust me because
I trust easily.
A rare saturation.
Cactus spines lined with goblets
Of raindrops.
Strangers in queue.
americandenial 