I hate you
by
Diana Trees
Smashwords Edition
Published by
Diana Trees on Smashwords
I hate you - 10 poems by Diana Trees
Copyright © 2010 by Diana Trees
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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I hate you
I think I'll kill you now,
and keep your skin and bones,
like teeth rattling in my mouth,
until you scream for me to stop
killing you now: death is never sudden.
When you stop to drag it out, drag it down
the streets, and smear asphalt with a wide red
streak: It's you, your ribs spread to catch stones
and hold them. Now, every scream is another joy
of icy jewels rattling loose in my pumpkin grin:
Jack doesn't know shit about how much I hate you.
She called me a rude bitch
I love a bottom with spirit
I want to skin you
in black latex: hang you
above his harsh screams,
spinning and wondering
when I'll bring out the red
of Japanese commitment.
You didn't know? That white boy
has an Asian soul. He would die
for you: wear robes and paint
his face like a Geisha. I think
I'll make him do that too--
below you, crying, just out of reach.
The Goddess you forgot
I remember when you splashed my legs upright,
and plunged your face into waters pure
and thrilling. The chill stimulated
beard growth: It stubbled My cries
of disbelief at your skill in worship.
All growth is me. My arms wove blue
above you and the snake
I'd come love: Did you bring the apple
this time? One day we feasted
on your fear, my wisdom and his
jealousy. Writ large
in blue skies,
he watched, his eyes fire
as I recalled the ancient--
and you crawled. Before another sun,
I was forced to close my legs
because he saw me,
and you were ashamed.
Unfaithful Lover
I am a hydra, spitting eight
in one breath, each one meant
for you. My cave only looks open:
the stones you left are in the bushes
you've forgotten over time.
When you last knew me, I had but one tongue,
not yet the razor honed by our years
together. Now, I know who you've been,
and who you've been with. And so I rise,
waiting for your entry, knowing
what I'll take, and you'll leave behind.
A snake to his breast
I exist beyond the sun-kissed circle of gold
you ring me with each night: long past midnight,
your arms are lead. At dawn you reach
for the ceiling and groan my name. Yet still
you bind me through the dark hours -- a shrew
for your flesh burrowing into your nightmares. Now,
I live outside your tan and gold, outside the life
you wanted from me. Outside that circle, but inside
of you where it hurts to know: I'll never leave you.
A silent man
He had a penis when we started,
but realized it got in the way
of conversation about more
important things than whether
he dressed right or left.
Gradually, he came
to understand his dick
didn't matter as much
as his mouth.
Funeral arrangements for an oxygen thief
When you're finally dead, I'll keep your skull
and bones: one to remember your grin; the rest
to frame the hell you dug into my life.
Your tongue I'll keep sheathed in my heart --
where you left it -- and take it out
only to skin those few who held you dear. In a pickle jar,
your heart, preserved in its own piss: I'll serve it
on special occasions, with toast, cream cheese and hot pepper
jelly. Your last breath I'll give back to the world
you stole it from. The rest I'll burn with Monday's trash.
I have a vagina
you have a wish
A boy thinks it's a cunt that makes a woman
less than he. But women know the truth
of teenage tarts pushing dicks
between their legs. Standing
in front of a mirror, they see the promise
of trinity. A woman never pretends
to have a cock, even when it's yours. She takes it
because she can. and you don't really want it.
In God’s Hands
I am a doll
He dresses me funny
sometimes
and takes my head
for His son
who has nothing
but a poorly made
crown
I don't mind the cow who shares our table
at tea: he keeps his hooves to himself
but the snake wants my womb:
she remembers who she was
before Christ
made her a cock
Under my dolly dress
God's fingers
adjust
my attitude and slip
My being a girl keeps Him aware
of who I was
and who I will be
one day
Now I lie under him
(and Him)
and take cocks
because that's the way
it's supposed to be
My plasticity forgives
(That's what I tell Him
when He asks about His be-all
end-all)
because that's what He wants
to hear beyond murmurings
of snakes and cows
who remind me of my nature
Needle slave
I want to die a colored woman
with a dragon's back and fish's belly,
arms like blue racers, and legs rough
as willows. Let the fingers of my right hand
spell out f.u.c.k. and dip the left
hand in oblivion. Flame my feet, smoke
my face and ring my wrists in gold
and silver. Replace the lazy creator's
flesh with more than a single crayon.
And as I die, use steel hooks to catch me
at shoulders and calves, and suspend my body
from the oak in my front lawn. Let me bleed
into the earth, that when giants come again
they are my children: blue-white as ocean froth;
green swell and leaping; red as firelight.
--end--