Must Love Freaks

She says that I was born with luck sitting on my hand and charm dancing on the tip of my tongue. “People love you,” she tells me, “they want that… something shining out of you.”

I smile at her, all magic and creepy teeth, wondering if she ever kisses her mirror.

You must love
freakishly wild things
to love me,
caress chaos’ soul
and moan for balance.
.

a wee note…
– Someone told me that she “hated being so weird”, that she wished she was “normal and cool like [me]”, so that people would like her as much as they seemed to like me. No, my Wicked Luvs, I did not laugh hysterically at the thought of anyone thinking me “normal” (I was not offended, either). But I did wonder if the someone in question ever realized that a person who doesn’t like herself will have a rather difficult time getting others to like her.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform. Kerry asked us to link a song to our poem, and I’m linking the song that inspired me to wear my weird as a fiery flag: “Pelo Suelto”, by Gloria Trevi. You can watch the video HERE, and read my translation of the Spanish lyrics HERE.

The socks are a birthday gift from Rommy, and Wicked Green (the frog) is a gift from some of “the coolest old-ass fighters” (their words, not mine) the military has ever produced. 

Readying the Tongue

With your kiss quickening the words in my blood, I disbelieve gone days, when my mind cared not to speak through your lips. I thought you limiting and dominating, manacled by rules and devices that shied Imagination. Then I saw the Muse twisting and gasping and spasming and howling her laughter… birthing feelings with faces I didn’t know could be.

With your kiss quickening the words out of my flesh and bone, I can’t see my days without you… giving shape to the storm and calm, dancing in the pits of my all—

under fire and ice,
hot springs cleanse and soothe the heart…
readying the tongue
to birth poems, the soul needs
stewed living and open minds

.
the wee notes…
– I haven’t loved poetry for very long. If you’ve been reading me for some time, you might remember days when I shouted my hatred of poetry into the world. Now, I think of those outbursts, and I can’t believe they came out of me. Storytelling remains my first love. But poetry has claimed a chunk of my heart that is just as huge. I feel lucky, lucky, lucky…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform).


“Duality”, by Patricia Ariel