eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)

                                         the Copernican Principle

you couldn’t pay me to be in middle school again
that time when every awkward moment   
                        every lisped word
     was the center of surgical precision and ridicule
     when the mean girls didn’t like me
     but neither did my friends
             and that was the one that bit

so young
                i was a fixed point
                        with satellite planets mocking my every thing
                the sun and moon unable to break their orbits to save me

      the sun rises and sets
               a spotlight
      the moon whispers words of comfort
               as she fades
                              (night by night)

i struggle through math
                   attempting to ignore “bitch” written on my books
                        whispered repeatedly so teachers’ couldn’t hear
                        whispered to worm its way
                                                                      to my molten

i wish i knew then 
          that the sun and planets do not revolve around the earth
                                                                          around me
                         that aristotle was wrong

copernicus came in and corrected him
we are heliocentric
          the earth’s gravitational pull
                     is not mine to play with
                     is not mine to understand
          but i still try
                     as i rotate and orbit around the sun

the other planets
	(in their own fixed orbits)
                             are not my concern

those girls are no longer near me
	and their hurt is finally fading
i’ve put myself back together
            since those long ago 8th grade days
i’ve fixed my lisp with a tongue piercing
       and i’m surrounded by friends that care

i am no longer aristotle’s earth

     i am the sun

or watch me read it here:
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
It's not mandatory, but if you have a moment you could listen to the song I reference in the following poem. ani difranco's in or out.

			spots and stripes

i was 15 years old, maybe 16
camping for the weekend at Clearwater’s Great Hudson River Revival
	volunteering, freedom to play grown-up, meet new friends,
	and hear new music

we wandered the different stages, secure in our volunteer tee shirts
hearing Pete Seeger tell stories, Sweet Honey in the Rock sing their songs

and then i heard a new voice
	Shira read her blurb and suggested the Ani Difranco set

			we went

we sat on the grass and watched a woman, young, but older than us
play guitar and sing folk music that was more rock
		folk music that centered on her life 
						her politics
	and it made sense

she sang in or out
	while the audience sat and wiggled in dance
		hippie girls twirling in the aisles
“i guess there’s something wrong with me, i guess i don’t fit in”
	the words spoke to me
	i leaned in, listened closer
		watching this woman command a stage
“some days the line i walk turns out to be straight,
	other days the line tends to deviate”

and something began to grow
	a realization slowly building
i bought the cassette tape
	my yellow walkman constantly playing
	ani’s words digesting in my brain

the next year Shira said that she wanted to kiss me
and i was scared, a girl… i declined
	but thought it through
considered bisexuality
	accepted that it existed
		    that women could be attractive
	we danced to in or out 
	singing along, all the words flowing with my blood
				this song
					    a part of me

years later,
	volunteering and camping again
Shira and i kissed
	i think the music made me do it
		that post college kiss started as teens

	and it was lovely

ani difranco influenced my life, my sexuality, and my poetry. thank you, ani, for showing so many of us the way through the dark.

and VOTING time has come upon us... if you like this go vote for me. And go read the work of others!
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
Wonder of wonders, would you believe
words forsake me, they just leave

this could be my final bye
words are slow and make sure my tongue is tied

i want to write an awesome poem
but here i sit, alone

the emotions are just too big
sometimes depression is too hard a hole to dig

like the time i ran out of tears
the just left me there, feeding on my fears

so if this poem is made in time,
please forgive my attempt at rhyme

there is no fun, no barrel of monkeys to enjoy
more like fish in a barrel to shoot as if guns were toys

handed out like candy from strangers
sometimes it is so easy to get lost in a sea of dangers

my advice to you is my plan for me
enjoy life, break your shackles free

Written for

Community only vote here:
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
		the house on lexington avenue

it’s easy to walk
step follows
        step follows
                step follows
                        step follows
well, you get the idea
one foot in front of the other
one foot down after the other
rise over run
it becomes commonplace

there are 17 steps in my staircase
i take them daily
over and over
up and down
bedrooms upstairs 
living quarters down

it’s easy to walk
step up step down
sometimes i run
creating speed when i feel the need to get there sooner
seconds faster 
my feet know the rise over run
the height, when to expect to land on the next stair
it’s a solid experience
                                               unlikely to falter

but i remember staircases, in houses, that were not
i remember the house on lexington avenue
crooked, falling down, creosote leaking 
i tripped and fell, burning my hand on the cast iron potbelly woodstove
blisters searing into my skin, the shape of a seashell
(my mother joked, trying to lighten the mood, 
that my palm would read of water, the ocean)

we lived there for a few years
and i never went into the basement
the stairs were rickety, frightening
i was unsure that they could bear my weight
          unsure that all the steps were accounted for
i was certain that i would come upon the missing stair and fall
                  							and fall
								     and fall
fall until i hit bottom
broken, hurt, unable to climb again
                     unable to call for help as i lay on the damp, dirt floor

my mother says that this house was not meant to be lived in any longer
		(the rent was very reasonable)
it was secluded, her partner had a giant garden down the path
	in summer we practically lived on zucchini and bread alone

but i swore, she swore, the place was haunted
maybe someone else fell, so long ago, missing that stair to the basement
perhaps she fell, alone one day, a delicate ankle twisting as she ventured to the cellar
all her weight catapulting her head over heels until she landed
	neck at an obscene angle, her screams silenced

i believed in ghosts then
i believe i saw her and she haunted my dreams
my yells bringing my mother up the stairs
safely stepping rise over run
she saw wisps as she came into my room
the moon creating rainbows splashing across me
a friendly ghost
                     i believed

we moved on, leaving her behind to the house that scared me
                       leaving her to fend for herself or move on to better places

a quarter century later
                       i have no cellar stairs to frighten me, to worry me
the house is ours, the stairs solid and whole

the house on lexington avenue is no longer
      it was condemned as we moved out
      taken down and rebuilt upon 

i hope she found safety and calm	

You can hear and see me read it at


This has been an entry for LiveJournal Idol Season 9, Topic 2: The Missing Stair. Many more entries at Voting information will be posted here once it is available. VOTING LINK HERE:


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September 2017



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