Message in a Bottle

I wrote this a long time ago for a friend that betrayed me. He and some other unnamed sources stabbed me in the back worse than I can possibly say. It all turned out to be for the best because the life I have now is wonders in comparison to how it used to be, but the hurt I experienced in the last days of my former life is something I can't forget. Even though he burned me deeply, I still think back to the wonderful memories I had with him and know they'll connect us forever. I'm putting this poem on here in the hopes that somehow it might reach him.

For Joey

In a week's time I'll forget your name
I'll forget your face and all of your mannerisms
I'll forget how you stumbled with eyes slit open to the kitchen,
pulling your falling jeans over your exposed hips

I'll forget the way you wore your hat--
pulling your free-falling mane to the nape of your neck
and perched on your forehead like a lurking crow

I'll forget the girl that stood beside you,
so quiet and peaceful in her simplicity.
And how she would stand loyally in one place with you
No matter how dearly she wanted to run

I'll forget the words you used to poison me,
and I'll forget the ones full out outstretched with love even faster

But I won't forget your bedroom floor holding onto me
that kept me from falling off the face of the earth.
Or your hands that held onto my head
to keep it from spiraling out of control from me

And I will never silence the sounds of the crashing
drums and the rippling chimes.
Nor ever unchain the reoccurring memories
that connect you to me.

Just as I am connected to you.

Dream Girl

In another time I would have taken
center stage at the freak show,
My untraceable face masked with
never fading Harlequin make up,
My vision clouded in a haze of
powdery deep violet.

In another time I would not have to try
to lure in the wealthy gentlemen callers.
My immaculate three breasts or sassy second head
would have beckoned the dandy men to break open
the seams binding my legs together tight.

In another time my lips would have been
stained only with the finest red dye.
And each time I took a dainty sip of lavender tea,
I would taste the poison eating away
the last rotten years of my life.

In another time the tightest corset wires
would have cut deep into my sides,
Causing my ribs to bleed delicately,
Causing my voice to sound the sweetest.

And only in another time could any surgeon
take a scalpel to my deformed chest
and slit my perfumed skin apart,
Just to find a carousel of sharp pins and needles
blossoming out from my cushioned heart.

****