Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
expectations
are like handcuffs
with no key
leaving you tied
to your bed in a
compromising position
* * *
I want to grunt
and bury my hands
up to the armpits,
sway my hips
and dance my legs
around you
‘til I’m stained,
past possible
to clean.
Then I’ll come again,
blue and billowy
before you,
push my hair
behind one ear,
you sweet young thing.
So scrubbed
and oh so damaged.
Faded stains,
but never clean.
If we could watch life
ticking away in red
countdown numbers,
would we be content
knowing how many ticks
we have left?
Or would we rue each second,
too visibly aware
of how much is already lost?
Would fear overtake us,
gluing our feet to the very spot
on the floor where we stand
staring,
unable to live our lives,
unable to remove our gaze
from the numbers?
Or,
as they tick down
slowly,
one by one,
are we finally fearless,
having witnessed
the face of time?
Dressed in red,
blood still wet
on your wounds,
you are the only color
in this dreary world
of wishes.
Your betrayers
don the black
of sorrow.
A thousand slivers
slide beneath
your laughter.
You’re beautiful
like splinters
of stained glass
seeking solace
in a new religion.
she chances
to see them together
bile
what was once love
rises up
into her throat
she runs away
slipping on deceit
and falls to her death
her heart impaled
on betrayal’s sword
* * *
Love,
my disease
most desperate,
ripped from the vine
like raspberries,
red ripe and squashed
beneath my feet.
Love has me
shattered
into bitty pieces,
has left me smoldering.
Violet dark
and brooding,
love promises
to destroy us all.
Pain deeper
than a stake
through love’s
bitten heart,
so deep
is the river
I might
drown.
Hands join in battle,
friendship,
in love.
Hands move in pairs.
Holy lips bring fire,
burn house down.
Hands touch as lips,
creating great
disturbance.
Armless,
we lose the chance to hug.
In pairs,
we come back.
Alone,
we are fingers.
Together, hands,
joined
to make a difference.
In the tower,
I watch you healing;
it’s a self-served
march to freedom.
Memories, they float
like chocolate,
taste me sweet
inside the mirror.
And I radiate
with power
to the unposed
questions answered,
as the master
turns a cartwheel
to become
the great pretender.
Still the children
won’t forgive me
if you sleep
without your nighty.
Breathing in
the tortured cadence
and I want to take
you with me,
but I’ll stay.
You leave me in pink,
no one to dance with.
My song won’t play anymore.
So beautiful in black,
too close to kiss,
we battle for beauty
leaning into each other,
just to be pretty,
just to be loved.
The party’s over.
I’ve soiled my dress.
Please, won’t you please,
take me home.
you’re just another
fish in the sea
and you look great
in your suit
with the legs
and the abs
and the oh baby
you’re inside me
swimming about
skinny dipping
and the tides are
crashing
teaching me to swim
when all i want to do
is drown
if love is obsession
aren’t we merely rodents
lusting after cheese
* * *
If everybody
loved me
it would be,
well,
odd,
potentially dangerous,
and
would take
all the fun
out of feeling
unwanted
and
invisible.
And who
would want that?
Sniffing about,
nose to air,
it seems almost
proper
to prey upon
the weak,
something deep
in our psyche
guiding us to
quash and
conquer.
If your primal
needs a booster,
there’s nothing
for you here.
I’ll hurt you
if you force
your hand.
Don’t rub
your scent
on me.