Haikus about men I have slept with: set Ten

XXVII

I went out with him-

(and there you were, so mignon!)

I came home with you.              

VII

Your bach and bordeaux...

I was left with bruises on

my heart and body.                  

XXX

My “high school boyfriend”

But ten years later and much

more fun to sleep with              

dunno

WHERE did all the WORDS go?????????

The Charleston Hotel

We walked through the upset sidewalks of Charleston back to where we had parked the car in front of a large old southern house. My tummy was full of Cotes du Rhone and foie gras. The city wasn’t loud but it was vibrant, with girls in dresses and boys in collared shirts walking up and down the city streets, in and out of bars and restaurants- giggling, arguing, whispering loudly. Your hand felt so big in my hand, and in my flats I was petite beside your tall, lean frame.

At dinner you talked about being a little boy. Do you think you had a lonely childhood? I can imagine you as a little boy, running around the neighborhood, squishing ants and collecting crickets. We went to the same elementary school for one year, but you were a year below me. Do you think we passed in the halls?  I was 7 and you were 6. All I remember about that school is the sprawling cemetery across the grounds, with big, old tombstones engraved with Confederates and their wives. I wrote a story there about Batman that won an award and I read it out over the morning announcements. Did you like my Batman story? Did you pull the onion grass from the ground and stick it under other little girls’ noses?

We held hands as we strolled across the road under the Charleston streetlights. Your legs are long and I had to take quick little steps to keep up. The lights blurred a bit from the wine, and the breeze was cool on our faces. Back at the hotel I quickly got undressed and tossed myself in the huge, white bed. It wasn’t long before I was snoozing away even before taking advantage of a goodnight kiss.

I wonder what your first kiss was like. Did you laugh?

You said you had braces in high school. Were you embarrassed about them? I was. I didn’t smile in pictures for two years.  I don’t guess you were embarrassed. It is hard to see you embarrassed about much. Your face stays calm and easy, your gait and body lack tension and stress. Very, very cool. It is hard to read you most of the time. By comparison I am a disaster. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions all over my face.

When we first got together I was terrified of you. It was the first time in my life I met a man who was kind and mature, caring and secure. It was the first time I met someone stable and open to loving and exploring. I wanted to run so far away from this. And sometimes I still do, almost a year later.

In the morning the sun streamed in through the semi open curtains and the “do not disturb” card lightly slapped against the back of the hotel door. You seemed really far away in the boat of a bed so I curled next to you and kissed your head and neck softly. It was still and calm, and I put my lips next to your ear and whispered “I love you.” It was the first time in ten years and dozens of beds I was sincere. You were still, cool, and silent for a minute. Then, “I love you too” you said, pulling your arms around me and pressing your cheek to my chest.

Maybe American boys aren’t so bad and maybe it is okay to need someone sometimes?

Haikus about men I have slept with: Set Nine

XIX

It was your birthday:

cheesecake, grass, my thighs and your

condo on St Charles  

               

XXIII

I went to your bed

Despite your girlfriend and

my disdain for you?  

               

XXVI

My Belleville sex-pot,

once I had you in my sights:

inevitable!       






(for more of this series, click here or the link on the sidebar)

12

i miss you my lil blog
i'll be back soon
i'm currently being stuffed in the meat grinder, where litigation sausage is made. 
i'll tell you all about it. 


luff xx lucie

grateful

Today I am grateful for you. For the meaning of love currency; it twists my forehead in your shoulder while we embrace-- also, darling, you hang excessively (for a long time). For the discretion [yours], 
your skin as leaves under
  my fingers 
and shovelled -- for the smooth of your ear. 


I am grateful for the calm, your balance, and as well and far beyond my spastic meanings.


 I am grateful for a beautiful mind (yours) and the beauty in your grin. You are the greatest thing that has reached this space in a lot of years and today I (grateful) am for you.

fort.

i want to build the biggest blanket fort in the world
(yet still only five feet long)
and crawl into imagination
with you.

i'll brew the tea if you  fluff the pillows
so they are as soft
as your kisses and hand;

i'll bring the covers, if you
dim the lights and say 'stay, stay if you can.'

lettuce be kind

He may have gone to Middle School with us in 6th grade, but the first time I met him was in 7th grade. He was hard to miss, even in our class of about 350 students. 


I want to make it clear that I was no fashionista in 1995. I was completely unaware of how to dress my (quickly) budding curves. I do remember wearing my fair share of homemade vests, preciously curated by my mother that often helpfully reflected the season. This is the result of having a mother who worked part time at the local fabric store. My pants consisted mostly of hand-me-down Gloria Vanderbilt jeans from my various aunts, and I do recall that little backpacks and loafers had come into style as a result of Clueless. However, despite my hardcore look, to be fashionable in my little middle school at that time you had to rock Tommy Hilfiger tshirts with designer jeans or anything from Abercrombie and Fitch. These duds were paired with white Nike tennis shoes over long white athletic socks. Clearly our town was the center of southern American fashion. 


Regardless it didn't much matter what he wore. In fact, I don't remember at all what he wore. It was probably the same as all the other boys- oversized tshirts and jeans. His name was Jeffrey and he was the most awkward looking person I had ever come across. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was very thin; his thinness was accented by his pale white skin. As he sat in his plastic chair with attached old desk boney knees poked out from under mesh athletic shorts, and boney elbows rested on the vandalized wood of the desktop. I won't say his last name here, but believe me that it was rife with potential for torturous teasing. 


Jeffrey was a little blond boy with constantly ruffled hair. He probably had a cute face but it was covered more than 3/4 of the way by thick, plastic glasses that would slide down his nose. The only part of his face left visible were two thin lips, and when he smiled he revealed a massive set of buck teeth. 


Looking back now it was almost too perfect of a stereotype. I know plenty of nerdy guys today, many of whom rock thick rim glasses and are proud of their anti-fashion stance. But 12 and completely unaware of how the outside world really sees you is when true geeks are born. This poor boy didn't stand a chance against middle school. When he spoke his voice was high and squeaky. He twitched and moved in his chair, constantly uncomfortable. I can only imagine how the boys treated him. I didn't make fun of him, but then again I didn't not make fun of him. 


But the real kicker to this story is when, one day, I don't know how, someone discovered Jeffrey's kryptonite: This boy was afraid of lettuce. 


Got that? This boy was afraid of lettuce. 


It is a mystery to me how someone figured this out, but once it was out the rest of the year became a battle of Jeffrey vs the lettuce wielders. They would pocket the shredded iceberg from the cafeteria and leave it on his chair, sprinkle it in his hair, or tuck it into his backpack. Each time Jeffrey would jump, shriek  and squeal. Sometimes he would shake. We would all laugh and the teacher would yell. Then it would be over, the battle won once again by the iceberg mafia. 


I don't remember seeing Jeffrey at all after that year. He may have finished middle school with us in 8th grade but he wasn't in any of my classes. He didn't go on to the high school where the majority of us were funneled, either. I assumed he had been taken out and home schooled. 


I don't know what got me thinking about Jeffrey. Maybe because my little cousin is in middle school now and his lanky body and metal filled mouth make me giggle. Maybe it is this new campaign that makes bullying the biggest buzzword. Maybe it was my brother's 30th birthday party last weekend that brought me face to face with some people I knew at that time and haven't seen in 10 or more years. But I started thinking about him, and wondering where he had ended up. 


The media tells us what happened to poor Jeffrey. Just look at any teen movie or young adult novel. If popular culture is to be believed Jeffrey has ended up in one of two places:

Jeffrey of 2011 could be a master of technological innovation, rolling in the dough and laughing at the rest of us in this sad economy. Of course he would still be wearing something ridiculous like a leisure suit, but it would be with irony and a firm 'fuck you' to whomever doesn't like it.
On the other hand, Jeffrey of 2011 could have decided, once puberty hit, that he didn't have to live that way anymore. He may have channeled all his anger at 12 year old boys and dentists and lettuce into the gym, where he pumped enough weight to double in size. Of course, this physique would make him irresistible to the ladies. 

The power of the internet can reveal all mysteries. So I typed in his name and let google do the magic. 


The first thing that I found was a facebook page, revealing that Jeffrey still lives near where we went to school. He got a masters in Information Systems at the local college. His picture shows a man with thinning blond hair, and yes, thick glasses. But he looked positively average. He was neither super geek millionaire nor body builder with a chip on his shoulder. It was pretty anti-climactic. I clicked back to the google search to just give one more glance and that is where I found it: a youtube video of Jeffrey added three months ago. 


I opened it to see the inside of an Applebees. Jeffrey strolls up to a microphone connected to a small machine. He is as he was in his facebook picture but we can see his large black Ke$ha t-shirt. He speaks briefly and I immediately hear that old voice from all those years ago. It is so high and peculiar, so difficult to place. He now has no front teeth. His arms still skinny, though now he has a round beer belly above his jeans. He then dives into a passionate rendition of Ke$ha's song "blow" for the captive beer guzzling, mozzarella stick nibbling audience. 

Go, go, go, go insane 

Go insane

Throw some glitter

Make it rain on him

Let me see them Hanes

Let me, let me see them Hanes

I cringed. Who would put this video up online ? I felt immediately like I was again the girl three seats over, seeing all this mockery and keeping my mouth shut. However, it wasn't the same. This video was posted by Jeffrey himself, from an account proudly stating his full real name. 


So I guess that is all that matters, right? So he's still a weirdo. But he's embracing it; it seems like he is getting along just fine. And that is all any of us can really do, right? 

blocked

You know how some people say they can only write when they are sad?
I'm the opposite of that. When I am sad I get a writer's block the size of Wisconsin.
Everything I have written lately is awful. I'm more inspired by blue skies than rain.

Disappointment

saddening situation, letdown
	bitter pill  ; /success.

100 watts

polka dots
to enter the new game
and vegas slots::
whiskey shots with the huguenots;

we're all harlots
wearing apricot
dresses and hats like
a hipster mascot;

suppose i overshot the cosmonaut,
but the summer is over just the same.

repeat repeat

i have short fingers
i have short, bitten nails,


i have wide wide hips and a white, bumpy tummy too. 


my breasts are too large and my eyes are too small,


and my arms are reminiscent of sausages.


But I will paint these nails periwinkle, and use the short fingers to write and to touch, and to love --
i will use my whole body to love, 
and to get love in return. And when i see it with my 


too-small blue eyes, i and only 
i will remember the map tattooed on my skin....

Help Wanted

Seeking highly qualified motivated individual

to work 80-100 hours per week

in a dark cave without access to sunlight or other people,

after 1 month free training!

must be willing to do heavy lifting, some travel (by foot), and sometimes pick up dry cleaning. 

JD or Masters only! 

This is an unpaid internship- only those shortlisted will be contacted. Don't call us. Good luck. 

home is where your heart was

I would like to keep my home in that happy place in my memory- I would like to remember riding my bike to the local library, jumping on the trampoline, walking through the church at high school graduation. It was good here, I swear- I do not even remember the heat or the heartache. I remember just ballet recitals and birthday parties, bike rides and card games, first kisses and kickball.

It is hard to romanticize your home when you are forced back. I do not want those fancy dreams to be tainted by the loss and loneliness I feel here now. I want to keep loving my home forever,

so I better get out of here fast.

haikus about men i have slept with, set eight

XV.

American boys

Want to add a lass, but French

boys share with leur pote.

XXV.

When I needed you

In my heart you were there, and

The playhouse sheets too.  

XXVIII.

Face like a dreamboat

And tall slender build- what a

Let down in the end!

all the evening through

we were supposed
to go see
the film at 
the big mall movie theater,
but your bed was so soft
and your
kisses so hard-
we stayed in your little studio apartment
all the evening through. 

impatience

I am waiting


for my life to begin


to meet my soulmate


for the ultimate inspiration


for that one phone call


for my heart to feel whole


for you to come and pick me up

are you on your way yet?

coming soon...

I have so many stories in my head and heart right now. I just need to write them. Thanks for being there for when I do :)

i miss this place

the personal is the political

My political career

starts 

now, 

shall I give or take? 

To be 28 and

made of modeling clay 

is a 

wonderful gift;

lets hope the 

hands are 

soft and kind. 

quiet

I would
like to
be very
quiet
 with someone. Very quiet.
To take
 a bath, to read
in bed, and to fall
 asleep
 wrapped together
 in a blanket
of quiet.