Sad Banana Man

He was slumped over against the window of the plane

a sort of sad banana

I sat down in the middle between him and this other man

front row

more leg room

Oh-kay, make that a smoke and whiskey-smelling sad banana

Both men refused to acknowledge me and hogged the armrests

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs

YOU FUCKING IGNORANT ENTITLED WHITE MEN

But I didn’t

I’m white, too, but their whiteness bothered me

Clearly, I have some unresolved rage

But fuck

Seriously?

You each have the outer arm rests

And I’m a pretty slender person

and, hello, a person

Wake up, motherfuckers!

Anyway

Sad whisky banana-man starts to rustle

Now that he’s erect

I notice he’s good-looking in an older rock star kind of way

He has big hands

Long, thick fingers with lots of silver rings on them

He’s real tan

He pushes his sunglasses up and glances over at me for the first time

His eyes on me in that annoyingly intense way when it’s someone you aren’t attracted to

But I couldn’t quite say that, which surprised me

Drink? the stewardess asks

He orders

“Whiskey and coke”

I feel a spark of satisfaction

Like I’m some kind of goddamn detective for knowing what whiskey smells like

I get a water

because I’m better than him

He’s fumbling for a fucking coupon for the longest time

He’s ruining my fantasy

He can’t find it so the nondescript man next to me offers his

They have a little bro moment

The drink arrives and he sips some

“What ya reading?” he asks me

Those fucking eyes

“Junk,” I say.

I’m not interested.

And yet a part of me wants to fuck him because he’s dirty and nasty and inappropriate and men can’t be that way anymore and mostly it’s good

But sometimes it sucks

So he gets a pass

He drinks a little more and nudges me with his shoulder

Smiles

The fucking nerve

He’s gotta be some old rock star with that nerve and those dimples

I look at him directly

“Yes?” I say, sort of amused

I send his energy back to him

That same heated gaze

At this, he looks away

“Pussy” is my immediate thought

Definitely not a rock star

He finishes his drink and invades my space one more time

I let him

I know he’s all bark and no bite

I walk to get my luggage

A tiny bit disappointed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What You Left Behind

Something is missing

That numb feeling in my center

this vibrating out that it does

glazing over my eyes

I know somewhere I must have some feelings

anger and sadness

best guess

but I can’t connect

depressed

are you as tired of that word as I am

fuck I’m so tired of it

I keep going

because I’ve learned by now that that’s what I do

I guess that’s pretty cool

but if I’d given up

I wouldn’t judge myself

or you

I don’t want to live here

but wherever you are

you are

and what a fucking riddle it all is

isn’t it

sometimes I just get sick of playing

so I give up for a little while

I let it take over

the gray cloud

the white noise

sometimes I don’t let it, it just comes

rapist

I put ear plugs in today

inside

because I didn’t want to hear that fucking blower blow one more time

jesus Christ

I don’t feel like I can ever ACT or DECIDE

and when I do

just momentary blips on the radar of life

I want things

and I know things don’t really give you anything

is it all just a head spinning trap

how do we live without answers

how do we fulfill our purpose

the one in the soul that keeps pushing us forward

and yet

that other thing that stops us

every god damn fucking time

your skin will wrinkle if you don’t die

and your eye color will fade and all that will be left

will be what you left behind

 

How many levels of hell are there?

Dante is fucking wrong

I have come to deadened space

Alive only with some kind of empty, disgusting, torturous insanity

A white void of horror

There is no God here

There is no God

I beg to be killed but there is no one to do it

And no instruments for my own use in this white sterile room

So I will starve to death on this bitter, pointless existence

And wake back up in this same room

If only I could be in Hell’s 9th level

This level has no number

 

WAKE THE FUCK UP

war

Stupid fucking people everywhere
You see them out there
Small talking about the weather
They don’t know any better
Rattling on about the latest sale at Marshals
I hear a neighbor’s voice waft into my living room
Cloying and gossipy, “Oh, it’s allllways about HER,” she says so nasally I wonder if her nose is doing the speaking
I get the distinct feeling she’s talking about herself
Just doesn’t know it
I tried to get to my gmail today by pressing the “gm” buttons into my browser
Accidentally took me to female genital mutilation
I guess I pressed the “f”
Women in other places get their clitoris and labia scraped off
Their vaginas sown up
Sometimes without anesthesia
Usually before age 5
They see it as a rite of passage or a sign of purity and honor
I see it as men in fear trying to control women’s power
I see it as the symbol it is – women mutilating their femininity
How long do we suffer blindly?
How long do we fool ourselves to make the shit we eat taste more palatable?
So what kind of poem is this, you wonder?
Where is it going?
I don’t fucking know
People in Ukraine dying and bloodied by government for fighting for rights
In 2014
How are we still this barbaric?
HOW?
There is too much pain in this world
Covered up shoddily by our daily purgings of false importance on Facebook
Or our video game playing addictions – 5 hours a day — or
Anything, really, to take us away from the horrific truth of what is actually going on
All the time
Because we feel helpless
So we hide
Until consciousness again finds us and we are thrust into action
Until we stop asking “how are you” and not giving a fuck about someone’s answer
Until we stop talking about the weather
And start discussing our souls

Gray Field

gray

I am Uh-lone

Lost in a dry, gray field of it  —

Emptiness

Draping over me like a long, invisible cloak from head to toe

Offering nothing

Causing the kind of pain only Nothing can bring

Shocking

A great, dark, Impersonal

Void

One can only scream silently for so long,

alone

I am so totally Uh-lone

Sharp in my sobriety

That the masses lack

Preferring to believe that

“It’s all love and light, baby, love and light”

Bullshit

I don’t know your experience and you do not know mine

I only know that we can try

To understand –

And we’re lucky if we can –

Or find someone who really wants to

Who does not run away shrieking from our carnivorous pain

The way I hypocritically do

I never could relate

To those who haven’t been to hell…

To those who aren’t awake