Friday, August 26, 2011

She gets it

Confessions of PMS
So what, I have my period? It’s only the one time of the month my body is so offended by its feminine wiles that it sheds blood tears out of my most sacred hole part. It’s not a big deal or anything, and it’s not like I’m dying! Although a lot of blood pouring out of your body often says otherwise.. like a GUNSHOT, for instance. Who gives a shit that the cramps which fill my human temple most often feel like somebody, say, Jack the Ripper, is stabbing at me like I am some sort of British prostitute. It’s part of womanhood! I should be happy I’m not pregnant, although sex now is the equivalent to cutting me on the supermarket line: as in I’m not HAVING it. I also have this PAD, which is like a diaper for adults who don’t pee themselves. Or this TAMPON, which is like sex without all the fun of rejection, and you can die if you wear it too long! So thank you, upbeat period commercial with girls swimming and scuba diving, thank you for recognizing how joyful and spiritual this time of ladyhood is!

At first, it is only a simple rage. A gnawing anger at the pit of my stomach, one I often mistake for being hungry. I hate people,  I think rationally. In fact, I hate ALL people. I begin to wonder what would happen if I break all the things in my room, or begin to grow large sharp teeth that I could use to chew every soul in a fifty mile ratio to death. I see a smiling baby on the subway. Oh, what do you know of life, you fucking idiot baby? You eat smashed carrots and watch PBS, do you think this is what life is? I see an innocent man reading Catcher in the Rye.  You simpleton! Are you FOURTEEN? This rage is unbridled and consuming. Do not feed it chocolate. I am not your Cathy Comic.

I could totally eat souls, I think. Put a little Nutella on top of that shit and I will simply eat all of the souls possible. I begin to grow stronger at this thought, much like how I think dementors might come into being. Not only is people soul eating delicious sounding, but happy people who can button their shorts easily sounds almost tasty right now. I grow demonic wings when somebody says something to me on gchat like how are you doing? OH so you’re a guy who just HATES that the woman sheds her uterus? OH FINE GUYS ARE SO AFRAID OF PERIODS. You’re not a guy? You’re my mom? This seems futile at the moment. I feel the pits of hell opening up beneath me, and I welcome its demons. I spray a terrifying mist of pain on all who enter my room. Then I begin to cry at some You-Tube video, like an Oprah puppy proposing to its girlfriend on Extreme Home Makeover and there’s a soldier coming home. These tears turn to bloodlust, and I begin to gnaw at my wood floor, begin to feel my body is multiplying in vampiric strength. WHO DARES OPPOSE ME?!!?! I think. But I’m so alone! my heart gently cries. 

Then I find my fridge. Oh, sweet nectar goddess of all that is holy! Come to me, whilst I bury myself in past relationships and the cream cheese on my fingers. I’ve grown double in size, what with the stomach bloating and the breasts that have no milk but look like two swaying buoys in an ocean of anger. I can only gain sustenance by downing Midol pills, which do nothing, and potato chips, which do everything. FEED ME, O LUCIFER OR CHEETOS, OR SOMETHING. I eat a pickle in silence, stewing, and then some hummus.

My skin has broken out. I begin to curl up in pain as the cramps tear my stomach walls and I break out in a cold sweat. Birth yourself now, you demon muscle killers! Let me feel your wrath outside your body! Give me ice cream and let me get emotional over something like not finding my Metro Card in time for the subway! I am not your female  stereotype! I do not want to do something womanly like going shopping now! ALL WILL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR. I will still kick your ass at everything when I am menstruating, and I will probably do it with double the rage. I will go to work. I will function. And I will fuck. you. up. No big!

Seriously, jeez. Periods aren’t that BAD. I don’t know why anybody complains about them! I’m myself! Only MADDER!

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Sunday night prayer

One of my favorite poems.

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
-Rudyard Kipling

Grasping on to hope



Edgar Allan Poe, 1827

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Happy Monday :)

Put up in a place
where it's easy to see
the cryptic admonishment


When you feel how depressingly
slowly you climb,
it's well to remember that
Things Take Time. 


Sunday, August 14, 2011

Only love knows when its ready for love.

I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music.

A man who loves art
Respects the spirit world
And thinks with his heart.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


What am I missing?
What am I seeking?
This feeling is fleeting...
Chasing a rhythm, a precision, something chemically reactive...

Lost in the movement.  Afraid to fail, afraid to wail. 
Arms reaching out for a ship without an oar.
No one to save me i'll swim till im sore
but I won't force my salvation.
I won't swim for shore.
Time will find me and i'll save myself from this empty exploration.

My hearts gone missing lost in a game of damnation
the rules were clear
but the players were never real
luck left me looking for a better ride
facing the same-constant change
nothing left to feel
left over pieces left to arrange.

Dying to find my mind
will I seek a greater vision or find the vision is me.
I am what i'm searching for, it's me I need
It's me I see
Me who smiles when the tears form a blind
and the silence is heard like a gunshot in the night.
I hug myself tight.
A silly lesson must be learned
The teacher is still unclear...
Is it me?  Or is it you?


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Fuck Ups

We’re perfect for each other
mutually self-destructive
I want to have your babies
shipped off to Antarctica
I’d lock us up in a room
with only a bottle of whiskey
and our mouths for shot glasses
The music you write is part country
part razor blades and heroin binges
Makes me want to live in your veins
suck my oxygen through your bubbling gasps
If this were the thirties
I’d be face first in empty pockets
and you would be fit for the cloth straps
but it’s a glorious new millennium
They say we’re rockstars and role models
I think of you when I’m too drunk to think
just fuck ups with locked vaults for hearts
Perfect for each other.

Monday, August 8, 2011

I Don't Remember...

I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."
Copyright by Ash L. Bennett, 2011