(a love story)
It’s like my brain is dating me - but it’s complicated.
I was talking to my favorite person the other day.
You might call it an internal monologue.
I really like me,
but I keep me under self-surveillance.
I know me well - we've been intimate.
I rely on myself a lot.
Sure, I've let me down
but I feel me trying.
I feel my pain.
That's metaphorical pain,
I'm in no physical, or existential pain,
my dramas are interior, but the stakes are real.
I carry contradictions,
I’m constantly auditioning for my own approval.
I like my opinions, I understand them.
I'm not a fan of the pug nose, but no ones perfect
- except maybe Ansel Elgort (that man can get it).
My mission, over the next few years,
is to build a usable self
from emotional nonfiction,
a stable self-love,
and my mix of inherited qualities.
.
.
A song for this:
Cameo Lover by Kimbra
babe pink
soft skin
cute small
talc smell
was born
to warm
they win
your heart
no hair
small cap
pug nose
cute toes
bed stir
small stink
loud cry
warm milk
wide-eyed
play time
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Pekingese, long hair, small,
pug nose, and rolling gait.
pup, heartbeat under feet
playful and quite loving
perfect true loyalty
popular companion
prove to be good watchdog.
4/7/2021
Poetry Contest: Pleiades P
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman
with her pug nose, Smidget Puggily smiles.
She's a smiling midget (Smidget) when
she wrinkles up her small pug nose so puggily.
She lets her jolly show right through her then!
Loving all things fun, the Smidget Puggily
has no use for dull things or a frown.
Don't give her news too boring or too tragic.
She really hates it when she's feeling down.
She rides a small bike which she calls a "smike"
into her pretty city with the name
of Cipretty. Folks seeing her call out:
Come see upon her smike this smidget dame!
She waves her hand at everyone she sees
giving them her famous pug-nosed smiles!
She smikes into Cipretty, shops a while,
then smikes home in an hour- thirty miles!
Smidget Puggily has awaiting her
a prettisome geru. After dinner time,
she sits down with her prettisome, who is
her poet's muse, and Smidget writes a rhyme!
March 25, 2019 for Caren Krutsinger's
The Smidget Puggily And Her Prettisome Guru Poetry Contest
My last name sounds Irish
Am I an Irish rose?
I got kinda tirish
Of even my pug nose
Who knows....if anyone will ever guess
what I really am
That is: first generation Ameerican, of Middle Eastern parents
Hmm....speaking Arabic may get me in a real jam....
So I can....sing Danny Boy,
When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'
I look real good in green
And no one Irish was ever mean--
To me.
You see, I love passing for Irish
Just for today, why it's stylish!
Happy St. Patrick's Day, anyway....
Dedicated to Bill Hogan, my old friend who was always there for me.
I paced as the coffee brewed
To one spot Sully stayed glued
"Dad where is my mom?"
She was held in Guam
Because her pug nose was skewed
WE rush to hospital, to the maternity ward : OUR first GRANDSON.
The SON of MY SON, wrapped up in blue : HE is so CUTE.
Pale blue eyes, a little pug nose, small but certainly HANDSOME.
I lift HIM up, hold HIM in my arm, HE is so small; HE is so CUTE.
I look LOVINGLY at HIS Grammy ; She is small, Therefore cute.
I look into my GRANDSON‘S smiling Eyes , HE is so CUTE.
I put my pinky in HIS hand and feel a squeeze; a SMALL SQUEEZE.
IN HIS other hand : The first squeeze, I found was just a Tease.
YOU have a very strong grip, MY Small, CUTE, Little MAN.
WE have ourselves a Southpaw, a very strong LEFT hand.
The sparkle in MY HeartBeats’ eyes, She lovingly holds HER Grandson.
Amongst the stars in the Arizona SKY, gazing upon His face: wondering WHY?
A NEW born: be they Boy or Girl is always born : SMALL and CUTE.
In 15 years the CUTE is gone: the Small replaced BY tall.
The CUTE replaced by Handsome, GRANDMA STILL Beautiful: BEAUTIFUL!
Dedicated TO " MATT "
The moonlight dances across your floor
I stand silently, watching at your door
Sliently creeping towards your bed
Touching lightly the curls upon your head
Your hands clutching that old teddy bear
Should I pull the covers closer, oh do I dare
That beam of light closer still, Oh so near
Touching you softly as you sleep my dear
Butterfly kisses on your little pug nose
Your blond hair like a halo glows
Drifting up your face to your lips
Rosebud lips, silently, quietly it slips
When in the morning you awake
Not a sound did the moonlight make
The day will bring the sunlight in
To dance and play with you again
One last look and then I will go
I love you baby, I love you so
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