Mary's Story

This was the very first poem I wrote in my very first poetry class in college, 6 years ago. I sat down and wrote it, and edited very little ever since. It is completely simple and yet I have always felt an attachment to it. It wasn't about me, I didn't actually know the circumstances of which the narrator in this poem speaks, but it seemed to all just come to me, like a fiction story that was somehow personal. And a couple of years later, I would play a character who went through these exact circumstances, and this same poem would surface again to help me find her heart. I share it here with you now.

Mary’s Story

So Mary came to me in a dream.
She told me how she lost her virginity.
You wouldn’t believe it unless you heard it.
She lost it to some guy, Doug,
who said she was a pretty girl.

He liked her lips.
She liked the way his hand felt on her cheek.
He said I love you baby.
She said Don’t you tell ok.
And then she was knocked up.
Mary wasn’t allowed to be knocked up you see,
and guess what, she went to
the same Doctor I went to!

But instead of digging into her and yanking it out,
Doctor said,
Mary I’ve got a brilliant idea.
Mary, legs spread open, naked and doped, couldn’t wait to hear this.
Doctor said,
I’m going to make you the mother of a prophet.
I’m going to give you an eternal virginity.
Mary, well she thought this sounded just swell.
But in my dream, just to me,
she confessed that maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all.

See, Doctor didn’t have any brilliant ideas for me.
He just shoved the whole world inside me it seemed,
and then I guess my vagina vomited it all out,
and somewhere in that mess was
my slaughtered baby.

Maybe he could’ve been a prophet too.

Their Story

Inspired by the poem "I Go Back to May 1937" by Sharon Olds, which was quoted in the film "Into the Wild".

They are drinking and laughing.

They are beautiful and stupid.

They are unwrinkled and full of life.

They are horny and blind.

I want to pull her out of there by her hair,

I want to knock him unconscious,

before they make a fatal mistake.

I want to yell No!

I want to tell her, Run away,

he'll hurt you,

he'll never love you.

I want to hold him back, warn him,

Don't do it,

she's not who she seems to be,

in a few years the girl you see in front of you

will be dead

inside the body of a tired, angry mother.

I want to shake her and say Stop!

Be careful!

No matter how many of his shirts you iron,

no matter how many of his children you raise,

you will never have his heart.

I want to kick him away and say Don't!

Watch out!

You'll never get to live the

life you wanted.

You'll never be able to get out.

I want to beg them,

Please, turn away while you still can

You will yell at each other until he goes deaf.

You will raise children in a home of war.

You will cut each other's souls and

kill each other's dreams.

Don't do it, I want to scream,

You are not the people you will become.

But I don't say it.

I let them fall in lust.

Let them turn into animals and suck the blood

from each other's hearts.

Let them age into soldiers fighting on different sides

of the same war.

Let them make their mistakes.

Let me be born of their biggest mistake.

Let them love me too much because they

can not love each other.

Let me learn love in a house of hate.

Let me be the quiet one.

Let me grow to be a story teller.

Let me be the only one who can tell their story.

Inside Boobs

I am 7 and I wonder where our toe-nails come from.

How do we have enough toe nail to last all of our lives?

Sally wonders what's inside boobs.

She and I are the only ones who have to

wear a bra in the fourth grade,

so we talk about boobs

while everyone else wonders about toe nails for a few more years.

One day, Ms. Miller hears us talking about boobs

and we have to go to the principal.

She doesn't understand why we have to talk about boobs

since we taped and wrapped them after the

sixth grade boys tried to steal them.

In seventh grade the other girls get our fourth grade boobs

while we move on to wired bras.

High-school boys want to kiss us and we think we may be popular.

In ninth grade we are changing in the locker room

and a girl gasps, pointing at our breasts.

Everyone stares.

Sally and I look around at all the girls' stone pink breasts,

pointing straight at us.

We look down at our own;

stretch marks sinking into nipples

talking to knees,

our tummies nowhere to be found.

Sally and I swear never to take our bras off again.

But I know Sally has broken her promise

when David tells the whole school about her grandmother tits.

We turn 15 and we want small boobs.

My parents say okay because of my back pains.

Sally's parents don't agree, however.

She is too young.

They prefer she walk around

with bra cuts on her shoulders

and weep like a widow.

Sally cries when she sees my scars,

telling me over and over again that they are

so

so

beautiful.

And she asks me, very quietly,

what, after all,

was inside boobs.

Fairy Tale Lessons

I wrote this poem years ago and have edited it recently. Reading my cousin's blog today inspired me to post it.

Fairy Tale Lessons

there's only one woman who can be the fairest of them all. silly queen; she was already old.

fairy godmothers sometimes forget to tell you to leave something behind for the fella. so when in doubt, leave something that could only fit you. like a shoe.

if you never leave your tower, the love of your life will still find you.

dragons are easy to kill.

if you're kinda chubby you can be a fairy.

mothers are not necessary. in fact, it's best if they die at child-birth.

careers are also not necessary. in fact, it's best not to mention them.

when you're passive and unconscious you look really attractive.

hairy, violent, large men should be tolerated and appreciated. listen to your furniture.

homosexuality does not exist.

the less you talk, the more action you get.

love happens only once and it is instantaneous.

the circle of life means females have babies. it's painful, but hey, hakuna matata.

to be a princess you must be shorter than the prince.

old people don't fall in love.

"do you trust me" is always a trick question.

conclusion:

poor humble gorgeous girls get rich handsome princes to rescue them.

the reason they're so skinny is so the prince can carry them and look strong.

if you're one of those girls, don't try having girlfriends. they get jealous. and jealous women are vicious.