Archive for the ‘Prose’ Category


 

KYLE

 

It was freshman year of college Kyle

you and me hanging out in your room.

Me crying over the boyfriend

I left behind back home,

you doing the same about your girl.

It was a new city for me, Kyle

and I didn’t have any friends yet really

and I thought that maybe this could be

just that

after you hugged me goodbye

and held on for a little too long.

But it wasn’t until two years later

outside poetry class

when you came up to me

angry

and called me a tease

told me that I had started something

that day that I didn’t finish.

Made me remember

10th grade when Rob told me

the worst thing a girl can do is give

a guy blue balls.

When he said that I started to think I had some kind of power

over boys

a power I needed to be careful with.

Something that could medically cripple them,

I thought of this

as the word

slut

bubbled up out of your mouth

and I realized there is power here

but it does not belong to me, Kyle.


 

Any problems?

Yes, I’m standing at the window

Watching the streets, watching life:

Blue herons, red packets of JPS,

Cobalt blue pills, my closest friends –

Too bad the blind and their dogs,

Too bad the crippled in wheelchairs

Don’t give a damn for this set,

Such a waste of colours!

Oh, fancy that, an old man in green trainers

Is spinning a green windmill, is it hope’s day today?

Heck, no one to ask, Cassandra lost in her thoughts

Wondering ‘are souls for sale?’ while staring

At an empty bottle, the draught is looming,

But no one listens, of course,

Kore shrugs it off, lost in her longing

For those wild white waves

Where she can drown fears and failures,

‘Cept they keep afloat smearing the water –

Plastic is a tough thingy, sister,

Only the fire might dissolve them

But she says no, no, dunno why –

Before I forget, where the heck are you, misery,

Still dragging across the desert

Looking like mad for an oasis?

There, only few miles and you’ll camp in my mind

As soon as the sky flakes out before the screen –

But mind the sins, they’ll cut loose until dawn

And no, don’t ask who gave them flesh, limbs

You must fill, feed, slake, those bodies

Ridden hard and put up wet:

Water, joy, light –

Oh say you can see Pan dancing wild

Among the crowds before the Earth falls silent,

Say you can hear him shouting if my heart

Is game for fun and blast when the shocking moon

Highlights my failures and the blissful lovers –

You can’t, right? Well, neither can I go

All Django Unchained on my earth, my sins,

My heart waiting for the bloody rhythm to quit –

C’mon, God, c’mon border life, we are great pals,

That’s why I so enjoy our jokes, our spats,

That’s why you know I’ve fouled things up

‘Cause I was in love with gardens, dreams

And Jewish blondes –

Only, the writer killed off the lights

After a fast ride on his bike –

Madly in love, I mean, God,

Simple as that, border life –

I kid you not.

 

 

STELA XEGA

Posted: May 5, 2017 in Poetry, Prose
Tags: ,

THE END

Love.
I knew i was in love when sleeping
On your floor 
Was better then sleeping 
In my own bed

I knew i was in love when staying in your arms
Was all i wanted 
and was better then every other place on earth

I knew i was in love when I cried into coffee cups
and kept drinking anyway, 
slept nearly 20 hours a day 
Since last Friday

I held onto the hope of you
tighter than my own sanity

I have felt
pathetic
and wrong
and amazed

I knew i was in love when at nights 
I wish that with my last breath
I’ll exhale  my love for you
And i desperately hoped
It was a cold night
So you could see what you meant to me

I knew i was in love when we were staying 
Together in bed and i wrote
‘ Please don’t leave me ‘ 
With my fingertips on your skin

I knew i was in love when i decided to let you go and I’m happy
That’s the perfect end for a piece of shit  story like this

And now i think i might brutally murder the next person
Who says they love me and leaves

I knew i was in love when you looked at me
In the middle of the night
Rain pouring on our faces, phones constantly ringing 
with pity somehow and said
‘ listen, i have to go, i don’t know what to say ‘ 
And i tiredly answered ‘ Don’t worry i know what we are
And i know what we are not ‘

I knew, i just knew that i wanted it to much 
And you didn’t want it enough 
A basic imbalance

My mom told me once 
‘ stop setting yourself of fire for someone 
Whostays there and watches you burn ‘
I guess mom was right

I knew i was in love when i realised i used to shake 
At the single thought of you loving someone else


 

 

 

MY ANGER

 

 

 

 

I shove my anger in a drawer.

I stroll through fields, wallow in anthemis.

Sun gleams with fresh light.

You can do that when you’re not mad at anything.

 

My anger breathes better when it’s stowed away.

Though it’s far from me, in dark, it doesn’t know that

Underwear and socks, meet the stain on my heart.

Though it makes itself comfortable, it is still anger.

 

My anger is a fire in a cold, cold place.

It kills what comes close, mostly itself.

It becomes nostalgic, hasn’t seen a bruise in years.

 

I return home and let it out.

It joins me in restless sleep.

My body’s tanned a little.

My dreams have claws.

 

 


HEARING HER

She mistook me for

Van Gogh and told

me

I was the only man

she enjoyed having

sex with at work

and

the reason she never

called me was her

phone was lost

it was lucky I came

back

or she would have

never seen me

again

and she would like

to see me again

next weekend would

be good

she said

that would be unreal

I said

and left the brothel

with both ears still

intact.

Update on BoySlut

Posted: May 31, 2014 in Fiction, Flash, Haiku, Poetry, Prose, Stuff

BoySlut is still here, and accepting submissions.  Please see “Submit” page as submissions have changed.


Beginning with “Yellow Daffodils” to “The Great Poets” and nearing the end to “Be Kind. Rewind.”, west coast poet, Mike Meraz has left yet another beautiful and breathless dent in my heart.

Since his last collection of poems from “Writhing & Alive” comes a whole new collection of observational poetry delivering more delicious punch than ever before, accompanied by a remarkable illustration.

“WATCHING IT BURN” houses forty-one modestly written undersized poems ranging from self-absorption to self-awareness to self-appreciation thus allowing readers to understand that poets don’t necessarily have to write in the traditional poetic sense first in order to make a proclamation nor that it has to be lengthy, second. And that writing everyday specifics and anecdotes, and lastly transforming them into great pieces of literary free verse art can be just as purposeful and fulfilling as in Mike Meraz’s latest chapbook.

Right from the start, Mike Meraz’s poetry not only pulls the reader in, his poems keep the reader there, keep’s the reader turning the pages right up until the end. A sure delight and an awe inspiring read, “Watching It Burn” lives up to exactly what it means.

-Devlin De La Chapa
Editor of BoySlut