the abstract poet

Move on, leave, run away, escape this place… but don’t forget about me, about us, about this town. Always remember where you come from so you can appreciate how far you’ve come.
—  c.j.n.
You claim to love her, inside and out, but the only time you call her beautiful is when it’s 3 in the morning and I’ve already turned you down.
—  girls tell each other everything, c.j.n.

i’m in my prime,
not withering and old.
but i refuse to play
your wicked games any longer.

i know this tether is unbreakable,
but you make me feel like i’m interchangeable.
you drew a target on my heart,
when did this become fatal attraction?

i don’t have the strength,
the energy,
nor the patience
to be held hostage by your love.

so baby please don’t despair
when i say that
i’ve found the courage to
let you go.

you were never meant to be tied down in the first place.

—  believing i could love you was my mistake, c.j.n.
the weedbox

coated in dust
from a thousand joints
sits on the glass table near my bed
which my grandfather made
somehow, magician that he was.
another day of slobbing about,
becoming an expert at youtube,
watching everything on netflix

twice,

bojack’s still good though.
this poem isn’t a patch
of well-tilled earth
intended for growing notes
with which to sustain a family,
it is wilderness, an empty lot
natural and random in its development,
pass by, your kind are never welcome here
where trees huddle together gossiping
and soaring eagles smash
their own eggs on hard rocks
to spite creation,
you will not survive this poem.

take comfort though,

not all planes of existence 
are open to everyone -
the mad eagle and i
would surely die
the moment we step outside
into your realm of the real.

i don’t know what to make of this. i’ve never learned to process your flighty rejections. you push & pull at me like i’m a mislabeled door that you can’t operate & so in my mind there is the possibility that you must covet some guilty hindrance, there are bars between us & i must look especially pretty while begging through the gaps. [insert fetishizing of captivity & denial.] “no” with you has been flexible, elliptic, interrogative, an invitation for contention. “no?” hard limits, “no?” delineation, “no?” rope burns leaving scars on my neck & thighs & arms. “no” means dished out as you like it. “no” means hypothetical positing. “no” translated into spanish is no; in french it is non existent. “no” translated into german is nein which should be harsh but i am a professional anagrammer at heart so really it translates to “nine” as in nine lives as in i have nine chances to hear you say ‘yes’, the word which will absolve & pacify us both in one go. the only certainty i have is that your “no/no?” doesn’t signify “absolutely not” although it would be kinder if it did. because you undressed in my presence & said come on in, the water’s fine! knowing that i wasn’t used to atlantic temperatures. you asked me to live here, you petitioned me into my prerogative because damnit, you love me, but your mouth keeps shaping this dumb word that i always have to rearrange with all my linguistic know-how because your arms say yes, your poems say yes, your friends say yes, your smiles say yes & i can’t fucking process this vacillating recantation, this jarring of gears, this no-but-don’t-go, this no-but-don’t-stay-put

–please try again later. the subscriber you are trying to reach doesn’t have service in limbo.

Borrowed Air || NicolletteNikki

I’ve felt the grooves of your sullen skin. My timid fingers trembled, shaking underneath those jagged edges.
Your foul mouth rough.
Heavy, as you exhaled slowly.

/ Borrowed Air/

Those cold calloused hands felt empty in the close-called embraces.
Your voice, the murmur of a distance catcall.

/Gone Vacant/

In this restless night.
I felt your forlorn bones go quiet.
As if we were strangers.
Colliding again.

Borrowed Air ||NicolletteNikki || 3| 24|

kinesthesia (en garde/en pointe)

watch

here comes the shifting of bones
the material rupture upon meeting
vertebral integration, or snap!
—this is offhand technical
this is contemporary dance

don’t throw the spine out now

adversaries in the middle of the road
(two once-upon-a-time lovers)
ambling toward reconciliation
—is this falling into place?
is this healing our nation?

well?
don’t throw the spine out now
We are walking barefoot on dandelions. No. On eggshells. Cracking ourselves open, letting everyone see we are not hiding. You are pulling my heart apart, untangling all the knots and using it as floss for your teeth, picking out all the words we bite down on. You call my name. No. You whisper the color of my lips.

Softly now, we are gluing eggshells back together, sewing seeds back on dandelions. We are looking for a pair of socks without holes in them, never hiding, but hoping we are not found. Gently now, you are pretending you didn’t slip, tip toeing now, we are trying not to fall in love.
—  Advice from a locked heart (Swallow your key before they find it).