i find that you're afraid to set things in stone
because you are just as aware as i am,
of just how often, we change our minds.
you can call these cracks or breaks
but in the end, it's all the same.

you know that come the end of a road
it doesn't matter what you said,
it's all about what proof is had.
and the less to incriminate you
on your lies and spoon fed bullshit
the better.


-get real. stones roll like
the sweet nothings did off your tongue
and i remember when that sumbitch
licked up everything i
had to offer.


the cracks are nothing more
than fissures your frustration flow
through. blow that steam or some
other unrepentant asshole, it
matters not to me. you've
already wasted enough time
blowing me off.

'scuse me if you think
the road should bend to your will
or that the destination should
follow some blueprint you conjured
from your fallacy of perfection. i
promised the best i could offer, not
the best you envision. expectations
are all fine and dandy, but reality
rarely has ears and even less sympathy.


and if my best ain't good enough
then so be it.
because waiting around on false prophecies
just isn't my cup of tea.
and although diamonds are forever
that doesn't mean that's how long i'll wait
for you to slap one on my finger.

i've been standing right in front of you
skipping stones across the ocean
contemplating ways i can get you to say
the things i want you too.
you know, i'll grab you by the balls,
which is better than the throat,
if you ever utter words and don't mean them.

you don't ever need to tell me,
"girl, you'll be a woman soon"
because i already am.
but you should know, some woman
shouldn't have to teach you,
some boy, how to be a man

-far be it from me to ever
declare myself either soothsayer
or sage. if i'd have been
prescient or smart, i
wouldn't have bolted
myself into this trap.

and if bling is your
thing, then stare into
the sun for awhile and
see if that burns the
blinders off your
selective eyes.

boy? please, come up with
something resembling a
fucking retort. i was
a man before you even ran
bleeding to the bathroom
after gym class 'cause
you'd "matured".

i'm the motherfucker they write
about in journals stained
with "why me?" tears and
secret "amen, sister"
shoulderdrapes. it's the
same recycled rants about
how he done her wrong.

and you know why they
scribble such nonsense? it's
because they never pay attention.
babygirl, my ass. you want to be
treated like a goddess? cool.
when some specimen blesses my ass,
your temples get ground into
the dust.

few and far-fetched,
the spaces in between the letters
of a bitch's bible gone wrong
are the grandest of canyons.
always echoing and mimicking
and ringing like church bells
far from Sunday service,
just how shallow you are.

they're waiting to swallow you whole
and spit out your bones.
so deep in the dirt
they'll bury themselves alive
turning into fossils,
waiting for some victim
to dig them up,
to dig their own grave.

ruby red lips and sapphire eyes
you won't forget me when i'm gone.
even though you're the one alone.
because i've etched my being
into your brain
by some guiding light


-you were saying?
sorry, i turned my
head to avoid the splatter
of woe. it tends to give me
dry heaves and it's a bitch
to chisel off my skin.

bones. they're buried
no matter where they're
placed. under silt or skin,
my most durable ossifications
are my skull and my spine.
no need to try and chew me
up. they've been cracked
enough by the chorus of
droning petulance coming
from you and your predecessors.

you were precious once,
shone like the glitter of
a thousand-light-year-old
supernova. but you faded
over eons of the stress of
stretching out a scream 'cross
the emptiness. now, you're
but a flicker in an empty,
apathetic blacksky, an
endless supply of desperate
twinkles for a roving, worthy
eye.

and it's time to turn off
the lights.

01/13/2009

Author's Note: thank you Bass.

Posted on 01/13/2009
Copyright © 2024 Nanette Bellman