you tell me about the whistle of the kettle,
the sound becoming an alarm when your mind wishes to sleep.
i’ll tell you of the chafing between my legs,
the feel of it breaking against my sweat,
turning into a shiver
and leaving me wavering between.


i’m sitting in the parking lot next to the local coffee shop,
i’ve got a notebook full of poetry,
poetry i’m thinking i’ll read.
poetry i want to throw in your face.

it’s my own karaoke
with a voice like cement pouring over your mouth
fill it up
fill it til nothing around can be seen;
and i’m in the parking lot
holding my notebook,
holding hands with a knife,
holding it in
keeping it inside
and you can see me
you can see me!
fluffing my hair,
twirling my fingers,
dangling a cigarette
with no lighter
because i’m afraid of fire
because i don’t know how
to light it.

i can hear you giggling
while you pretend to write
while the music is stopped
and the door is closed
and she’s there,
in a towel,
and she’s there,
taking my time

and she’s there
when i’m not.

i am humiliated.

i’ve recorded a message for you
i’ve made a tape of my poetry
i’ve screamed into the microphone
and i’ve broken my lungs.

and i’m walking through another grave
and i’m not stopping for you.

01/20/2010

Author's Note:

it's either a blessing
or a curse
that i can take my life
and break it into pieces
of poetry 
to the point where no
one
knows which lines
are 
real.

Posted on 01/20/2010
Copyright © 2026 Ava Blu

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/20/10 at 10:59 PM
It's that author's note that naturally gives me the most pause. I tend to read your work a few times after the first run, but I think this one may have me looking this one over even more. You've made mention before of how you blend reality and fiction. I really can't think of too many writers who do that better than you. Whatever is real, whatever is fiction and whatever is a baffling, impossible combination of both in the same sentence this is a real breakneck masterpiece. That third stanza is just a real tribute to your mastery of voice and imagery.
Posted by Nanette Bellman on 01/24/10 at 08:16 AM
Gabe has a way of summing up what others think.  Besides that, the author's note is like an extended part of this piece.  You have this insanely brilliant way of using these crazy metaphors and making us believe that they are real.  Fact or fiction, every piece I read of yours I find something in it I relates.  Something pulls at something inside of me....every time I read anything of yours.
Posted by Michael Smith on 01/26/10 at 06:10 AM
This is an awesome tale of spite. I suppose if you're going to bring it, bring it with intensity. I absorbed a state of madness from this. The imagery is extremely vivid to say the least.

I like the combination of the title and the first stanza; I feel like I'm extracting my own meaning. I love the karaoke allusion. My favorite stanza is the 2nd-to-last.

Finally, for reasons I am having difficulty explaining, the author's comment emblazons this work.


Posted by V. Blake on 01/26/10 at 02:52 PM
This is excellent as per usual, Ava. It's bleeding your trademark cynicism, and reads like something out of a film noir. 
Posted by Therese Elaine on 01/26/10 at 06:03 PM
It's a blessing and a curse -to be able to dissect the raw and wounded parts from the parts you keep clean and whole for yourself -that is a gift, a talent and a necessity. We write so that we bleed on pages, and not on those who've hurt us -it's safer that way. This is gorgeous, full-throttle and with the right amount of vengeance to insure that no one underestimates you.