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crying on the dancefloor
by Lauren Singercan we bottle those seconds,
fill them to the brim
with my bad movie tears and then
cork in?
here we are, clinging to each other
in the middle of all this night time chaos,
quaking and slurring letters into
the napes of our necks, holding so tight,
and all the while thinking,
do not unfasten from me, both of us.
i push you away, reel you back
you bite my lip and i slash my angry hurt
against your tongue, the torrent of dismayed
and needling bursts of teeth against flesh and gripping
hands, clawing and ravaging and needing.
i am terrifed and open,
wide open.
who am i to walk along the balance beam curb,
pushing you away from me and you saying,
"we cannot leave it like this" but i know that
if i look at you, then you'll see
everything.
as soon as you are out of sight
i am hysterical. lost, and asking strangers
"where am i? where do i go?" and the looks on their faces,
as though i've been attacked, as though i am a fiend wanting their money.
the music in the distance,
i dizzy into the crowded bar
frantic for someone familar to explode on.
for all the many hands to pass me around
i cannot find one to hold onto me, and here i am
swaying hips to sleazy sweat and melody
unable to contain myself.
where are you?
head tilted against the passenger-side window
saying over and over to yourself how
you're in love, but not with me,
and wouldn't it be great to know a different time
a different place, where we wouldn't just keep happening
upon each other and ending up so sorry in the morning? 11/07/2010 Posted on 11/07/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 11/08/10 at 01:34 AM This made me cry. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 11/08/10 at 07:30 PM There are a rare handful of poems here which capture the snapshot of ill-timed, ill-fated love perfectly. This is a singular one in a very select, very slim album of them, Lauren. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 11/09/10 at 01:52 PM Unbelievably open as you must be, as all love poems must be, if they are to show the depth and length of desire and need. Nice write lady. |
| Posted by James Zealy on 11/09/10 at 07:06 PM This feels less like love, but fear of exposure of what is most personal, fear that certain someone may see you in the rawness of your uncertainty and not like what they see and in the end its easier to escape than to take the risk and fear of rejection. It feels like the writer wants to love herself and doesn't know quite how. |
| Posted by J. P. Davies on 11/11/10 at 06:17 AM I experienced this poem as I read it. Fantastic story-telling, great imagery. |
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