Friday, August 1, 2008
and my five inch spike heel
into his groin
at first I saw a flash of surprise
and more pain as he doubled over
i smiled and said
life is short
get over it
and walked out
slamming the door behind me.
I have a confession to make. I write angry poems. Whenever I get really angry at someone, but I can’t really do anything about it, I slam them with poetry. I ram my five inch spike heel into them, I pour coffee on them. I do all kinds of deliciously wicked things to them. It is simply fabulous!
Don’t get me wrong. I am not a violent person. I’ve never really done anything violent in my life. These are just my fantasies that I conjure up into a poem. And the people I write about deserve this. These are people who know how to sexually harass women at work but know how not to get caught. Because there are no witnesses. They know how to play with HR. You are helpless. No one would believe you. Not even your close friends.
It helps me deal with them. For some reason or the other, I can’t really confront them about the issues. So I fantasize about them. The poems are cheesy, corny and utterly void of any literary value. In fact, they take up literary space. But I cling to them. They are my emotional crutches.
I use my muse to vent out. It is cathartic.
Be careful how you treat people. You never know which one is a closet writer. And who will write a tell all novel featuring you.