...

Eulogy

The door is closed and so are you

when siren spite has made its move.

To a dying family member...

Jasmine

I.

fear is universal

i'll take it

fear is universal

i'll take mine and double it

so you can leave

and finally fall asleep

.

.

.

.

.

II.

say hi to the wonder

say hi to the calmer

say hi to the creator

(say hi to your lovers from the clouds)

.

.

.

.

.

III.

oh, my beautiful little baby

forever wrapped in my arms

this poem has no end

because neither do you

.

.

.

.

.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

Giddy

I just got one of my poems published in Diminuendo, a literary magazine out of Loyola University in Chicago. I'm so psyched and happy that I took a risk by submitting my work. My poem will be in Issue 1...more details to follow. :)

Dedications

To a far-off beauty-seeker...

Voyager

Walk out
.
.
.
I creamed the wall poetry,
deep throated the oven
until our breasts charred.
Fresh and dead! {you were always meant to be}
Sun came
and so did I
Walk out with me

(hasty)

Dare

Curled mouth

speak

this

phras
es
s

(he took out the trash)

The seeker has


sought

and her scribbled eyes...

does she dare a connection?

Con-
nec-
ted
by
mouth
words
from
brain
words
from
life
words
from
two
worlds
in
one
word
it's
pause.

Sway with blip.blip.

world stops.

silence.

To a prisoner...

DpUck.

Why the pucker,

little prisoner?

I pressed together

tiny wrinkles

when my chin was too long

and my stomach was too stout.

What is your excuse?

Kitch-en knives, course hair, a face with too many potholes.

Kill "too,"

Dead!

Describe.

Delight.

Deserve.

{Leave it to the lipsticked wolves to pull a girl apart}.

Influence?

With more and more people sending me feedback on my poems, I feel some pressure to "pre-screen" everything I post here. I CANNOT do that...it would take away from the purpose of this blog. Let me state my purpose here, in order for me not to stray from it:

"This blog is a direct reflection of my personal and poetic voices. It includes rants, stories, thoughts, quotes, rough drafts, and completed poetry pieces. The good, the bad, the ugly, the strange, the 'unfitting'- all belong in this blog. The Giant Bunny Rabbit is me, not some image I try to create of myself. What this blog conveys is beyond my decisions to include or not include any of my writing pieces- once I 'self-publish,' the fate of this writing is in the reader's hands."

With that said, here is some new work sans screening:

Written surrounded by people in a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint...

blips

I.

awkward noise is worse than awkward silence i never thought that children could leave happily and still visit their parents twice a week that whack-a-mole can break of course

II.

sounds clog my cerebral pores but my coronary still waits

III.

pile of sitting intentions fucked attention to try stare at the end too much of myself enemy of the worst me wrists tend to squeeze fucked goodbye humiliation salutes

IV.

defined beauty aside i whimper cuz thats all ive got left

V.

stop fond el ing something that was never yours

VI.

smoke cigs like a maniac clowner but somehow my fingertips speak louder

obsessject

my hands are shaking but i know im not caffeinated open wounds are always hungry for a blank napkin goddamn obsessions you kill me

NO

youve kidnapped me and

r a p e d m e

with a reject childrens toy

drips

drips

a moment of silence for the cracking

.

.

.

how dare you deflower my iron wall my assurance my sanity i just finished building it yesterday you better pay in brownie points and careless whistles a pint of ice cream would suffice i guess

{it melts though}

WARNING: The following poem is extremely graphic in nature. I put this warning out there so I can shield people from my own depravity. Isn't a warning a judgment? A wall? A shelter? Read on...for me, my personal voice (a rare request). We hear and see and feel and what we don't want to hear and see and feel everyday. Here's one of those moments, but know that we are reading it together. Please read it with me...together. I'm tired of hearing and reading this all alone. I selfishly request that you enter my private horrors for 15 seconds...that's all, I promise.

Blip

.

.

.

Blip Fizzz

.

.

.

Ra

dio

ra

dio

.

.

.

Copy copy?

Coming again

.

.

.

I listen at my own expense

every

ten

minutes

The devil's typist

KEEP THE ORDER

{Your mother sucks cocks in Hell.

Help me!

Dying is the pain of puberty.

Drip death blood

Blood everyw-

Listen, you BASTARD!

I borrow lines from the

sacred ones.

Piss it out, bitch.

You know what's coming to ya.

Bathtub torture

Electrodes

Electrify

Spit blood

Feel porcelain go black

to the night

in a push-pull rack.}

I am in literally in tears from the pain of writing this. Those of you who know me know it's root.

Last ones...

These are some of the final edits for my first poetry collection, Voices. I couldn't include the artwork from my collection on here for obvious reasons. Let me know if you would like to see it and I can send you pictures.

Magnets

{heaven wide}

purple skies

feel magnetic

i lay next to purgatory

a negative

mixed in a blender

of rampant touches

with other {positives}

and unfounded {intimacy}

is this really it?

you {sizzle} to char

what should this be?

thoughts of flight

just take me to the winds of polyamoury

surprise me with a kite

(or maybe a conch shell).

Cigarettes

{}{}{}{}{}{}

{}{}{}{}{}{}

{}{b}{}{}{}

{a}{}{}{}

{}{}{a}{}

{}{}{n}{g}{}

{}{b}{a}{}

{}{n}{g}{g}{}

Bang, bang, bang

On the window glass.

Come save me-

I need cigarettes.

Everyone itches here.

Nobody works here.

We are all broken toys,

And they are

The children

Trying to put us

Back together

With Elmer’s glue.

We

Are still broken.

We

Are still broken.

We

Are still broken.

Hop

On the Merry-Go-Round.

Feed

Us meds, meds, meds,

Tell your

Feedings to be quiet.

Let us

Teach you common-sense.

But

Remember, it’s quiet time

Come

Save me, I need cigarettes

Your paper degrees

Cannot win me sanity.

e.e.

dan

ces

w

ith{n

o}y

e

s.

sug

pl

ums

n

ot

{n

o}y

es

st

ar

leaf.

Untitled

Sunnyside down.

Same taste, but the egg’s no good.

The Wave

Ignorance rises above me with snide remarks.

He was a false promise that I begged to leave,

but now I am cornered sludge; abandon ship!

Find me buried alive in the ocean’s core.

I used to think ignorance was a diseased wave

in a bountiful sea of new discoveries clear of debris.

Only a swimmer with eyes

could duck under the perpetual splash and discover the golden treasures of the abstract. Now, I call myself a dirty liar. A wave is happy and joyous because he can float above the treacherous sea,

away from harm, drenched in movement.

The swimmer, however, follows

her eyes with curiosity,

and is torn by the truthful sharks

and merciless currents. As a wave I would be blissful again, an unaware floater, but I found my eyes once and now they are permanent. Reality is forever embedded in my cracked and mangled spine. Goodbye, lies.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

I drown in truth.

And a poem from Michigan I forgot...

The Passenger’s Regrets

Sea grasp

In

the

panhandled

dark.

Grab that starfish,

That SPITE

of

the

(sand) .

Take HIM

and

you’ll

takeme.

Always

(Always)

a

fo

o

lish

one.

R U N N I N G

in place.

Wi

th

myhands

pointingto

the

ground.

More...

Written within 15 minutes during a meeting...

Poem #2

Good

            bye

                        love.

                                    I’ll

                        be

            sitting

in

            the

                        sun,

                                    bringing

                        your

            truth

to

            light.

 

 

See

Eyes drenched

{Dead}

 

No

 

Breathing…

Dead Eyes

stop speaking.

 

Read will

through my red spiders.

 

(I’m hiding, but you see me.)

 

Bitch

Cla

            awe.

Animal flesh

Bloodied grit

with distasteful fingertips.

I’ll eat you, bitch.

 

Bitch.

 

Bitch.

 

It hits my teeth like a sizzling coal.

I pull my coat over my fear

and put forth a shaky hand.

I’ll be your

 

Bitch.

 

Bitch.

 

Until he cla

                        awes out my damned compliance,

,

,

,

(I’m waiting)

 

Two Cries

Burnt skies in the window brush. She falls downhill into that sucker balm. “I give up,” she cries with each, rigid tumble. My body belongs to the beat of a monster with four teeth. Pull me out. Out. From my limbs his fist my frost his bite. I’m limp. Limp. Carried along in thunder clouds.