For More Than Poetry

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Wednesday, February 26, 2014

I Hate You So Much I Had To Write A Poem About It

I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU
there is not enough hate in the world to describe you much I hate you
there are not enough synonyms 
to eloquently narrate my absolute hatred for you 
I hate you so much I can't even be artsy about it
I hate you so much that whenever I do something violent I relate it to you
so much that I should've taken up soccer or rugby or being a pageant mom
I hate you more than I hate my daddy issues
my acne
my nights when my uglier friends get hit on and I'm left alone
you see I hate you so much I get mean
bitchy or whatever
I wish I could feed your dick to some sort of vicious creature
like a starving cat or manatee
scoop out your eyes with a spoon and serve it with ice cream
but somehow make you watch it as I eat it
I HATE YOU 
I HATE YOU PAST CAPS LOCK
BECAUSE IF I WERE CAPS LOCKING THIS POEM
EVERYTHING would be in the RAGE
I hate you more than I hate getting my hair stuck in people's earrings
or mind trapped in the memory of an awkward moment
I hate you more than people talking over me
Or down to me
Talking to me in any stupid direction really
I hate you so much that I'd tell you to take a crap
Because you're so full of shit
Then tell you to eat it
I hate you like the calories in alcohol
sfahsdoighaoisgnisdngiasilgdjasdioasdgjosagjiosdgjohgdsohjgkjldsvlsgdsvsd
Sorry I was just processing my hate for you
With my fists
Now they always tell me to communicate the why
Provide background for my emotions
So here you go
I hate you
Mostly because you once made me care.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

If Stares Could Speak

They’re always talking about how if looks could kill
But I wonder about if stares could speak
I feel your pupils on me
See your head pulled towards my direction
Floating in my peripheral vision
You’ve sealed your lips
Leaving only your eyes open
Since we’re not talking
This is the only way I can decipher what you have to say
Are you looking at my low cut shirt
Or the rips in my facade?
Now that we face separate directions
Are you trying to see eye to eye?
I’ve turned my back on you
Brushed back the wisps of hair dangling in your fingertips
I left you in a pocket of memories
Filed you away
Along with the sets of VCRs I’ve already seen
I know the ending
So I’m not watching you anymore
But as my friends’ eyes collide with yours
While they wall me off from you
The only obstacles in your vision’s path to me
I wonder
What is there left to look at?
Why put an album on repeat
Unless you feel like the song is not over?

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Instead of A Love Poet, I Should've Become A Whore

When I apply for a job
They never take love poet as experience
My position is like every other
but worse
I should've become
a dentist
I’m always shoving fingers into strangers’ mouths
pulling out words
fishing kisses from unflossed teeth
A maid
Dealing in dirty laundry
Sweatshop workers
I understand endless hours
there are no breaks from publishing my diary
moments shift down the assembly line
I’m sleazier than politicians
spewing rhetoric and half truths
paying off my emotions
Love poets are no better than strippers
naked for a crowd
extra personal for views
Drug dealers
trading lives for lines
Why can’t I be a used car salesman
My heart is sloppy seconds
but I sold it go another mile
A stuntman
jumping into old flames
throwing myself under buses
my voice is a professional stand-in
my heart more valuable by the break
I became a freak show
 bending over backwards 
and juggling emotional chainsaws
I was meant to be a surgeon
not the one on the operating table
love poets get no anesthesia
they auto-tune our screams
pulsate pain into music
Being a love poet only ensures is that I’ll starve.
I am starving
hungry for heartbreak
Bellowing to shatter cliches
spend this much time
Fabricating flirtation
Reality leaves your stomach empty
I must be emaciated
Because the world can see my bones
I need to saturate my silhouette with stories
Silence screams beneath my flesh
I live in the spacebar
And can never afford rent.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Possessive

Every time I hold your hand
I feel like I’m touching the universe

I said, walking down the train platform
Our forms shuffling through the night

On it is the residue of every hand you’ve shook
Pencil you’ve held
Door you’ve opened
Sprinkling onto my palms
Every finger that inhabited earth before you
The skin cells of all the creatures
That we share this planet with

He shifted our cupped clench
To the intertwined lacing
He knows I like better

I wonder if kissing works the same way
If you reach for my lips
Will I taste all the girls you’ve held before me?

No.

He told me
Holding my face in his hands

Because kisses exchange more than atoms
I pass through my lips
slivers of my aorta
Memories and moments
Organs I didn’t even know existed
And they decay much faster than skin cells
The shards I donate with each collision
Are only for you

Good.

I whispered

Because I’m not willing to share them
With anyone else.

I Fixed Your Broken Heart

I heard I broke your heart
So I made you a new one
I knitted its veins together
So you’d have a sweater inside your soul
Used guitar strings as sinews
So you could strum along to your own beat
Its lock has multiple holes
So even if you gave away its key
You could still let someone in
I paved a few yellow bricked roads
So it would be easy to follow
Carved some ears so it could listen
Pushed in pens so it could speak
All my pennies were deposited inside its chambers
So you’d be familiar with having a change in it
I took away the blinds so it’d be too afraid to carry secrets
Fed it broccoli so it could grow big and strong
Instead of blood
I filled it with music
Replaced the plasma with streams of consciousness
Poured in laundry detergent
So its motives would be clean
I attached a parachute so it wouldn’t be afraid of falling for something
I lined your heart with garbage bags so it could be hefty strong
Inserted happy meals so you’d be lovin’ it
Within it lies a Harvard diploma to convince you it’s smart
But a degree in meteorology
So it could weather any storm
Inside I stuffed a caterpillar nest
So one day
It’ll be overwhelmed with butterflies
Soaring recklessly through its ventricles
I plastered its walls with dictionary pages
In case it needs to redefine itself
And scarlet pens so it could be rewritten
I’m sorry I broke it before
Shattered it like a mirror that displayed
A reflection I couldn’t bear to face
But maybe this one is better
Maybe, just maybe
this one could love me.

Contact

Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at arielsob@usc.edu.
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!