screaming

screaming crowds screaming Thousands thousands standing cheering screaming waving banners, person silent between roaring grey shirt overzealous care sat wondering why

backbone family act I tried you actress part you cared damn you feelings emotions daughter nothing motions think family flash backs kill forget told long cry leave closing more part worry filled backbone family act

door frame doorbell hour magazine door man suit hallway briefcase worn flashed tired smile almost genuine. rambled what wanted selling head dizzy confusing words nonsense sense heard listen door frame steady thoughts down stopped do ask ideology poison slammed face alone frame down

morning I’m alone no one interrupts my senses The food is bad It is loud in here silverware clashing into the washbin by the conveyor belt chaos disarray something is doing something wrong unsettling You can hear it pour rain falling A light rain marbles falling mumblings of a crowd cracking lighter, and quieter The metal clangs a loud echo

senses dry compressed powder a factory how temporary it is It’s destroyed reused a wheat field after a rainstorm wet paper

because this is what we do we arrive to our parties and hour after they start we know full well when we are supposed to be there but we show up late anyway we don’t have any prior engagements but we act like we do and we make sure we’re dressed well, but not too well enough to impress, but not enough to be over-dressed you can’t overdo it you have to look good, you know but not like you tried to and we don’t talk to anyone we don’t know and we make sure our gaze doesn’t wander for too long because we have enough friends and lovers and we don’t need you and as soon as the party is starting to decline we make our way to a bar, bring a few friends with us because we can’t stay in one place too long because we have other places to go we must move on to bigger and better things we must get out of here this is how we keep our friends and this is how we keep our social standing because this is the way it is because this is what we do

before i learned better you’d think that the people that are most like you are perfect for you but if you find someone like that and you’re dating someone like that you’ll see that they now have the same faults as you do except their faults seem so much worse and you want to kill them for the faults you have and you want to crack their head open and see their brains flowing out in the street yeah, i know your mood swings, your hatred your love of life and truth and fairness and art and your anger are all as strong as mine but i’m still going to be hard on you i’m still going to be hard on you for being me before i learned better

can’t answer that one i have a better job than you i have more talent than you i’ve made more money than you i’m attractive i’m funny i’m kind i’m strong i’m intelligent i’m beautiful and i look at what we had and i wonder why i ever tried and why i ever bothered why did i ever put up with you why did i think i needed you why did i let you make me unhappy with all my talent, with all my brains i still can’t answer that one

chances one: here I am you asked me if you have only so many loves in your life and the answer is yes and it’s not because of fate or religion, or chance but the chances are just so thin that you can find someone that you can love, revere, respect someone that always keeps on moving and someone that makes you feel alive just by listening to the things they say, to the way they think that only happens so often, you know so I guess you do only get so many loves, so if you need one, here I am

choices February 14, 1997 don’t hate yourself for the choices you’ve made just make the right choices

didn’t know what it was i wanted you tonight and i wanted to make sure the world knew that i wanted you and it was only because i knew i wanted something and i didn’t know what it was

I have my dreams I don’t even care if you call me anymore because I have my dreams and they make me happier than you

i must believe i’ve never had regrets before i’ve never had any fears before i’ve never been alone before and now i wonder what i’ve done and now i wonder where you’ve gone and now i wonder if i’m dead are you thinking of me right now? can you feel me sliding under your skin an injection coursing down your vein? i must believe you know i’m here

i’m always the one i’m always the one who has to pick up the pieces all i’ve done is wipe your noses and clean your rooms and now i have to clean up my life and i have no one to help me

Married Some women are married to their husbands, cooking them dinners, greeting them with a smile keeping themselves trim, dressing up for when her man walks through that door. Letting him dictate all of her actions. Some women are married to their careers, spending extra time at the office, talking in their spare time about their work. I’ll need to stay late in order to get this client. Her meetings dictate what she behavior. Some women are married to their home, vacuuming the floors, washing the dishes, dusting with a religious intensity. Because this is her one showpiece, this marks her worth, her surroundings dictate her success. Some women are married to their addictions, whether they be sex, or liquor, or pills, cigarettes, soap operas or attention. She keeps searching for what she can attach herself to. She has to attach herself to something.

masquerade you asked me to the masquerade and I willingly complied but I’m tired of wearing that dress for the feathers in my costume won’t stop licking my eyes and you cannot see the tears falling behind my cheek - when you see the price they pay I’m sure you’d come and join the masquerade, you say but the price is too high for I don’t want to wear a mask with you, and I would only hope that I don’t have to

anyone good enough i used to think that i was no good that i was worthless that i meant nothing and then i got a good job and then i got me a ton of money and then i looked in the mirror and i realized i was gorgeous and people laughed at my jokes and people thought i was talented and strong and now i look around me and i can’t find anyone good enough and i wonder if i expect too much but i know for a fact that i deserve more

death is a dog Death is an untrained little bitch it pees on the carpet and barks through the night and it’s always begging for scraps at the table seeing what it can take from you when you’ve got your back turned when you’re not looking when you want it to heal, well, it never does and it never rolls over and it never plays dead I know what it takes to die it’s not an emotional, rash decision it’s cold it’s calculated it’s a numbing void but one day it suddenly all makes sense and from that moment on you either look for it or it looks for you Death is an untrained little bitch and I’ve been begging for it, I tell you but it doesn’t come when you call I leave a bowl of water out and a bowl of dried dog food and you know, I never see it eating but when I check the bowl is empty and I still refill the bowl and vacuum the dog hair that sticks to the couch and spray air freshener in the living room because no matter how hard you try you can never get rid of the smell Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you and what it boils down to is this: you won’t get along with her and she won’t get along with you she’ll claim her territory under the bed, eating your slipper, while you try to sleep and remind yourself that there are no monsters waiting for you to shut your eyes

Death takes many forms. It is winter now. The trees have lost their leaves; the city is covered in a thin layer of soot and snow. The grass is dead. In the sunless sky black birds circle overhead searching for prey. An eerie cold settles over everything. Nothing is growing anymore. Death takes many forms. For you, death first came when you were five years old and your mother had to give you three shots of insulin a day until you could take a needle to yourself. Did it hurt to push that needle into your arm, the first time? Or did it hurt you more to know you had no choice? Death takes many forms. Death can be someone telling you without trying that they are losing their sight. Behind coke-bottle glasses you would see me and say, “That’s a nice black suit you’re wearing.” And I would tell you, “It’s green.” And you wouldn’t believe me. You wouldn’t hear the howling wind of the changing seasons. Death takes many forms. I know what follows the autumn wind. It is winter now. Do you remember when it happened? The changes are subtle, the temperature drops, first only slightly. It’s almost imperceptible. Only when the first snow falls do you realize where the seasons have gone. Death takes many forms. Death can be a sweat-soaked shirt, the shakes, dizziness when you needed food. You would look as pale as a ghost as I would hold your cold wet arm and steady you. Quick, some sugar will make everything better. Isn’t everything better yet? Death takes many forms. The signs of death can come when you lose your circulation. “My feet are numb, Janet,” you’d say. “I can’t feel my feet anymore.” And I would rub your feet for you, and you would say it makes a difference, you feel better. If only I could do this forever. Death takes many forms. I said good bye to you to travel my own road but I didn’t think it was the last good bye. How was I to know? When I left, I knew you didn’t want me to go. And now it’s my turn. Why are we always saying good bye to each other? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? Because if you are, well, I’ve learned it. Trust me, I have. You can come back now. Death takes many forms. And now, now it seems you’ve taken me down with you you’ve taken me into that casket with you and I’m running my hand along your jacket lapel and I can feel the coldness of winter all around me and I can hear them shoveling the dirt over my head and I want to get out and I want to take you with me. Death takes many forms. Death can be that hole you left, you know, right over here, just a little to the left. I keep wondering when the pain will go away. When will everything be better. You once showed me that winter could be beautiful. Instead of the dark and dirty snow lacing the city streets you showed me a quieting snowfall, over a lake at your parent’s back yard glistening in an untouched whiteness. I told you I hated winters and you told me, “This you don’t hate.” Well, I’m still learning. It is winter now. And death takes many forms. The seasons change for you and I. It is snowing. And something is ending. It is snowing. Somewhere it is snowing.

fantastic car crash and our life is one big road trip now and we set the cruise control and make our way down the expressway. and most of the time we’re just moving in a straight line, and the scenery blurs. there’s nothing to see but I know what’s inside you and I know what you’re made of. I know there’s no such thing as a calm with you you are a fantastic car crash. you stop traffic in both directions as the gapers gawk and the delay grows and they slow down and stare everything shatters with you, you know. it’s a spectacular explosion. I try to duck and cover as metal flies through the air. and every time you leave the scene of the accident I am left picking up the shards of glass from the windows. you know, the glass breaks into such tiny little pieces. they look like ice. it takes so long to pick up the pieces even though I’m careful I’m still picking up the pieces and I’m still on my knees and the glass cuts into my hands and the blood drips down to the street. think of it as my contribution to this fantastic car crash that is you, that is me, that is us as I pull the glass from my hands and I wave my hand to the line of traffic: go ahead, keep driving, this happens all the time, there’s nothing to see here

I Dreamt About You Last Night ”I dreamt about you last night and I fell out of bed twice you can pin and mount me like a butterfly” - Steven M. I dreamt about you last night. I called you on the phone even though you passed away over four weeks ago now. I don’t know why I called, I don’t know what I was hoping for, but when you answered your phone I said, “Dave?” You said, “Yes.” And I asked, “How are you?” You said, “Fine.” And I asked, “You’re not dead?” You said, “No.” “But I just told someone you passed away a month ago.” “Oh,” you said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” And you sounded so - so relaxed. So peaceful. They say that dreams are your chance to think over the things unresolved from your day. And I keep dreaming about you. Don’t I think about you enough? You’re the one that left me. Why are you coming back, at night, when I let my defenses down, slipping in through my window and working your way into my dreams? I dreamt about you last night. We were sitting together, about to go out for the evening. You were wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. We were running late, and you were angry. “I wanted to wear this, but I wanted to put more black on - I wanted to wear my black vest and my black jacket.” You know, I thought it was always funny, how much you cared about the clothes you wore. So I said, “But Dave, you look fantastic in your jeans and t-shirt.” And you smiled at me and kissed me. I wish I could have told you more in life how good you looked. I’m sorry, Dave. I’m so sorry. I wish in life I could have told you the things you wanted to hear. I saw you today. You were in a black car and you were wearing dark sunglasses. He could have been you, if I closed my eyes and squinted just slightly. You pulled up in the lane next to me as I was driving to my sister’s house. You were about to turn right and I watched you look at the oncoming traffic, waiting for your chance to leave me again. Let me think that it was you, driving, living. Let me think that you’re just ignoring me. Then I can be angry with you. I dreamt about you last night. I was on a cruise ship, and you were working as a waiter. You wore one of those silly short jackets for your uniform. It was a sea blue. And every time I thought I saw you you would turn away to do your job. All I ever caught were fleeting glimpses of you, walking away. All I keep thinking is that my days are finally free of you but they’re not. I keep thinking of you. And it isn’t enough. I still can’t escape you at night.

I’m not sick but I’m not well I’m not sick but I’m not well and I’m sure there’s something I can do about this I’ve popped the aspirin the tylenol the ibuprofen the codine the prozac the sleeping pills and that thermometer is down my throat and I’m gagging I’m not sick but I’m not well the doctors find nothing wrong with me and believe me, they’ve taken the x-rays they’ve striped me down and made me wear one of those awful paper robes and they’ve felt me up and checked me out and found what they were looking for but didn’t find anything I was looking for I’m not sick but I’m not well and I can’t help but think that everything I’m doing to make things better might only be making things worse so I don’t want to listen to what you have to say anymore and I want this IV out of my arm and I want this oxygen tube out from my nose and I want this suppository out of my ass and I want you to get that scalpel away from me because I want everything I’ve got I’m not sick but I’m not well and they want me if they can keep me in line and they want me if they can cut me open and take out my insides and suck out the fat and suck out the life and make me generic and make me dependent make me unreal make me not whole and i’ve walked that line with all you doctors and I want all my parts back and I want to be healthy no, I’m not sick and maybe I’m not well but you’re only making me worse I don’t have the answers but neither do you so instead of tearing me apart and dissecting me and studying the bones let me just stay together for a while until I figure it all out

springtime. (with c.m.) i feel the cool breeze as the condensation of night falls on my lips as the days grow longer and i feel the excitement of your eternal kiss my senses are heightened. is it this night? is it your touch? is it your voice that shouts reason in the face of love for a question of lust by the tree on the hill? i know what follows springtime; the heat of winter, the cooling of fall, the desolation of winter. is this forbidden isolation all that is left amidst the terror of loss? does the tulip get tired of dying when the seasons change? are we meant to die too? is this meant to die too? the changing tides of reason forbid us to see the true path of destiny. we are blindfolded by what we think is truth, and follow our own path to destruction. if things don’t grow, they die. this is the lesson we learn as children, this is the lesson of the daffodils and the lillies of the valley and the jonquils. and so it is with you and i. the true path of learning comes after death, when you and i are together again.

Copyright Janet Kuypers. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission.

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