Location, Location, Location by Gabriel Gadfly

I could have kissed you
under cherry blossoms,
pale petals drifting down
like the trees wanted to
pretend they could be
snowclouds.


I could have kissed you
in the rain, drenched to
our bones and not even
caring that the skies
opened up above us
and tried to wash us out.


I could have kissed you
in a clearing in the most
secluded woods, with
just the sound of wind
rustling through the leaves
and a few voyeuristic
finches peeping at us.


Instead, I kissed you
in the parking lot of a
Waffle House, just shy
of 2 a.m. in the middle
of a hectic week, with
our waitress grinning
at us from the other
side of the window,
because, honestly,
how could I not?

I have gone out, a possessed witch,   

haunting the black air, braver at night;   

dreaming evil, I have done my hitch   

over the plain houses, light by light:   

lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.   

A woman like that is not a woman, quite.   

I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,   

filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,   

closets, silks, innumerable goods;

fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:   

whining, rearranging the disaligned.

A woman like that is misunderstood.

I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,

waved my nude arms at villages going by,   

learning the last bright routes, survivor   

where your flames still bite my thigh

and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.   

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.   

I have been her kind. 

 

- 'Her Kind' by Anne Sexton

I tend to read through my textbook when I get bored in English classes, and I stumbled upon this poem. I guess it spoke to me. Later in the semester, I had the opportunity to write an essay on any poem in the book, so naturally I chose this one. The essay involved doing a bit of research on the author. I read up on Anne Sexton, which made me read up on Sylvia Plath. These women have tragic stories, but I felt (still feel, but especially then) connected to them. I understood them in a way that scared me but in turn helped me to understand myself. Sometimes, I think people just want to take the things about themselves that are dark and frightening and just tuck them away in a corner of their heart to fester and never resolve. But the only real way that we're able to deal with those parts, come to terms with them, begin to repair them, is to face the ugliness head on.

Jesus Christ | Brand New

Lyrics are basically poetry. This is a particular favorite. I decided to post the lyrics because I'm in a mood for words.

Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face,
the kind you'd find on someone I could save.
If they don't put me away,
it'll be a miracle.
Do you believe you're missing out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
But with nobody in your bed,
the night's hard to get through.

And I will die all alone.
And when I arrive, I won't know anyone.

Well, Jesus Christ, I'm alone again.
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
'Cause this problem's gonna last more than the weekend.
Well, Jesus Christ, I'm not scared to die,
I'm a little bit scared of what comes after.
Do I get the gold chariot?
Do I float through the ceiling?

Do I divide and fall apart?
'Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark.
And this ship went down in sight of land.
And at the gates, does Thomas ask to see my hands?

I know you'll come in the night like a thief,
but I've had some time alone to hone my lying technique.
God, I know you think that I'm someone you can trust,
but I'm scared I'll get scared,
and I swear I'll try to nail you back up.
So do you think that we could work out a sign?
So I know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try?
I know you'll come for the people like me.
But we got wood and nails,
we turn turn out hate in factories.
Yeah, we all got wood and nails,
we turn turn out hate in factories.
Yeah, we all got wood and nails,
and we sleep inside of this machine.