Poetry is a Temporary Stay Against Confusion

Words that drench you, bury you in what you wish you'd thought to say, slink and slide and swagger into your eyes and ears and make you want more.

from Arjuna's first book Better Read Aloud or the upcoming book, The Hell Where I'm Going. all poems are copyrighted, so feel free to quote, but give credit. don't mess with texas. or, um, don't screw with massatwotits.

Barbie Doll
8.6.96

I'm so damn lucky.
Part of my body corresponds
to that heaven-sent diva of popular culture:
Barbie.
Do I have her long, slender legs?
Her tiny, coveted waist?
Her silken/shiny tresses,
violet eyes and perfect smile?
Or perhaps her awe-inspiring
torpedo-like tits?
No, I am blessed with Barbie feet,
tiny and peranently formed into surprised arches
worthy of bright red stilettos
yet still unable to stand in such shoes
without support - a plastic display stand, a steady arm.
But if I fall, I fall on an ass
with a real crack, and well-proportioned breasts
complete with nipples, sway from the imapct
and my bendable, spreadable arms fly up in helpless power.

Ambidextrous
3.98

she asked me, are you butch, or are you femme?
i said i'm a woman, a bi lesbian
a dyke, a byke, or just plain queer
i don't even know what i'll be next year

my hair is long, my words are brave
my underarms forests - except when i shave
my spirit is towering, my height a bit less
i wear jeans or overalls - except when i wear a dress

when i was a kid i played with dolls & stuffed toys
but i also dug in the sand with the boys
i was the only girl in my class who liked worms and snakes
i skipped over rocks and dove into lakes
i picked out the ones in my class who were fakes
and my teachers always said i was making mistakes

i just didn't get what was such the big deal
i wasn't about to fall down and kneel
to some dictator feeding me how to feel
with a feast of empty calorie meals
unsatisfied with the part i was given
i'm writing my own script, the story i'm livin'
transcending the role of the virgin whore
cuz it's too much fun to be so much more
to not have to choose in this limited world
between holding a boy or kissing a girl

i'm ambidextrous cuz i wanted to be
i'm ambidextrous cuz we all got beauty
i'm a woman who does what isn't allowed
i refuse to be quiet, i'd rather be loud
i won't cover my face with a dutiful shroud
and i won't be ashamed, cuz i'd rather be proud

it's easy, i know, for most to flee
and think in stupid dichotomies
they ask me which is which and who is who
and what, exactly, do you do?
they seek the man and the woman to which they're used
i just say, we're lesbians, not confused

she sat there, amazed by my strange position
a bit taken aback by my abolition
of every limit i can possibly change
to stretch my heart and expand my range
but while it was clear she still craved definitions
labels from webster's and easy volitions
her very next question filled me with hope
that maybe she truly could learn how to cope
with a person that colors outside of the lines
who writes their own rulebook and paints their own signs

after a bit of consideration
she spoke a piece of illumination
so, you don't have to pick just one or the other -
to dress like your sister or act like your brother

i smiled wide at her revelation
her disconcerted exhalation
i saw her look a bit less pained
when i most carefully explained
my interest lies in the combination
of politics and good vibrations

i don't get why it's so hard to see
the yin and yang that dwell in me
masculine, feminine, undefined
all negotiate balance within my mind
the same i seek with women and men -
the lovers and family and strangers and friends
who fill my world continuously
with the wonder of possibility

wake-up call
Spring 2001

this whole cuntry is suffering from ADD
can't take four weeks to figure out the next four years
is it fear? is it politics?
i think it's lack of attention span
can't spend too much time focusing on the man
cuz we might miss "who wants to be a millionaire?"
it's not fair, it's not even a question
it's a statement in question form
a norm we got used to with "JEOPARDY!"
which isn't even a game show, it's a state that we're all in

this whole world is suffering from GID
is your gender identity box A or box B
it has to be called, heads or tails-
i say, "tree."
can't they see that there's more than one game going on,
more than two parties, more than forty songs?
i see so much in each person i meet
should you treat that with medicine?
is that a disorder?
do i border on crazy cuz there's no cubbyhole i wanna crawl in?
stallin' for time until we find joy again
til we stop taking phen/phen
gnawing away at our insides, hungry mouths below the skin
starving for flesh, beaks open wide like chicks in a nest
will you feed them diet pills?
or cheez from a can?
or will you reach under your wings and pluck out your heart with your hand?
deliver it like a gift, i'm waiting, tongue stuck out for the savory sweetness
i'll suck it out of your palm so it clings to the roof of my mouth
and when i speak to someone, just a little sneaks out
this wisdom, this essence, subterranean smile
ya know, half of my friends are on anti-depressants?

it'll take me a while to figure out how to stop defining myself by what i am not
but til then, i know what i don't wanna do
never want to write a book that hitler wouldn't burn
never want to have a marriage that phelps wouldn't picket
and right now in my life i have too much to learn
lessons in a thicket of opposing opinions
balance lying on a beach between punk and punctuation
where the see-saws don't work
and the grey sand is flat
yeah, that's where i wanna go on vacation
but right now in my life there's too much work to be done
i'm finishing up my years of preparing for
of decorating, collecting roadmaps, and never quite getting out the door
what am i going for?

maybe to show folks something not seen on tv
or to show them how sometimes one and one make three
or perhaps i'm determined to make contact this year
find intelligent life that dwells on this planet
folks who aren't so afraid of new ideas they just ban it
those who speak and listen with an open ear
is it fear that keeps us from wanting more?
shame that stops me short of brilliant invention?
there are so many awakenings left to discover
pay attention
pay attention
pay attention

suck & blow
Fall 2001

what is it with me and addictive personalities?
allergic, semi-vegan, mostly substance-free me
drawn to potheads and drunks
like breath into lungs
smokelaced and lingering between the pink folds
could it be that i'm jealous of such constant devotion?
every day sucking in, every day blowing out
it's gross and disgusting and bad for your health
yet still you pay money
and i give it up free
so perhaps, deep inside, where i don't want to look
something likes that stability which transcends emotion
and i just want somebody addicted to me

you'd come to me for comfort or fun
and you'd truly believe that i make you look cool
you'd drown yourself in me like i was a bottomless pool leading peacefully down
i would have your complete concentration
your list of priorities narrowed to one
you wouldn't dream of leaving me every few hours
nicotine pulling your hand out the door
when it should be inside me
reaching for more

i'd be the fire of blue flame coursing up your right arm vein
romanticized, just like i saw on tv
you'd steal for me, lie for me, kill for me, die for me
hey wait a second here, this is getting scary.
and i don't think i'd really want that at all
cuz you can feed your addictions in the parking lot at the mall
but obsession is a sickness passed off as love
like oil puddle rainbows masquerading as sky
so why do i find myself in passionate flings
with folks whose brilliantass minds can't remember a thing?
revolutionaries fighting for the rights of the oppressed
speaking with power and a strength that overwhelms-
for women! for welfare! for loving who you will!
for giving half your paycheck to trent lott & jesse helms
and then asking them to please kill you
and anyone else who doesn't leave despite the smell
but now i'm just going off on my favorite pet peeve
and i still don't know the answer, but perhaps it's just as well

i just want you to see i can alter your mind
make you inhibition-free, make you hear things differently
like your name on a low track underneath all my songs
i want you to be someone who responds in kind
telling secrets so deep that they lodge in my spine
where they stay bundled up in the space between bones
even after we've parted and i'm left alone
so you will still hear me
like you've left the door open a crack and i'm down the hall singing
and i will still feel you in the arch of my back
every time i lean forward, or stand up, or dance
not a quick fix like some sort of powdered romance
sending desperate needles & pins up my thigh
but a constant vibration, ever-changing and pure
sending me spinning and leaping up
high

feminine hygene

when i don't practice feminine hygene
a red rorschach grows between my thighs
and you might see dirty pictures
but i see goddesses dancing in the sky
bloodclots like sunspots, like little pink soaps in the palms of their hands
a psalm to the ladylike cleanliness of it all
perfumed and shaven and padded and plugged
drugged with smooth shiny happy white pills
but they know what's really in their hands
they stop the music, they stop the band, and demand to know
who the hell are you to define for me the meaning of femininity?
cuz all of my y-fronts from froot of the loom
are stained with the richness from the fruit of my womb
every month it pours out, and i've seen the commercials
makes my goddesses shout, "hey, this stuff isn't blue"
why can't piss be yellow? why can't blood be red?
why is it unfeminine to have hair on your legs? or none on your head
so it doesn't get in the way while you're making love or saving the day
don't tell me to imitate a little girl
curl my hair up with spray
hide my wetness away in a purple plastic sanitary self-sealing bag
let me tell you my feminine needs
cuz napkins can't wipe up everything that i bleed
they don't make a maxi with wings that can fly
or a super-absorbant to soak up the rain
or the pain from cramps
or break-ups, or shake-ups
only i can do that
finger-painting hot suns with the stuff of myself
let it drip down my legs like ice cream or wax
relax into reddish-brown spot-covered sheets
and dream of my goddesses
stinking of sex and tears and sweat
with hairy pits and muddy feet
the models of feminine, womanly clean

normal is

normal is hatred, and normal is greed
normal is living beyond our means
normal is the church, and normal is the steeple
normal is profits over people
normal is straight, and male, and white
getting pulled over if you don't look right
normal is peacefully protesting silence
til the cops come over and incite violence
normal is bombing abortion clinics
saving the tissue & killing the doctor
normal is screaming at a woman walking in
preaching damnation cuz somebody knocked her up
never knowing that her heart is torn
never giving funding for the kids already born
normal is a crackdown in the years of election
on those bad girls who give decent, normal men erections
by mayors, cheifs, and congressmen, harry, dick, and tom
who it just so happens, late last night, were only known as, "john"
normal is a redwood forest seen in terms of paper
normal is a child's laughter turning into vapor as she sews in a factory for 9 cents a day
and somebody buys a t-shirt & thinks, "sixty isn't much to pay"
normal is animals who never feel the ground
fed through tubes in cages much too small to even turn around
bred to feed a constant need for overconsumption
normal is apathy, arrogance, and assumption
normal is bandaids instead of prevention
birth lying down cuz of doctors' pretention
normal is not questioning the status quo
normal is just the way it goes
normal's more money for prisons than schools
normal is using the master's tools
the line between church & state crubmbling like sod
normal is a pledge to this one nation, under god
normal is $8.50 for a movie with no plot
just advertizing, pretty stars, and not-so-special effects
normal is incinerators poisoning the have-nots
normal is laws against having oral sex
normal is a euphamism coming down the wire
collateral damage, ethnic cleansing, friendly fire
til we hardly even realize that war means people die
and nobody ever wins
maybe grief and madness tie
normal's testing lipstick on a rabbit's open eye
corporations telling their news media to lie
normal's rape your wife, she has to honor and obey
normal's being judged by how much you fucking weigh
normal is toxic waste and cigarettes
normal is not cleaning up our mess
normal is lies and hypocrisy
normal is girls getting fucked but not wet
normal is being controlled by fear
us versus them, and you versus me
and i'd like to say that i've seen normal
and honey, i'd rather be queer

ownership
4.98

our first kiss was like mcdonald's french fries
i'd had this strange craving for it all day
but when i finally got what i thought i wanted
you tasted greasy, and unfulfilling
yet still, i let you ooze into me
because that's how i get with mcdonalds french fries
i just keep eating, and eating
even when it makes me nauseous
cuz back when i was sixteen and pathetic
i dressed only in black and lent out my body
to corporations carving it up like broiled thighs and rumproast
or the chicken breast i'd long since stopped eating
i rented myself out with diagrams stenciled into my flesh
ground beef for 99 cents a pound
and maybe what attracted you in the first place was that sign around my neck
"billions and billions served"
you couldn't tell i wore it like a neon cross
and easy is the last thing it was
months later, i finally took my face
out of the deep-fat-frier of your oily embrace
i took off my sign, and i took off my shame
so the next time you saw me
a look of astonishment puzzled your face
at my crown of thorns gone to rosy bloom
my simple robes of a defiant grace
the body of which i am now CEO
unsalted and clean
after soothing hands scrubbed off the residue of you
strong hands which had bourne me up snakes & ladders
women hands which hold me as i tremble from fear of heights
or from sheer delight at this unprecidented corporate takeover

Contest
10.8.98

at 6:30 pm there's gonna be a
tournament
between the Christians and the Jews
to find out the answer to that age-old question
of who would win a basketball game,
Moses or Jesus?
and i want to rush in,
steal the ball,
throw it out the window and go,
Goddess! Goddess! rah! rah! rah!

And if you like that, you should see the rest of the book! Don't be the last on your block to get a copy!

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