Tag Archives: strength

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College 101

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

holdosi / Pixabay

College 101

Modern Dance, bodies in rhythm to Van Morrison, Enigma.
Great in History. Strongly encouraged to publish all the
spilling words, heartaches, confusions, anger, dreams, worries.
A magic wand in a pen. Alleviate destruction. The destructive.

Nursing an infant while writing essays, studying dates & names
& practicing steps in the apartment hallway. Be somebody, be
somebody, be somebody, hear the beats, not beatings.

Assistant manager, tired eyes, how to get away quicker. Forget
Teaching, MFA hopes. 2 year program ought to do it. Dance, dance,
Keep dancing. Forget the yelling. The handed-over paychecks. Crazy, unrepentant eyes.

Perfect score on Case Brief. Great comments. Mock trial won. Who’s
Mocking you now? Only Him, Time. You’re pressing & pressing against it, that red clock on the wall. Mother given 2 years, won’t take meds. Elmo keeps smiling & Pampers keep piling. Storybooks & tears. Night terrors. Gotta leave, gotta go, can’t stay.

An artist paints you. You run into his arms on a rain-washed night.
So, this is what being made love to is. You think he must be unreal.
After some time, you deliver yourself instead to demons. Grandmother scolds you for leaving, running, learning LOVE. No one is glad for HAPPY.
Except your mother who says Yes, Him. Say Yes to him. You watch him drive away, miles upon miles out of your life. Things collapse. You see
an old college friend, beautiful, smiling, working for some firm. You

Imagine she will marry a lawyer, or become one. You keep thinking poetry, da-dum da-dum da-dum. Drumbeats & heartbeats & fuck the world is always spinning too fast or too slow.

Years pass. Plans unraveled. Maybe a 1 year this time. Appreciate Art, Appreciate Music, your son singing Sinatra with you, how you read from Shakespeare together, whom he calls Shakesbeard. Then you homeschool. He chooses Sylvia Plath from the bookshelf, finds a copy of Anne Sexton’s Collected Poems and brings it home to you, so proud to hand it over. He learns about those women- says “Mama, you won’t ever kill yourself, will you?”

Medicine. Boring. No poetry there, but you make the Dean’s List. You hang your certificate like a rag doll on a coat rack. Everything feels out of place. Hours & hours of studying terminology. All you remember now is Sarco means “flesh.” You stare at your arms & think about it. This makes you remember your RX is due for a refill, as is your life.

-Heather Lenz
March 17, 2016

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Proof

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , ,

IMG_20160304_205227

Proof

Here it is:

A girl near the Jungle Gym, alone, hating recess.
Waiting for the bell to ring, so she can stick
Her face back in a book. Her favorite, The Giving Tree.

Mousy brown hair hanging limp, shabby clothes,
never talks. Dark circles under eyes, malnourished,
Doctor says Anemia.

Mother, Schizophrenic, stays in bed, cries a lot. Reaches
out for daughter’s frail arms. Prays to a God she fears,
while garbage men wonder at the lack of trash. Fruit flies

In kitchen numerous, curtains always closed. Scooby Doo
& Popeye & a kind of still Anxiety growing inside each
morning, while mother sleeps.

Carpenter father, forced to sell lakeside home
built by his own hands, after the cost of all the
Nervous Breakdowns.

Grabs his tools & finally bolts. But the fruit
flies, the Anxieties, keep multiplying, growing.

And the Sanity of everyone, even the garbage men,
Becomes questionable.

-Heather Lenz
March 17, 2016

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Resolution

Categories: Journal, Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Resolution

I’m going to be a bitch. Serious. I’m done with sensitivity. Open arms. Helping others when I sit here broken and sick. I’m going to be a selfish speck. A cheerleader for my own opinions and needs. I’m not going to ask people how they are, unless they ask first. And then whatever they say I’ll respond with “it could be worse” (because that’s an ignorant and insensitive thing to say).

I’m going to take a lover and require his total devotion (at least sexually). I’m going to be reckless but not in a violent or conspicuous way. I’m going to fucking smile even though my teeth are imperfect. I’m going to go out dancing again when my back allows and I’ll dance all fucking night- even on tables and I may even flash my scarred little breasts. Suck this, Motherfuckers.

I’m going to call people out on their bullshit, rather than hold it in and let it produce another panic attack. I’m going to say outright: “You know what? You’re really an obvious asshole! You should wear your underwear on your head, because all that comes out of it is SHIT and offensive noise!” Then an argument will ensue probably but that’s okay because I’m going to get someone to build me a Waldenish portable cabin that I can take anywhere when it gets so thick you need to wear boots.

And music! Man, I’m going to play it often and LOUD. From Sinatra to Eminem to Pavarotti, motherfuckers! And I’ll even spit out some Waylon Jennings in the inner city! Hah!

I give myself full permission this year to go crazy and be somewhat satisfied. No more moving along the edges of MY OWN LIFE! You got that? It’s MY life! So go suck an egg or if you’re nice (like truly nice, not the fake nice) fill out an application to be my lover or just buy me a double-shot mocha.

Happy Damn New Year

-Heather Lenz

 

 

 

 

 

 

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in the pink

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , ,

Starring PINK

 

in the pink

flesh in a plastic cup. let pink petals fall forever.
the machines tick & click like wayward clocks-
every woman
reeks of fear.

here in a flowery robe, i gaze at magazine covers-
the women with full breasts smile in their youth.
others dress casually, assured in their poses

that all the recipes in the pages
will fill up your every desire & win over
lover & guest.

they don’t know who is looking at them.
who envies them enough to want to spit
at the calm fake candles glowing with
spa-like radiance.

glow. images on the machine glow.
i watch the blacks & whites move
as the magic wand
presses against me.

they are like ghosts & phantoms
dancing together. laughing crazily
from too much excitement.

now at home it’s raining. past 2 a.m.
i am tender & obscure.

i wish there were a friend to call.
i wish my family knew me well.

i wish i could feel the hard weight
of a good man linger

in all this tenderness.

-Heather Lenz

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Disassociation

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , ,

 

Sailor Bay, Middle Harbor, Sydney

Do not rediscover me, old flame,
my heart has left your overrated claim
And do not send your flowers to my door,
I do not need or want them anymore.

No, do not recall the memories so sublime,
if in haste you wish to call, put far away your dime
No, do not send the lovebirds out to soar,
I do not need or want them anymore.

Through my life I now do make a trail,
I fight the storm and overcome the hail
So stay away on your own distant shore,
I do not need or want you anymore

Times have changed and for the most of good,
I have burned the wet and rotting wood,
So sit alone upon your unswept floor,
I do not need or want you anymore.

~Heather Lenz
this poem first appeared in Stepping Stones Magazine (print)

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