Rested, yet still feeling lethargic

I came back from a trip with the hubby this weekend. It was mostly boring, but boring can be just the right thing for someone that is a bit run down by life's burdens. I'm not saying that the trip was terrible, it just was...peaceful. It's fine, really. It helped me recharge my batteries a bit and, unfortunately, prepare me for the grind of the workplace. I go back to my little hell tomorrow. Oh goody! I was told that they're cutting hours, as well. Terrific! So then, I do have some poems that I'll be releasing from the head in the next few days...hopefully. I just wanted to let the minute group of people in cyberspace who read me know that their favorite brunette is back and ready for action. Um, of some sort. Yes, you know you love me.

Too much pressure

I find that the challenge of writing a poem a day during this month, which happens to be National Poetry Month if you didn't know, is a bit too much pressure for me. Of course, when left alone with the thoughts in my head, a lot will come out. However, today I've been quite the lazy girl, having an extra day off from work for some reason. I can only be so domestic for so long before I just drop into a chair and say "Screw it". So anyway, I don't really have anything right now. The wheels are turning in my puny head, but I don't know what it will release and when and if it'll be any good. I have, however, found an interesting little website called Goodreads that you can post your writing on. It also acts as a library of sorts for your book collection. You can build lists of books, rate and review them and even add books that are not in their database. It is quite addictive. So anyway, I guess that's it for now. I'm going to go back to being lazy now. I really do feel like I could sleep the rest of this day away.

One for today

Upon reflection of her current status

I don't know if I will find out
what 40 feels like
but 30 will probably feel much like 28 does now

It mostly feels like tired
it feels like an empty dish sitting
on a crumb crusted counter
that I'm simply too unmotivated to wipe down

28 feels like I've waited too long to matter
like these idiotic flowers that start to bloom
in the middle of March
unaware that it is not 70 degrees yet
they will wither too soon in the season
and will be stripped of their vibrancy

28 is no longer idealistic and laden with
causes and fights against 'the man'
it is about getting by on less than
10 dollars per hour
brief hugs at the front door that never linger
and the crushing reality
of a comfortable marriage

Zygote In My Coffee, you rock my ass off.

After being sick for so long, I just gave up on being motivated to do anything. It was bad enough to have to go back to work so quickly, but I really didn't want to do much of anything, let alone check my e-mail. So, it was a wonderful, stupendous, exciting thing to find that Zygote In My Coffee, a wonderfully eclectic and off beat poetry journal, has decided to take my poem You Are Here for their next issue at the end of April!! Ah...so lovely. You've made this girl's night. Her tomorrow and the rest of her week. Thank you thank you! Tomorrow, more poems. I hope.

Blah, blah, no one reads me anyway!

It's minutes before I am going to bed and here I am posting something that no one will read! I suppose that doesn't matter very much. I am here for me. I am here to unload these thoughts from my head. I can say that sex has been on my mind a lot lately. However, it has been on the mind of my husband about once in the last month. I find that pitiful and am beginning to wonder if I'm just not as attractive to him anymore. Regardless, here is a short ode.


Ode to a husband

I wanted to let you know
that I masturbate at least
five times a week and mostly
while you are at work.

This is what happens
at the end of my work day:
I feed the pets
I eat lunch
and then make my way to the bedroom.
I do not think of you,
but I do feel an enormous
amount of relief and a tingle
from my fingers to my toes
as I lay there with
my panties around my ankles.

Sometimes when you're home
I sneak off to the bedroom
and tell you I'm going to change clothes
pull out pictures of old boyfriends
and muffle the noise with the tv.

I still wish you would fuck me.

I also have elaborate fantasies
about your step brother visiting
in the afternoon for a quickie
so fast that we don't bother with condoms.
He just props me against the cold, brown
paneling and fucks me hard
leaves it in me
and hurries out the door.

I still love you.

I still wait only for you
to fuck these pictures out of my head.

Mira, Mira in the chair...

Who's the most bored of all?? I have spent the morning cleaning around the house. Fun! This is just what I love to do on my days off. Now, I can sit in my chair and laze for a bit. Certainly, I don't mean to complain, but how can an admitted ADD clean freak like myself get hooked up with someone so slovenly and complacent? Nine years of this. Nine years. Seven years of marital chains complete with brooms and vacuums and mops and Swiffers. Are you getting it now?


winter storm warning

The sound of jets over head
quietly hum through the windows
while the winter evening settles in
on a day when treacherous weather
is supposed to settle in
and make travel a travesty
yet, only wind clips the walls
whistling and disrupting trash cans

Part of me wants you to be stuck in traffic
part of me wants you to find me asleep on the sofa
so that you will be forced to be domestic

Now helicopters circle
make the house rattle as I look out the window
and see a light powder blowing horizontally

I close my eyes and picture you stuck in traffic
in a ditch
driving further and further south from here

The phone sits inches away
ready to shock me into answering

Your voice does not console me anymore

Writer's Block=Pain in my ass

I haven't written in several days. I think I'm going to burst. There are ideas there, but not enough time to myself. I believe I'm going to just run off to some coffeehouse or something and let the Mr. fend for himself. Of course, this would only breed animosity and make him extremely pissed off. Such is life. I get tired of all of the crap. I need to be able to make a living off writing, in some facet or another. Oh hell.

And one for today, while the silence still remains

Have you ever felt like you don't get enough time to yourself? Hmm. I certainly feel this way today. As it turns out, I have a few extra moments here to myself before the heavy hand of domesticity smacks me in the face and sends me off to make dinner. *I had a poem here, but I've taken it down in the name of good practice, since it's getting published at the end of April! (see newest entry) *

Introduction

Hello. I'm Mira. I'll be posting my poems here as they unfurl from my hands and brain and innards. At this point, I don't think you need to know too much about me with the exception of what I reveal here in small doses. I feel like I have to sneak around a lot online. I don't like people looking over my shoulder when I write or when I am innocently checking e-mail. So yes, this whole blog very is a clandestine thing. No one who knows me knows that I am here, so if I choose to be controversial and/or revealing, no one is the wiser, that is, until they Google me and find this. Or not? What is truth, anyway? Here is one to leave you with.

Things left around an old house

A glass half filled with water
in the living room
another two rooms away
empty
scatterings of clothes on sofas
Me, with not enough time to do
anything but press my aching spine
into the back of an old office chair
and fantasize of being fucked
out the doldrums of lower class white poverty

The stench of your words in the air
the breath of your shoes left by doors
airing out their foul commentary

Every sight in here makes me sick
makes me want to put on comfortable shoes
and run