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you’ve been warned

Wednesday, January 10th, 2018

Do not fall in love
With people like me.
people like me
will love you so hard
that you turn into stone
into a statue where people
come to marvel at how long
it must have taken to carve
that faraway look into your eyes

Do not fall in love with people like me
we will take you to
museums and parks
and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth

Do not come any closer.
people like me
are bombs
when our time is up
we will splatter loss
all over your walls
in angry colors
that make you wish
your doorway never
learned our name

do not fall in love
with people like me.
with the lonely ones
we will forget our own names
if it means learning yours
we will make you think
hurricanes are gentle
that pain is a gift
you will get lost
in the desperation
in the longing for something
that is always reaching
but never able to hold

do not fall in love
with people like me.
we will destroy your
apartment
we will throw apologies at you
that shatter on the floor
and cut your feet

we will never learn
how to be soft

we will leave.
we always do.

Do Not Fall in Love With People Like Me, Caitlyn Siehl

from What We Buried

Come. Sit. Heel. Stay.

Tuesday, May 24th, 2016

Come. Sit. Heel. Stay.

Sierra Demulder

When I took your virginity,
I did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
I taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)

A year later, in the back of your car,
you showed me what you had learned,
what kind of man I had trained you to be.

There was nothing playful
in the way you hit, tenderizing meat.
Scraping at skin as if you were trying
to take back what you lost inside of me.

By the time you came on my back,
my nipples were chapped
and gnawed as bones. My legs raw,
newly butchered lambs.

—————————————————–

This woman, this Poetess-Goddess, has stolen my breath. I want to write like her someday, if and when I ever grow up. I’m simply and ecstatically overwhelmed by the brutal beauty of each weighted word. This particular poem is from The Bones Below, in which every single poem is a visceral blessing of the senses.

I WILL own every single book of her poems. Or I don’t think I could live.

(Thank you, Mr. Prince, for gifting me. I couldn’t be more pleased.)