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By Misti Date: 2005 May 24 Comment on this Work [[2005.05.24.10.43.9658]] |
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I don't speak that language that poetic language that is so popular and published and marketable. I don't speak in hummingbirds and rain chile peppers and mesas. I don't call my pussy a pudenda or a mossy mound. I call my pussy a pussy. My lover does not bring me to exquisite heights. He brings me to orgasm. I don't contemplate steam rising off the water or birds flying in formation. That is what steam does. That is what birds do. I am not interested. I write about being poor and tired and pissed and the blatant whorish invisible ridiculous madness that is my life. I write about the Vietnamese man who gives me a painful pedicure and talks to the Vietnamese woman beside him probably about my ingrown toenails and then the fucker overcharges me and I call him on it and he speaks more words I don't understand in a tone I understand all too well. Fuck him. I am politically incorrect and rude and hateful. I'm not poetic. I'm punk. Raw like the steak on sale I still cannot afford. Raw like the sushi I tried once and will never eat again. Fuck me. I'm writing my life and no one is buying. |