i know you know –

i know you know –
the inability to understand
peace when the sun yanks
you from the cheap IKEA
coffin you built by hand –
alive but struggling to
breathe from last nights
dealings with death.
you were so sure
she’d find you un-moving
under the duvet –
heart stopped-
lungs restless-
pants full of shit.
but here you are
almost wishing it was real –
swallowing slow dissolving
sorrows – bitter. life saving.
i know you –
you’re getting tired.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Mommy Medicated

every time i die i ask god to
take the years stolen. grant
them to the growing babe
sleeping under the t.v. glare.

take the years they stole. grant
me another restless night of sleep
while I await my millionth demise.
it contorts into a welcome calm-

another restless night of sleep-
where i am ripped open before life
exposed to all my waking fears-
creating every new tomorrow.

i am ripped open before life-
undressed before the doctors
with their magic medication.
eager to mend my mind.

undressed before the doctors-
that as a mother i may be unfit
to take a babe and mold
a healthy man.

as a mother i may be unfit
every time i die. i ask god to
grant me the years i’ve lost.
another chance to make it right.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Mainly for my classes. I’ve been having some major health problems, caring for my kiddo, trying to finish my BA and write my senior thesis. I’m exhausted. I have to thank my love, who has seriously been my rock and cared for me and my son even when I’m a sicky, moody beastie >.< thank you, amor. Hopefully, I’ll be posting more often again and working to create more structured and metered poetry.

disoriented

control ebbs - contracting back
into the Horizon where waves are born
where they die
peacefully
over and over again

I don't know how to write from here. 

a body can only sink so many
times before they stay
still
with the tide
tucked neatly under
the bottom of the sea
greedy - hungry
little fish nibble at salty skin
sore knees - open palms
reaching for the stray light
peaking through a nauseous sky.

But these forms mean absolutely nothing. 

over and over again
peacefully
where they die
inside the Horizon where waves are born
contracting back - control ebbs. 


© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018



Get Over It

Just breathe.

How can I? My own oxygen
is grated shrapnel over
temples amassed
across my veins

like someone who never says
when for the parmesan cheese
except your lungs are minced spaghetti –

I can make this funny
while simultaneously
wishing I could yank open
every door to the legion of
deaths discovered on WebMD.
They harden inside my belly
like a kingdom built to house
only doomsdays –
the priests in those
tiny temples say their pity
prayers and wait to be
set on fire.

You’re ok. 

Did you know that’s
slang for ‘orl correct’?
Everything about this city
was made to crumble.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

i wished to be a poet

i wished to be a poet           stupid girl
freshman year living off the dysthymia
collected in pools of pencil shavings
and passing C’s on scantron paper.

i didn’t know then       didn’t know
that the idle nicks carved
carefully into an angsty canvas
were a dangerous art form
that someday               30 years old
i’d be warding off old ghosts
and pushpins from wanting to
unstich my freckled skin.

it undoes me

i might get famous off added
alliteration afterwards allied
to the alienation that these
words will cost me my life
but i prayed                innocent once
a stupid girl

i prayed to be a poet.

Copyright © Audrey Rosengreen, 2018