The Last Time

It’s just like the last time –
worse though, I think
because nothing comes to mind
mind you, when I’m minding
my business as intended.
Emptiness bubbles up
from an empty well and I
wonder, well, how can that be?
There’s always something
in the emptiness, I mean.
I blame it on the happy.
Casually dying –
freely, absolutely.

I don’t mind it much, though.
It subsides like
fire on scattered weeds,
no place for me to feed.
And that’s just fine, I think.
Right, just fine. Yet, so
unlike the last time.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

Gibberish

I am another body perpetuated in a litany of the same old-
	same old words littered on stolen images. Hackneyed
like the rest of you. My words run as deep as the waste bin,
pooling at the edges -
	Did you know
freckles become the reminders of stupidity
built en masse by the eyes who adored me - relied on the way I
can open my body like the atmosphere. Catching fire
to pollutants - the way it burns reminds me of home. 
	I have a secret
that I can only spell here. This place that's gone
cold with dead quotations - wisdom lost on misspelled repeats. 

I still want to open. To bloom red against the darkening sky
and hit the Earth until I am one with it.
				
					Comfort them when they weep.



© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

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.

Well Days Are Still Tired Nights

It’s unbecoming of a liar
to tire on the empty days
of which the truly lost
yearn to lay their heads
on the warm thighs
of a half interested
series of caresses.
——–That’s like living the dream!
But (and there’s always a but)
people like us stand on the shores
edge, tonguing teeth and tiny
bits of sand caught from
the wind carrying upwards
our inconsistent spirits –
a stench so imbued with salt
one can’t help but wonder
if the weeks before were
all a dream – wreaking havoc
on the humid normality
of everyone’s perfect day.
But lucky me,
I have the kind of thighs
that hold unconditional interest.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018