Insomnia

There are so many stars
shining in your eyes
i could pass out from the blindness
and skin-nervy heat

i woke up last night
in between freud and mama me
fumbling for remote controls
and cigarettes
but i don't believe in smoking
or psychiatry either

the dark didn't help
i could still feel
with my multiplicity
of hands and millions of kisses
that you weren't there
and my stomach kicked me open
pulled, plummeted
as if a wounded heart is too little
for this slurring body to come home to

walking around, barefoot, alone
in an apartment that's not mine
a bed i haven't paid for,
with clothes i don't remember
and songs you should have written

there is something so reassuring
in knowing you're too close to matter



Re-think

There is strawberry wine,
and then there is blueberry tea
today I am 27
But maybe years are not the most
appropriate method
to measure
my days

you worry about me
and I want you to
Famous last words elude
me, but silly you
to think I'd stop writing
towards them

Beautiful can't be bottled
I see that as it slips through
my fingers
I've picked myself up
and stood as tall as I could
force it
I will grow if it's the last breathing thing
I conquer

You un-hinged me
cracked open windows I was
positive I'd painted shut with
too much alcohol and loud words

little old you
loving too sensitive me

I suppose we can drink to that



About the author:
Theresa Lapensée has had poetry published in Jones Av., Paperplates, Another Toronto Quarterly, Canadian Content, Symposium and Propaganda among others. In her real life she is a successful literary savant who has no need for the 9 to 5 world. She is currently searching feverishly for inspiration and always appreciates wfeedback: www.theresalapensee.com

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