you may have read i'm a spoken word performer, monologist, whatever you want to call it. i'm not a slam poet.
i have to thank my friend from mwsmedia.com, matt, for helping me aquire and use software to remaster my first audio CD, "stop poking me lady".
it can be found on a page that lists each, with instructions for listening and saving, piece lengths and fils sizes, and titles.
Bitch . . . Puh-leease
I never asked you to build that fucking shrine.
I just wondered if you wanted to
Come over and get stoned with me.
I'm nobody for you to look at like that.
I'm just me . . .
Cool like Fonzie.
Don't give me any of that weepy creepy grrrl shit
I don't buy it, sell it on down the line
To that other girl who needs it
Give it any PC name you need to, it's
Hero worship . . .
Climb up and bite me.
I don't owe you a thing in this life little sister
So just drop the guilt trip,
All because you never saw me cry
What did you really think that meant?
I'm human . . .
Belly button and all.
How do I tell you these long tomes of my crimes
Just bore me absolutely spitless?
Do I really have to play?
I like to run with scissors you know,
I just don't . . .
Play nice.
I catch you looking at me like that sometimes,
And though I crave your lips,
It gives me the creeps
Can't you just grow the fuck up?
Really . . .
I insist.
(c)Cydniey 2005
Bishop
You got the answers mister?
Yeah, you with the Big Scary Book
And sharp judgements.
Are the answers yours?
Well, tell me something . . .
Who's a girl got to blow around here
To get a Ticket To Heaven?
I played your Bible Games
And stayed awake in Somber Classes,
But I can't stop hurting myself. . .
Waking up in Strangers' beds,
Praying to That God you
Introduced me to as a girl,
That the Strangers will Love Me
Completely . . . This Time.
Okay mister, I'll tell you my Secrets
Since you Promised to give me The Key.
I'll spill it all, here's my soul all
Young, Naked, and Nubile . . .so
Where's the Road To Paradise?
Why are you looking at me in
That Weird Way that I don't
Have the Good Sense to run from?
Do I really Have To answer that:
"Did you enjoy it? How much?"
Does God really need to know?
I'M not even sure, really . . .
That gaping Hole in myself
Still yawns with bitterness
That I am just Too Young for.
Hold it a minute Mister, your
Face is getting all Red and I'm Sure
God already knows the Details . . .
I don't feel so Good now, I
Think I should Go, okay? . . .
You know, that's All Right,
Somehow Your Forgiveness isn't
So Meaningful anymore, who are
You, anyway? . . .To Look at me
Like That? . . . Let me Go.
(c)Cydniey 2005
The Bath
In hot water sinking
Thick steam rising
My muscles softening
Eyes slowly closing
A cold touch is prickling
As bare skin is tightening
Hot water soothing
Hands gently kneading
And inner heat rising
Then, time slowing
A rough finger probing
Legs gratefully spreading
My body now tingling
From passions heightening
Too soon its overwhelming
Ten toes curling
Muscles rhythmically clenching,
My voice lowly moaning
The warmth rapidly spreading
Strong hand slowing
As tension is leaving
Loving touch lightening
Deep voice whispering
I feel myself smiling
In hot water sinking
(c)Cydniey 2005
bad tv
Bad TV tells me what to eat . . .
The weak
Bad TV tells me who to love . . .
The corrupt
Bad TV gives me something to listen to . . .
New American Myths
Bad TV tells me what to be . . .
Her, no wait, her, no, wait, him.
Bad TV tells me where to go . . .
Into the corral
Bad TV gives me my gods . . .
For only 6 easy payments
Bad TV shows me how to look . . .
Over my left shoulder
Bad TV tells me who to fuck . . .
The depraved
Bad TV tells me who to blame . . .
Anyone but myself
Bad TV shows me who to laugh at . . .
Myself
Bad TV gives me sound ideology . . .
Subject to change
Bad TV tells me where I came from . . .
White Trash Mongrels
Bad TV tells me who to be . . .
Next week's episode.
(c)Cydniey 2005
bad taste in men
The police acted
Properly.
Because
The car was
Coming
Right
At Them.
And how could
They have known
That the
Fourteen-year-old
Girl
In the passenger seat
Didn't do
Anything
That was worth
Six bullets.
She just had
Bad taste in men.
(c)Cydniey 2005
apropos of nothing
"you have a lot of pictures of yourself"
ya, well, its an obsession
"do you ever wonder how many vacation photos you end up on?"
no, though it would explain random bad mojo in my life
"how does it feel to be the most photographed person in the immediate area?"
pretty fucking empty
chip said last night at the bar that one person telling us we're great is nice, but what we need (us performers) is 5,000 of them
and last night i agreed
and mostly i still do . . .
except sometimes when i think about people
and realize there are "ones" who make it seem like 5,000
you know what i mean?
some people have this thing that makes their attention and praise seem like it's from the masses, it carries that much weight with you
you believe what they tell you,
they are that convincing in their sincerity
and when that runs out, it still feels like 5,000 people
all of them turning their backs
and you get hurt and then angry and if you are smart,
you go on,
if only to prove that one wrong
prove that you can do it
whatever it is
and sometimes you are rewarded with the 5,000 for that effort.
and sometimes,
even after all that,
you still miss the one.
(c)Cydniey 2005
Anything
If you asked me to tell you anything
I'd tell you I want you to love me
Just as much as anyone can.
I'd tell you how I don't feel ugly,
At least not in your arms.
Then I'd explain that I don't care
How long I've known you;
And I don't care
What the rules have been.
I just want the time to fly
So you can feel all right to say
'I love you' and I can feel
Okay not fleeing or punching you
For saying such a silly thing.
(c)Cydniey 2005
angry
Someone told me I sounded angry
Like they were admiring my taste in drapes.
Kind of in awe of how I got THOSE colors to work.
Look buster, here's the thing:
The colors DON'T work.
They are made up of memories I
Tend to regard as bad movies
That never happened to me.
You see, I AM Cleopatra.
And the only thing you should
Be admiring from that anonymous desk
Is that I haven't taken a 12 gauge to
Mark Anthony and blamed it all
On something Caesar did.
Queen of denial.
Yeah, I'm angry.
I just can't say why.
I can't even convince myself I'm
Not a pathological liar
Or just so crazy I invented my whole life.
What would you be?
But hey, it's my pain and I'm
Not hurting anyone with it.
Every poem I write means one
Less scar on my body . . .
To match the one on my soul.
In this society I could easily
Go kill a few people then
Whine at the judge and
Walk away from it all.
But I just sit here quietly writing . . .
Being . . .
Angry.
(c)Cydniey 2005
all of that
i give good punk
and smoke green skunk
i clean up my mess
and zip my own dress
i'm not afraid of you
and i know what you do
what you are
what you were
what you lost
i'm all of that
i'll stop on that dime
if it's worth my time
i'll take it too far
you just wait in the car
i'll fuck some shit up
i know you're not tough
what you are
what you were
what i found
where you drown
i'm all of that
(c)Cydniey 2005
