6/19/2018 0 Comments Poetry By Donna DallasBeastie I wanted to write about those bitches about how they followed me onto the bus every day after school and spit in my hair about how they waited on my corner for me to walk by and they hurled rocks at me or chased me for blocks to cut me to hurt I was gonna put on paper how they crank-called me just to call me names Slut Lesbian Dyke Cunt I was gonna admit that…… yeah I stopped going to school I stopped going outside altogether and when they couldn’t get at me they would ring the bell and pleasantly call upon me as if we were old friends even study partners but I wouldn’t come out of my room I was gonna say how it took a life time to walk out the front door again and I thought the passage was safe but they no sooner found me and came at me all of them I wasn’t sure if I should admit that I wished them dead every one of those ugly bitches that bullied me because…..well….. …….I never actually knew why I knew only simple things back then the boys liked me the girls liked me I liked me then I never liked me - or anyone again after the first beating when six girls jump on you and pummel your face you give up and pray to fade away into air I was gonna say how much faster than me I thought they were back then much smarter stronger because they knew I was a threat and the only way to smite a threat is to rub it out completely Dust I’m etching stories onto our cave walls buffalo and stick figures cut into the prehistoric rock old as silence I’m dead a thousand years I come back to scratch some words onto paper and later neatly plug them into a document seal the story in a file I was carving up Saber Tooth tigers and serving your lazy ass even back then when we were barefoot and naked I didn’t wax and we fucked like mad dogs babies came out dead or alive it didn’t matter the feast was us the story the same fast forward through a crack in the limestone I am here again running through malls looking for a rock to carve the story I keep re-living Foraging fuck give them a story they all want to know you tell them the time you hovered over the train tracks bone thin with the shakes out your ass and Barry Onter decided to take his life right then threw himself straight onto the tracks in a split second before the train came on him full speed rocked that mother fucker dead and all you could think about was what you could do with all that cash he probably had in his wallet you didn’t get a chance to look through the wallet half his body was scare-crowed up on the train window and the other half dragged along the tracks into bits of pulp………what can you say???? as you pour gin into juice to control the shakes this will most definitely get you through a potential relapse or collapse or perhaps you should just stop cold turkey like they did in the old days? why you gotta gin down a craving for a mad high I don’t know but in the end you still a fucked up honkey from Queens never had a chance at bum so story goes you got all strung out from crack you say fuck it get on Greyhound with your $148 you scavenged from your half dead cancer-ridden grandmother you go down to Sanford – where was that? Florida? Where the fuck? Yep tell them how you met that stripper Lucrasia – was that her stage name? Jesus she was really played like she’d been run over maybe X-stripper but you two found each other and holed up in Mocahee’s Motor Inn for days maybe weeks you were almost clean before then but she was using: a perfect combination of you + her = FUCKED and here you go again down the merry road of a lover of heroin of addicts of the dream the amazement the ahhhh fuck it and baby we miss you we miss the you that you once were but it ain’t you no more and we can’t accept those collect calls calling to collect money we can’t give to users who still use when people dying on the tracks for nothing and you still going strong and able Bio: Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard. She has also been lucky enough to have been published by Anti-Heroin Chic prior. In addition, her work can recently be found or forthcoming in 34th Parallel, Vending Machine Press, The Opiate, Sick Lit Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Beautiful Losers and Public Pool.
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