misspaulmccartney

[misspaulmccartney]

Sistering

(A love poem to my best friend/sister)

The ribs of your

Kitchen floor mat

Imprint hemlines

In to my foot souls

As I stand straight

And wash your dishes

From the week

I didn’t stop by.

A union of

Two mutual sufferers

A union of

Two mutual friends.

And friendship,

Well that feels more

Like sistering

To me.

[misspaulmccartney]

The Garden On The Hill

What happens in grade ten?

Looking back, it must be something sinister.

Because my breasts twinged

With a new and uncomfortable growth.

Mom promised me that swelling stops at fourteeen.

A woman’s prime.

Yet this growth persisted

Big became too big.

My sweet spot never got

to flourish

And the

Garden on the hill

Of my chest

Was forever lost

Forever gone.

[misspaulmccartney]

Golden Arches.

I kept hoping something would delay it.

That garden bush

my mother was so eager for.

The Golden Arches

Upon my chest

That she prayed one day

Would arrive.

Hoping doesn’t do much

these days.

I must now live with the burden

Of this body.

[misspaulmccartney]

My dads space junk poem inspired this poem of mine

Books on top fathers table

And under

And in

and out

and jammed

into the space junk

ring that

spins like a

plate round

the poetry etched table

Standing as as our sun

that revolves us

Throughout him

[misspaulmccartney]

Books on fathering

Books by fathers

about fathers

Who don't know how to father

Or maybe didn't have a choice to father

Or maybe hold a spite of fathering

That they craft

Into a manic pixie dream girl of a daughter

In the lines of a notebook

With their pen

That gouges her with every

horrible nightmare

He has conjured

To mend her

And bend her

Into the perfect story.

[misspaulmccartney]

Mans best friend

Nothing fills a gap better than guitars and a beating.

A beating with the hand removed And instead a song

To accompany the guitar (a man's best friend)

Percussion pills not taken

They lower his libido

And who is a male poet if not a womanizer.

Testosterone bass line

Cue the weeping sound in garage band Recording studio

Because I ruined music for him

When I told him

All abusers

Cover their tracks

With the pluck of a string

And some creep by radiohead.

[misspaulmccartney]

Creditable hand

He fastens the padlock on my incubation tank

Where he will store me until the day that I come into my own.

Done so by the work of his hands, as he taught me how to use mine.

Does this make him creditable?

Is he creditable for the lines that I limbed

of white-trash mother with daughter delinquent?

Or is he creditable for the smoke inbreathed Into my lungs as a make-shift dine, so long as I can become an empty plate

Or is he creditable for the tears that fill the threaded loops of my bedroom carpet where my mother sits and Holds me dear

Because boys don't ask?

With this, I must credit him where credit is deserved

because poetry has no place for a heart that is a whore.

[misspaulmccartney]

Fridge Hymn

I am desperate for my future,

And to leave behind the disgrace of disappearance.

Mothers moldy ash tray

Lay next to the crack of her

Bedroom door

Where my body rests on an oak pew,

And where my eyes admire the popcorn ceiling

That tells a biblical tale

Of neglect.

I analyze the the fridges hymn

That soothes me to sleep when

Mary is not home

It summons me like a dog

To the golden gates of heaven

Where that stench of age

Informs me

“there is nothing more holy than rot.”

[misspaulmccartney]

The Ninth Floor

Nine floors too high from the ground i was conceived on.

Nighttime wedding day fling.

Spinning plates balancing on sticks.

Fell to the ground as we ascended.

It is unnatural to observe from up here

Way up here

Separate from the world I go to

When the train rolls me over its tracks