different circles – mb

in my mind i had run away again it was just a fantasy a longing to be missed the truth was i was often absent from home and so was everyone else who lived there a modern family i thought about visiting Mr. Petrucchio but it was early evening he was probably asleep in his green upholstered chair with his brown Ferragamos still on and Perry Como on the hi fi killing me softly was his favorite

a weathered bench behind the Cecil was waiting for me old gray plastic too hot to sit on in the summer and always damp in the winter very decisive for a gray bench

i went to biology class today the teacher spoke about how eggs become fertilized funny because in English class we talked about how eggs are a symbol for rebirth life all around i took out a clove and lit up watched the smoke defy gravity up past my nose my eyes head and eventually gone to be part of the universal ozone

my mind went slightly blank and into daydream mode thinking about the electricity of boy chicken sperm fertilizing the girl chicken egg i chewed some of the black polish off my left thumb and came to the realization that i had been an egg too life was so intricate and fragile but forging forward man and beast go forth and multiply

out of my dream i snapped there was a four lane street between my bench and the old warehouse across the street with the permanently shut back door that transients used as a Murphy bed or toilet depending on the weather

at first there was a loud white woman skinny like a sausage casing she was yelling and flinging her arms wildly then two or three black folks gathered along side and spoke loud enough in religious tones he dead he dead Lawd take ‘im ta heaven po’ sona bitch

my watch said 5:57 p.m. another homeless person had passed in a door way i wasn’t sure what to feel i was no stranger to corpses my grandmother chose to pass at her home when i was a little kid and we didn’t have to wear seat belts driving through the north 110 speedway i witnessed a man dying like a fish out of water he was riding his motorcycle before that but had been hit and just left there i didn’t do it then because i didn’t know i was just a kid but every now and again i say a prayer for his soul

a small crowd gathered at my bench as they watched the coroner’s van pull in to the site one of the coroner’s people looked across the street at us and began making his way toward my crowd while the dead man’s crowd shook their heads smoked laughed yelled covered their mouths with their hand and then slowly left as the PD hung their yellow tape the sign of seriousness and solemnity


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN

time out – mb

i’ve made you angry
i question not to judge
not to hold accountable
it’s just self preservation
i refuse to die of a venereal disease
a few months back i had a crush
i cast out my fisher girl’s fly
you nibbled i invited
you ignited a fire that spread too quickly
you an excellently talented lay
me a very willing convenience fuck
from the beginning of the race
my stats were clearly posted
of broad mind and precocious personality
but i only make you angry
when i really don’t mind
if you suck the neighbor’s cock
i’m cool if you want exploration
don’t politicize the situation babe
let me remind you for your record
you came on your own to me
i’ll take the tumble with some protection
a girl needs some stress release too
but don’t give me bullshit excuses
when you know what i’ve been through
i’m crushing on your lustful ways
and the sweetness that you randomly give
when we lock lips and genitals
the gods above do sing
you can get angry at me
for leaving you mid way
i’ll overlook a lot of things
but don’t think that for a second
you’ll have me as your slave


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN

little generational differences – mb

laughing a little in the dream i had a roasted turnip with paprika for breakfast maybe that’s it it’s noon on Alpha Omega how does that work for you there is loneliness in her jeer but she keeps at me i’m not beautiful like a spring breeze i’m not delicate like a feather i cannot be a ballerina with two stone feet i am nothing and i cannot write pretty words like the zenith is your eyes i write rusted words like hurt me with your tongue knife and my ideas weigh like mercury on mars but she the Venus does not mind when i do her bidding our way of seeing life is very different i smitten with the downtown proletariat she with uptown well to do’s i can’t believe you are my daughter i know i say that i agree with you it’s too late momma i’m half way gone it’s best this way no hard feelins’ right i know punctuation and the grammar rules real fine but my lips shoot out the poisons thought of in my heart perhaps if reincarnation does abide the cosmic rules she’s supposed to follow i will come back as a super model just for you but now you’re gone and i see you in the clouds above in periwinkle linen and jewels the color of God’s eyes i heard you mother all of our unhappy life together and while on earth your words did bite me i also learned to use their teeth to cut my noose i ran away and did it my way it nearly killed me too but rest assured that in your way as a mother that you were your raising helped me through


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN

teufelshund – mb

time has passed by here
i pan the room i see my books
my drawings and the vibrant colors
the outfits different styles
yet mostly all black
the sleeves must remain long
security blanket still after all these years
the incense stretches smoldering in the potted plant
in Garudasana pose Cedar wood and salt
invasive thoughts seep through the fragile lucidity
of this quiet uneasiness the price i’ve had to pay
i shut my eyes i don’t trust closing them yet
at times boot camp trainings thrice removed
refuse to be shrugged off
i look in the mirror morning and night
brush the teeth etc. etc.
but today i’m feeling brave on an anniversary
of yore the battle of Werdin Place
and i see me in the mirror
piece by piece like a color by number pic
as the nights pass by hand in hand
i’m smitten with and embrace more
the medal shaped sCARs they gave me
of warrior heart i fought and fought
and that’s all that really matters


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN

happy – mb

sometimes in the middle of the night
i take the train from one part of town
and then back to the other side
i can’t sleep so i face my curiosity
tipping into the cleavage of the city
and her girlfriend moon
outside of the rolling cab my eyes
they register that it’s dirty
i swear i can see the car exhaust
black sooty pungent belching vulgarity
in the lungs of LA
behold the automotive crack pipe
then my attention flutters to the men
velvet skin plastic smiles and silver tongues
selling me a piece of Jesus and His hotrod
Hollywood Boulevard how much to eat me tonight
i burrow my alien feelings into the tunnels
and the cocky rail rides me to the platform
where humanity scrambles at the truth
of how small we must be to the Bitchgoddess
of everything all poets in history
have lamented about
to chase and purr on the formidable
lies that we are fed
only to show who kindness i wonder
i’m too old and out of time
to place gender or definition on my pleasures
the time to gamble with the rules and regulations
is quickly ending
at dawn pink and gray
with the smell of the city and
her beautifully cruel courtesans
on my hands and lips
i stagger up 7th street
and bum a cigarette from the Meals on Wheels guy
chat up Bang Me Billy and ask about his truck
we stroll to the rich folk Starbucks
he waltzes me up to the lines
we both feel very alive again
and smile at the young savvy people
when they turn up their nose


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN

simple misunderstandings – mb

we

met

by the

fruit table oranges

you said were your favorite

fruit i smitten with the fairy tale ideology

of white pickets two point fives and a dog maybe even the PTA

you upstanding patriarch of the family business man in town i would be your one and only not your rodeo clown

psyche flags were risen and when discussed with the appropriate matriarchal councils all my flags burned down with the kerosene of suck it up or else you are not a woman worth your salt

fuck this i thought in the middle of a fight i would not be how i was expected to lay down

so rogue i went from that world of delusional pleasure tumbling weed freed

but alone in dissension doubt demons taunt relentless

so give me another bottle

to numb the

imposed shame

of

failure


“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”

mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events

mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years

you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN