you wanted to sit in the sun & because you are unfit-
fully my Muse I
“where did the sun go?”
you wanted to sit in the sun so we sat on a bench.
I loved it, there was even a butterfly,
& on the next bench
a suited woman gone limp &
“that reminds me of this thing.”
you have so many things
“that reminds me of this thing my friend Lorraine told me about called Paris Syndrome.”
it is May and I am fit, I am full,
I am faithfully glowing
in the basin parts of me for you, still
still, “there are two kinds of conversation people have”
you gave me a duty-
free cigarette I
in 2010 I met you & we drove out from Chicago together
our car broke down in a place I called Eunoia
& eventually I threw away the pad
that had been collecting, for days, my blood.
what a period!
yesterday I texted you back that I was on day one of my period &
fifteen minutes later I said,
“Cat, Dick is withholding text messages from me!”
I showed her the timestamps.
I was hungry and bleeding and my mother is in Shanghai. I spilt some Cheerios then texted you again but everything autocorrected to, “I suck.”
today we are walking down 5th Avenue.
I am half-thinking of conversation topics but none of them seem that fun.
“what are you thinking of?” you ask
I am thinking about racism and money.
I am wondering what music you’ve been listening to. but I say,
“none of the things I am thinking about seem that fun.”
your impishness seems a little slower than usual when you say,
“well, I only like to talk about fun things, so…”
and I spit back,
“I’m not necessarily worried about YOU having fun!”
because really I just want to be totally blissed-out and I say as much.
in the movie of this there would be cuts of lust filled fantasies but I am just sleepy and bored of your friend Eugene, my breasts are heavy and I felt embarrassed when you knew I wasn’t wearing a bra when we hugged each other through thin shirts, that was sexy.
and sometimes the page becomes just like you and I don’t know how to put things down in Complicated Simplicity (which was the name of my first blog).
no I want to write this again to reunderstand it though I am tired and sort of sunk, you know? is it already time to cook broccoli?
(writing it again)
THE HATE NIPPLE
you wanted to sit in the sun and because you are fit-
fully my muse I
“where did the sun go?”
you wanted to sit in the sun so we sat on a bench.
I loved it, well I have always
known there was something ugly about
& you are one & you want to be a good feminist
& also fuck women well I want to fuck
(but I don’t trust) you because you are
a bad feminist.
charismatic men are inevitably bad feminists.
and you are no exception
though charismatic men inevitably seem like exceptions.
but, as Lauren Berlant says, love is
The Amnesia You Like
also, you’re wonderful
have I mentioned you’re wonderful?
I’ve only seen you six times
but every time I see you I take home a basket of softly glowing anecdotes.
also (who knew this poem was going to be about my mom?)
today is Mother’s Day.
my mom emailed me yesterday, after she had somehow found her way into my poem Shanghai is, like, 12 or 14 hours ahead of New York so it was Mother’s Day over there I guess even though it’s an American Holiday and she sent me an email called, “thinking of you on mother’s day” and the body of the email said,
I was reading this quotation and thinking of you today:
“The most important thing I learned over the years was that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one.”
Hope to see you soon, and we love you!
the incrimination of the email, the incrimination of me & her self-incrimination & her self-forgiveness & also her forgiveness of me, in sending the email–
it was too much
or I am too American
for this. I love terribly across
every girl I meet has something
she wants to write about
but is afraid of being stigmatized
for. where is the article called
“I was Raped at Occupy Wall Street by Your Friend, [Name]”
“I was Raped by an Anarchist at Occupy Wall Street”
“I was Raped by a 99 Percenter at Occupy Wall Street”
“I was Raped by a Serial Rapist with a Foreclosed Home at Occupy Kansas City”
“I was Raped by a Revolutionary During the Revolution”
I don’t care if you’re having fun.
Over 20 percent of rape complaints were recently dismissed as “unfounded” by the Oakland Police Department, which did not interview many, if not most, of the women involved. Not coincidentally, the vast majority of the complainants were Black and poor; many of them were substance abusers or prostitutes. EXPLAINING THEIR FAILURE TO PURSUE THESE COMPLAINTS, THE POLICE REMARKED THAT “THOSE CASES WERE HOPELESSLY TAINTED BY WOMEN WHO ARE TRANSIENT, UNCOOPERATIVE, UNTRUTHFUL, OR NOT CREDIBLE AS WITNESSES IN COURT.” – [from a source cited in kimberle crenshaw’s “intersectionality,” 1990]
I’m too tired to keep writing this poem
I know nothing except that I will go to sleep
unsatisfied, unless I write myself inside-out
first. it seems hard to put your “all” into poetry.
just peeing out words at this point.
marie calloway liked my essay on tumblr–
so I have to write something awesome now, if only for her
and jackie wang and nathaniel otting
if you wake up late enough in the day
someone might have already sent you some pee over email
especially if you sent them pee the day before
I think my writing might be more with it than i am–it is living out there and being admired on widely-read tumblrs
I feel like people would always want to text back “To Heartbreak Hotel”
today I ate shit. I ate an Asian pear and two pieces of bread with peanut butter and then nothing for hours, I fell asleep because I felt like such shit & I know that this is ordinary but I have to write it
because after I woke up I ate a grapefruit & I don’t know why I picked this moment to continue writing when obviously I just need to GET FUCKED preferably by the 2 or 3 ambient crushes I have
“Heartbreak Hotel” is just like me,
it is getting liked by popular white girls.
OOH OOH OOH.
And Cat said it’s weird that I draw with dark lines but I really think that the lines have to be strong and true when you start or else they’ll never become strong and true.
THE HATE NIPPLE
the ambient nipple
i wanna slurp it
yup i wanna sublet that nipple for the summer
the mosquito bit my cheek
my mosquito bite turned into a nipple
yup if I’m good enough for Dick to brush his arm against unsteadily then I”m good enough for his
penis to go into me
I relied on Hannah Manshel to make Heartbreak Hotel
I relied on JR Martin to make Heartbreak Hotel
and now I’m getting all this social capital
and I don’t even know what social capital means!
feeling weird I turned on my phone and typed the following poem to Austin:
ambient heterosexual males
ambient hate crime
ambient lena dunham
ambient compassion for the working class
ambient class analysis
feminist reaching out
feminist feeling neglected
SHE’S GOT ME SPENDIN’
SPENDIN’ ALL YOUR PRIVILEGE ON ME
like a girlfriend I am going to seduce you with my whimsy and bomb you with my depression I’m going to make you listen to me talk for hours
my depression bomb will make a crater in your body
and I will fill it with
all of my neediness
and all of my emotional baggage
until you can barely walk with the weight of it all
and you are going to feel guilty
and you are going to try to avoid me
and I will know why
and I will seduce you again
and you will love me again
and it will not be good for you
no it will not be good for us
because I am a bad girlfriend.
NO MORE GOOD GIRLFRIENDS.
only bad girlfriends, marie calloways, lesbians, and sex workers.
but that too is only a fantasy because who is the bad girlfriend bad for if not mainly herself? and men always have their WORK that they are able to escape into, the world of men that holds them, the philosophers who speak to them and help them forget their misery.
I had a dream about the Golden Gate Bridge,
which I have looked at with Google Street View.
there was a ring of NO TRESPASS signs in the middle of the bridge
it was causing so much congestion
AND SPENDING TIME ON ME
suddenly, there you were in the middle of the signs
standing up, dusting yourself off
you’d been lying in the sun on the Golden Gate Bridge
i dreamed my way into how that must have felt:
your whole body pressed against warm concrete
suspended between sky and water
and your ears and nose filled with car sounds and car smells
and like what if you died
i don’t know i just want it
i want your stinking sun
THE HATE NIPPLE
(subtitle, courtesy of Jesse Darling: compulsive and wounded)
Chen Guangcheng is coming on the right day!
To go through the authoritarian state,
a hero. By appealing to the Premier Wen Jiabao…
I can’t tell, if he has extreme poverty or
extreme wealth of imagination?
Oops sorry I’m being mean
New York is filled with lovely people and
I am one of them??
writing out of what definitely looks
like a mood.
I’m on the L train
a girl is lip-synching
copying my poems over again
reading my poems over again
oh no a girl is vomiting
it’s acid fresh
to be a poet is to be the poorest
of artists how little
words can do
looking at me for
bemused solidarity re: vomiting girl
yuck yuck yuck
are you amused yet
by what I”m leaving?
we talk on the phone for 7 hours
incredibly, a ghost rides through
the chocolate center of the cake on
the back of the other ghost
while you masturbate!!!!!!!!
i wish words made
for stoned people to look at.
we are walking all over st. mark’s place looking for restaurants
and every boyfriend has to listen to me talk
they really do.
they really really really really really do.
are you still listening?
i remember me when i was still delightfully shy.
now i’m publicly bored.
how many lives have you lived, debbie hu?
and are you still relieved when you’re able to shed it all?
clever hypothetical scenarios trolley
and this poor girl keeps vomiting
and i’m not going to describe what she looks like
i told austin that i never want to be physically described
to a white person,
i don’t want them to use the word “chinese”
and i don’t want them to not use the word “chinese”
and rob horning has already gotten me mixed up with jane hu
i am anxious to pee every last thought
(on the day where we began this poem, you were telling me about how you’ve been getting into
trouble for wanting to have nonmonogamous relationships with girls. recently you began getting
serious with a girl, and you said to her, “i’ll be monogamous with you if that’s what you want, but
that’s not my preference, and also i don’t care if you see or sleep with other people,” and she got
there seems to be a community feeling that you’re an asshole, and you were wondering if it’s
kind of the equivalent of getting slut-shamed. you said, “like, i really feel like i *am* a slut, like
i’ll meet a girl and i’ll just want to be her little slut, to please her, so if pleasing her involves like
acting like her boyfriend, i just fall into doing that, and then it’s weird when she realizes that that’s
not actually who i am.”
i said, “maybe the problem is that the way you attract women is by being a charming straight
white male, and people have all sort of fucked up desires and expectations surrounding straight
white maleness,” and you said, “well, i kind of think that that’s not my problem.”
thinking more about how you see yourself as a slut, i said, “maybe you’re just a
“yeah, but for every heartbreaker there is an equal and opposite heartbreaker.”
“what do you mean?”
“i mean, there’s always someone who can break my heart.”
“right, maybe that’s what happens at the end of your movie.”
“…or the beginning of my movie.”
“or maybe the end of one movie and the beginning of the next one.”)