bathory-babe

Kate

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Dear Sarah Palin

Dear Sarah Palin Your daughter was 17 And pregnant Hiding your shame with oversize sweaters And Sunday school smiles that didn’t reach her eyes I was 21 and joined in the taunts Against your sanctimonious scripture Branding Bristol with the scarlet sum of Abstinence only Laughing with pleasure at a young girls folly And her mother’s hypocrisy. And I am sorry. Sarah Palin, I hate everything you stand for I have queer friends who gaze at each other With such an omniscience and feeling That it hurts to look And I have to avert my eyes less I crumble with envy for what they have I evicted a child from my womb by choice And I take pr

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75 deviations

Literature

Dear Sarah Palin

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75 deviations

Literature

untitled yet again

I've watched these children Grow up in their words Slamming their way in some kind of adulthood But my memories of them Are trapped between car rides And music, lyrics they didn't write But still sting my tongue When I find them between pages Of poems scribbled And sung to audiences I can't pretend to be They are young in their bodies Younger than me But their vision has surpassed mine And I find my writing is lonely Without their company

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Dear Sarah Palin by bathory-babe, literature

Literature

Dear Sarah Palin

motherly instinct by bathory-babe, literature

Bachelor Number Never by bathory-babe, literature

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Bachelor Number Never

Bachelor Number Never I'm sick of the dating game, I never understood the rules. but I'm fine with whips and chains and even a few drinks, but I never learned the safe word to cry out when I'm lonely and masturbating to words like "forever" and "promise," because relationships are like bondage; you get off on it over and over until you come in flowers and chocolate and monthly anniversaries: all bullshit gestures, because keeping track of how long you can love is like counting down to a new years resolution never to do THAT again. relationships come with regret and I'm holding on to that like it's going out of s

Number 26 by bathory-babe, literature

Drunk Driving by bathory-babe, literature

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Drunk Driving

it's 1:48 a.m. and I want to write but the radio distracts me from my goal of red light go green light stop thinking about how perfect this song is for our relationship there's a cop on my tail I've got to keep speeding up my thought process because you micromanage my inner monologue I'm almost home sick for your bed I spent more time in your sheets than I did on the road stay on the road because the asphalt will keep me going in new directions you always sucked at giving directions so why am I surprised that there's an accident backing up traffic and blocking the wrong way back to us. I'll be here for a while

Like Father Like Son by bathory-babe, literature

Reflections of A Sunday by bathory-babe, literature

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Reflections of A Sunday

rose-quartz sky leaks starlight from beneath a veil of ash trees, smoke curls around the branches and penetrates the skin. she smells of 3:30 A.M. and of stale kisses. nicotine is her middle name as she finishes pack after pack of pushing down the pain. rhythm and blues still pound against the hangover of last tuesday as the sun rises from the cracks in the side walk, an asprin laden road leading the way past where the evening ends. she is Katie-Scarlett on an urban Tara and it is dawn and she feels different. she is alone and whimpering and alive and waiting for the dark sky to pour down upon her once more and sav

Safe Sex? by bathory-babe, literature

Literature

Safe Sex?

I've concocted fantasies Before I was born About love And "is that what the kids are calling it these days?" And each one ended with a soundtrack I could get off to; Like a movie With a twist of the wrist ending Because it's so damned beautiful That makes you want to cry, And that's how it's supposed to be for everyone. And I believed that after my first I could take a bow And see my name Next to his In a rolling marquee Advertising lessons in chivalry... But my prince? he never got back to me, And I turned into A woman who got off on angst And not twelve year old romantic notions: Movie's so scratched with S&M boyf

bourbon bed by bathory-babe, literature

Literature

bourbon bed

I dated an alcoholic. he drank me like I was jack daniels, and I was on the rocks of adolescence; covered in sticky sweet bourbon trying to breath through alcohol and finding my way to the surface of naiveté all the while facing growing up without plans for a future: just the thought of drinking, sex, and theater, drowning in liquor, sweet as the spotlight of being young and wanting to get laid by the hottest guy around (you never fully outgrown your high school kegger). didn't matter if he tried to hurt, and he did try to harm with drunken kinks and I said no, but vodka made my breath stale and certain words won't

CAUTION: Smoking may cause Hea by bathory-babe, literature

Literature

CAUTION: Smoking may cause Hea

CAUTION: Smoking May Cause Heart Disease he inhaled my poem in a foggy blue breath, and I could see my words absorbed into his lungs. he exhaled my meaning like an afterthought, and threw his appriciation at my feet. I put out his disintrest with my swallowed tears, but I was satisfied with the knowledge that I left one more scar scribbled on his diseased heart

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