Somewhere in the middle of nowhere

some people only see the world
through their eyes
and think
I know better
I know how you should feel
some people can’t turn themselves upside down
it’s not their fault
it’s how they were raised
to compare themselves with everyone else
to see money as the ultimate power
to breed greed
to spawn ridicule
to undo imagination
to kill the creative spirit
you just have to keep believing in your art
in your path
some people can’t see how the other dimension
is the ultimate high
and being naked
is how you see the truth.

“Measured Teaspoons” from LOVE & METAXA

https://www.iambapoet.com/christina-strigas

If you click on the link you will find three of my poems published on Iamb Poetry and my voice recordings of each one. “Measured Teaspoons” is from my new poetry book, Love & Metaxa, which just went live yesterday, and is available to purchase on all online bookstores.

Measured Teaspoons

Who loves me anymore?
People like to rehash old said shit,

From five years ago …
You punched a door,
There’s still a wrecked hole to remind me.

​

Pin their poetry on your forehead.
Jinx, touch red, 
it’s identical now. 
Someone brings you red wine
you smile
taking about reading and writing                    
you try to tell a joke
fail miserably.
Look around the room like a stranger.

​

That’s not what I meant at all.

Who loves me anymore?

​

They see me with fugitive themes,
Forgive me for always leaving,
Flinch at the sign of my danger
Writers like to
play sex games in the day,            
hunting 
Adventurous and dangerous love.

​

I can never tell who wants me,
Damaged and wounded from giving away
My secrets for cash or fantasies for free,
Or if they do
My ego never knows,
Did you take out the garbage?

​

I can never tell time anymore.
It keeps rambling on and on like a song on the radio
you can’t listen to anymore
Indifferent to the wrinkles on my skin.
It’s not Friday today? When was my birthday?

​

I may be losing my witching powers,
Maturing into the skin of my mother and father         
Perhaps they never existed,
Maybe normality is flowing stillness into my veins,

​

I have become what they feared.
Old and out of date,
Expired.

​

I have walked into a party   
In the wrong era’s outfit,
And when you try to explain it:
The meaning of poetry,

​

When they ask,
Why you’re wearing nylons with sandals,
You keep repeating,
Because I want to.

​

Yet you realize no matter
How you express yourself

​

What you really want to say is:    
That’s not what I meant at all.

Montreal Canadians Win

I don’t know how the Montreal Canadians

win games

they were not meant to

or keep holding on

when the world expects

them to let go

this is how the Montreal Sky

has a unique sunset

each night

and no one

gambles on points

or clouds

I was teaching

Go habs go

so I only saw the last 4 minutes

no way

that you can bet on

love like you bet

on a hockey game

love is unexpected

and hits you

most

when you think

you are over someone

when you are rooting

for the other side.

This is not the last time

I will write about you and hockey.

It’s only the beginning of the end.

Remember that time on the couch

when you turned to me and said

I love it when you watch the game with me

even though I was on the phone the entire time

you still felt closer

warmer

less alone.

what is said and what is done

you can’t trust a stranger with your truth

you get fed up of speaking so much

and listening to so little. you can ask

a question and it turns into an accusation.

you can guess his name, but he changes

the letters on you. you can tell him

i love you

he’ll stare at you

as if you should not have said that

and when you turn your back

he’ll respond

i love you

years later, and you will wonder

does he even mean it

is he saying that to shut me up?

you can love him

so much the ache keeps you up at night.

you can stare at his photo all you want

but his sunglasses are always on

he won’t look you in the eye,

he won’t fight for you, he won’t

make you pick. he wants you

sitting tight, never asking

where he goes, or why he only

shows you what he wants

you to know. he is happy

not having all of you.

he only wants you for an hour

not eight.

don’t take it personal

he told you so

but he refuse to listen

when you should.

it’s fine now, after seven years

you finally realized

he has been telling you

the truth all along

you just didn’t pay attention.

black coffee and philosophy

My black coffee is warm, the sun is peeking.

It said 7:02. I don’t understand

how phones can answer most of my questions

except the philosophical ones of how you can

be one person with two eyes

and another with an eye in the middle. It seems

most men are like this, it’s not a surprise.

I learned it from young, but the hope keeps

rising like your hardness. I wished I never

saw you now. I wished I never knew you now.

I thought you were someone else, excuse me.

I thought you spoke my language, you never

did. You researched me, googled me, and

made my name too large in print. It’s just a

name. I’m no one special. You’re the radiohead

song.

I think I see you everywhere, but

the truth is, all these thoughts are pointless.

My coffee is still warm and my libido

is still alive. I’m baking lemon cakes

now, I’m wearing no underwear.

I’m mentally ill now, I’m going crazy.

Aren’t you happy for me? I may even

try to kill myself for you. Wouldn’t

you love to have a trophy of all

of us? Lined up and direct

in reality

telling you how we are all so crazy,

so nuts–

to for have fallen for you.

don’t bother

to call me, I blocked your number,

don’t bother to search for me, I left your city,

don’t bother to want me, move onto the one from Ottawa,

she’s closer to home. Don’t bother to create new blogs

to scare me, it only makes me think you’re insane.

Don’t bother to come here, my city is dead.

Don’t bother to pretend, I see through your

disguise. Don’t bother to text me, I delete

and forget. Don’t bother to read me, it’s old

trauma news. you need a new fix, a new

supply and I’m so cold now. it’s like i’m

dead, i’m not even breathing. you knew

me once, don’t bother to bring up the past,

i’ve dug a whole in the train tracks.

isn’t it better this way? i can read books

i can leave my phone under a car seat

i can stop caring, looking, being your drug

you so easily replace me, from the one one before,

after, and now. it’s the present. you better

make your move, message her, tell her

all the lies, trap her, entice her, do

your dirty deeds, it’s the only way. i can’t wait

to be forgotten. please forget me.

don’t bother to find me. i’m in a new life.

Masks

everyone is wearing them now

before this pandemic we wouldn’t even know

the truth from the lies

how lovers should understand more

how lovers should never be bored

with each other. with their skin

yet here we are in masks worn thin

and we have not even left the house.

You’re on my mind, like a song that plays

a guitar that keeps bleeding.

a flower constantly blooming

all the impossible events

like skies that cry

words that matter.

You know what I mean

when I don’t mean it.

Yet you make me feel like a coccoon

stuck in one phase

or a glass butterfly

that never changes;

a gift from my birthday

you never wrapped up.

You should have done all the things

you meant to do.

not merely talk about them

drunk one night

that doesn’t count.

Nothing

In death

people don’t disappear

they brighten up and write poems

on the other side of the sky

wait for you to decipher

their lines.

They bury the flowers

you planted and eat your leftover soup

even if living with the dead was hard

their life in your hands

is as comparable

as empty hands and brick walls.

Daily Twitter Writing

There are so many writing prompts on Twitter. I recently discovered the website below to refer to…you can always check out Ariel Poets and use our hashtag #arielpoets on Twitter.

This month”s writing prompt is sadness and madness..

http://micascottikole.com/daily-twitter-writing-events/

Mountain Daisy

#januaryfalls18

Poetry prompt on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/fallspoetry