Aidyn Rains lives in Dallas, Texas, where she resides happily with her two favorite kitties, Izzy and Annie. She is a former environmental science, biology, english, and real estate major, but is currently working on her degree as an Administrative Assistant. (She hopes this is her last major.) When she's not scheduling dental appointments, she is reading, writing poetry, drinking coffee and studying metaphysics and astrology. Please e-m@il any comments or suggestions to her at figicat@directlink.net.
|
A miniature plastic toolset with a wrench that really works and complete with a happy birthday song at no extra charge to his new little daughter, who will soon forget his face and then perhaps his name and the blue truck he drove as soon as she meets another toolman to fix her problems and mend her scars and soothe her need for just one more night. |
|
Must I be fated to suffer for my disbelief? Or, if not for disbelief... Perhaps because I never liked the moaning wail of the organ? Perhaps limp bodies tacked onto tiny 18 karat gold stakes produced...what? Fear - not love. Perhaps I never felt inferior to a white-collared secret-stealer. Perhaps the water I was submerged in was cold - and only made me shiver? Forgive my insolence - but my reverence is reserved for one who is greater than You or I Because I worship not a mortal - Must I plunge my soul into purgatory? |
|
(a house) in which i could grow instead you are a cage in which i remain a child but i am not a child just in case you had forgotten. |
|
and sundays have lost their charm. So I drive real slow to get home- postponing inevitable coldness that freezes my insides shut tight against the world without you here I’m all frowns and lip-service and thinking of weeks ahead I curse time and life - cause a handsome pair of brown eyes lives in the month of May. |
|
I’m trippin on cold medicine so my hands are far away with you is where I wanna be - unless you’d rather (and I’m not suggesting) opt for solitude I’m only reminding you that I’m not your only option but I’d merrily snatch your name up in my salty palm and lace it with sugar and rum flavored kisses upon your face under Spring flowers and before Our God, Your Mexicans, My Natives, and the Reverend John. |
|
chocolate-faced caffeine-filled children grow up on trampolines and sega to become america’s prime crop of coffee-drinking pot-smoking college students who write their fathers on e-mail and talk to their mothers on the telephone and send aunt peggy thank you notes for the wonderful blue winter mittens received on birthdays in august (but it’s the thought that counts) and it’s the gpa that matters and it’s only constructive criticism so take it lightly with a grain of sand and the future of the chocolate-faced caffeine-filled children and memories of trampolines and sega. |
|
and sometimes i just wanna quit loving smoking cussing drinking caring about you cause it’s making me hurt bad like slaps and punches all at my heart all at my brain all at my soul and that’s another thing- i’m all wrong there right where you are in my soul where your acid eats away at what’s me anymore? and if i reached out to stop you could you please let me take a breather for awhile so i can find myself in this town that smothers me and makes me feel apathy is a better way to go- all alone with my depression my anxiety my beer and my fish. |
i must say i was wrong
(regrettably)
about you and i
would like to state for the record that
heart-pounding flood of emotion
(unlike love)
was temporary
and i am sorry if this has caused you
(or i for that matter)
any confusion.
|
|
remembering you there you were all lips sweet and touch soft to the core of me until the motion became familiar movement in sinc with the back and forth of waves of rapture-and again here we are long after the fact (years, in fact) and still your lips sweet and touch soft and waves slowly rock in- to a blissful warmth flooding the core of us |
|
there is a man on the moon and he is tragic. He dutifully visists me each night i call him (without complaint). so i take this time to say Thanks. (because you are loved) |
|
i cannot catch - but hold - only while she’s resting (from life) and yet in that moment, she is mine. (but fleeting still) she runs away and leaves me to remember a single moment of love. |
|
Dear Sir, I regret to inform you that you may not love me at this time. I realize you have many great qualifications; therefore I will consider you’re offer at a later date. However at this time, I am not seeking an attendant. We will keep in touch and you shall be informed of any changes that may occur in the future. Thank you for your interest. Sincerely, The Queen |
|
Fifty-six pick up sticks, she almost said no. The sheets were stained- his scent remained and the girl never felt so low. Contaminated and desacrated, (and on a glorious autumn day), Her grip was tight- she aimed just right and blew herself away. |