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ChristinWho
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Name: Christin
Birthday: 11/4/1985
Gender: Female
Interests: theatre, slam poetry, all music except country, "apples to apples", knitting, wasabi peas, sleeping with bunnies
Expertise: biting
Message: message me
Member Since:
6/26/2004
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| Morbid poem #21 (for JR) titled "Spring Break 2007: What I Broke, Etc"
I did not burn anything
This spring break.
I did not bruise anything
Either.
I did not break anything
This spring break.
Unless you count
The promises to myself
To become
A Cooler Person.
Because Damn.
What happened.
Morbid poem #22 (for Emily Loeb) titled "The Ants in My Bed are Red"
These are the times
I wish to be sleeping
No
Spooning
Ok
Screwing
In a bed
That was not mine. | | |
| Morbid poem #20, titled “My Theory as to Why You Stopped Calling Me Everyday”
You are a vegan
Animal rights activist
From San Francisco
I am a carnivorous
Large-dog hater
From Texas
You stopped calling me
The day I told you
I was trying to kill a gecko
Named Jeremiah
Who lived by my toilet.
I thought it would be the distance that killed us
Not some lame
Ugly
Totally-deserved-to-die
Gecko
Named Jeremiah.
I hate Jeremiah.
And vegans.
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| Morbid poem #19, titled “Today I Ran the Tollbooth”
I threw in all the money I had…
35 cents.
Which is 20 cents short of
Getting the green
“You are a good person”
Light.
But I ran it anyway.
It was then that I started feeling like the Anti-Christ.
So at the next tollbooth
I turned myself in.
And they gave me a ticket.
Life might be easier
If I had
Lazier morals
Or at least
A tolltag.
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| Morbid poem #18, titled “My Mother Says She ‘Hates Gays’”
She meant it as a joke
But I didn’t laugh.
She told me she was
“Homophobic.”
Was I really supposed to laugh?
No
Rather
I looked her dead in the face
And said “Mom…
I’m gay.”
It was a joke
I’m really not
But she didn’t laugh.
Maybe one day
We’ll remember
The day when we both tried
To get under the other’s skin,
And how stupid we were
To say the things
We didn’t mean.
And maybe
It will make us laugh.
Together we’ll laugh
And laugh
Until it’s really not that funny
Anymore. | | |
| Morbid poem #16, titled “I Bitterly Lament the Happiness that Plagues Me”
It’s so depressing
When life is great.
A morbid life
Breeds morbid poetry
Like
A ticking bomb
Breeds panicked people.
Ka-boom.
Ka-boom.
I bet those people
(If they lived through the
Ka-boom)
Wrote some damn fine
Morbid poems.
But this one sucks.
Morbid poem #17, titled “Because You Fail on Purpose”
I just don’t like you anymore.
Sorry.
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