ugly

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ugly little angela ugly little angela crawling like an angel so wholesome so hopeful so hopeful my horrible shapes somehow manage to elude you your beautiful wide eyes somehow stumble into a diamond of blindness that damn bright blue of heaven spilling over the eager ugly inches of my deformed form every inch of me more horrible and polluted than the inch before each lick more bitter than the one before slap my face slap my face i'll beg you to slap me until the ugliness falls away leave me red and wanton but without want without that atrocious longing for beauty wipe me clean of all the lessons i was fed slap the adjectives out of my mouth yank my head back spit on me scream at me and for one moment i'll know at least one other human being sees me.

all i want is for one other person to know me.

know the worst of me and don't turn away

all the things i cry about in the dark, no mother at the end of the hall to come running
to interupt the nightmare, smooth my hair back and kiss my forehead, no angel crawling at the foot of my bed

i'm the angel
the spectacle
crawling, open mouthed
begging, blue eyes open as bruised legs

ignore the gleaming smile that greets you
ignore the image
the way i walk so tall
red lips and long hair
high heels and dressed in black
"that's a bad bitch"
ignore it all
even if i am that girl
i want you to see me stripped completely down
see me beg you like a prideless dog
and choose to stay til noon anyway


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i can say anything here.  i don't give a fuck who loves me if you don't.  did you hear that?  i said i don't give a fuck who loves me if you don't...  and all i can do is hope that this feeling will pass.




.

what aftermath?

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wash my whites.

take my pill.

"don't forget your shirt"


hungry to reminisce
my bad deeds
the things i've done that would make my mama hate me
determined to earn it
she hated me for no reason
never once made it a secret thing.



i hold my breath
i don't want your death around me
i'm familiar enough

but put your hand around my throat

i want to feel a real fear for once
it gets tiring
being afraid of nothing.


keeping busy

chasing all the ugly names.

some type of hurt that is honest and sure.

some type of hurt i can't explain.


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these inconsistencies (don't cry)

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(Maybe it is true that I am an ugly girl.

An inconsistent, selfish woman.)

There is a mirror in the corner and it is watching.

There is a mirror in the corner

and it is a tape recorder.   Your step-father will know everything.

I look at my chin in the mirror and see it is too big.  Too big for you to love me.  Not big enough to keep you from fucking me but definitely too big to keep you from holding my hand on the street.  I am a simple and inconsistent woman and such an ugly girl to boot!  It’s true!  Don’t argue, it only makes you look stupid.  And every now and then stupid is worse than ugly.  Ask anybody.  My sister and I learned early that the best thing we could ever do is win the love of a man.  Our mother beat it in to us with her big curls and big lips.  Her big lips all done up in Yummy Plummy lipstick.  Don’t forget your push-up bra.  I was never beautiful when I was around her.  Who would have thought so?  Look at her.  Look at her lips and her hair and how tall and thin.  That isn’t me.  That was my mother.  I didn’t even come close.  And then she died.  It wrecked my eyes and my heart and all of my soft, aching insides.

I look at this man

his blond hair

and think    don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

Such big, beautiful words falling

from his big, knowing hands.  Hands

that have turned so many

pages of the sacrosanct and

fell so gently upon

the nipples of so many

aching women.

How I ache!

How I ache!

Where are you?  Where are you now?

When there is nothing I’d love better than to waste away below the sweat of an angry hand. 

Let me shy away from your gaze.  I want to feel afraid of you. I want to be crass below your touch, say all the horrible words that embarrass me later in the day and cry your name out against your tangled sheets.  I want your fist in my hair.  I want your cock up my ass.  I want you to slap my face and smile against my hot cheek.  I see myself becoming a corpse and so I want to get fucked as hard and often as I can.  You seem like a man who might see the necessity of all this. 

It’s been so long since I’ve cried in front of anyone.

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as always, critique is welcome.  angelasimione at gmail dot com

i want to be good at this.