SECTION EIGHTEEN
POETRY PAGE THREE 

sm
COLUMN EIGHTY-EIGHT, APRIL 1, 2003
(Copyright 2003 The Blacklisted Journalist)


LOVE/HATE

Hate

I know how to make you hate me
if i told you how I feel
and poured out my heart
and then I told you how I felt
if I showered you with praise
Then I know you'd truly HATE me
We want what we can't have
if you're full there's no hunger
if I show my cards the game is over
when all dreams come true then it's time to awaken
I KNOW HOW TO MAKE YOU HATE ME  ##

                                                                              * * *

Love

I know how to make you love me
if I pretend you don't exist
when you touch and I resist
you get enthralled and I'm indifferent
take the gifts you give without a word
wash my prick like you're a turd
you look for it, you follow it
rejection presents a challenge
you want something to chase
you don't want what you think you do
if I gave you what you want then what is left to want
I need not work harder just smarter
I didn't make the rules
but I won't give you jewels
I know that's the game of fools
and I don't like to lose
BUT I KNOW HOW TO MAKE YOU LOVE ME  ##

                                                                              * * *

GAS STATION

She got out of the car. Chubby blonde girl of about
seventeen. Too fat to really be pretty but with a pudgy
dollface with the slightest hint of acne. But she was sensual.
Full lips and long eyelashes. Drawstring cotton pants that
looked almost like pajamas and hooded sweatshirt that
didn't quite cover her belly, just a bit too tight. Wanting to
be sexy. Too much makeup. Not obese but just a bit too
heavy. She pulled out her daddy's credit card and slid it into
the pump and began filling up the tank. She saw me
watching her and her eyes froze to mine in her adolescent
insecurity. They seemed to ask "Am I ugly?" "Do you like
me?" "Are you some kind of pervert?" "You think I'm fat,
don't you?" "What is it? Do you want to fuck me?"

I looked away. Then I looked back but she was still
looking at me. Sorry girl, but no answer would help you and
besides, your teen agony is your greatest charm. she finally
turned away, confused, frustrated, and probably more
insecure than ever. the pretty girls with all their confidence
came out of the mini-mart laughing. She contrived some girl
giggles as they all jumped back in the car with their junk
food. For a second her smile vanished and she glanced at me
again. Teen angst. she wanted some kind of answer but had
no idea what the question was. They sped off into the
suburban wasteland to find it.

Feb. 2003   ##

CLICK HERE TO GET TO INDEX OF COLUMN EIGHTY-EIGHT


CLICK HERE TO GET TO INDEX OF COLUMNS

The Blacklisted Journalist can be contacted at P.O.Box 964, Elizabeth, NJ 07208-0964
The Blacklisted Journalist's E-Mail Address:
info@blacklistedjournalist.com
 
 

THE BLACKLISTED JOURNALIST IS A SERVICE MARK OF AL ARONOWITZ