a victoria p


21 March 2007

(a poet, on politics.) an ant on this earth.

A pregnant moon; my drunken eyes.

Do not feel tiresome of your only praise during the moments spent away from the few people you know, and understand.

Given: there are many, many apartments, solely in Manhattan. There are many people with my mindset alone, here in Manhattan. There are many people my age, with my mindset, here in Manhattan.

Take that, as an ant on the earth. Zoom out. There are many conversations—philosophy, politics, worldly bullshit—zoom out.

There are neighborhoods, in Manhattan, in which these conversations are more common. There are towns in New York, there are counties and states—we’re still zooming out.

There are people, places far and wide, that agree on common terms, with common worldly issues.

We’re all starving to tell each other. It’s our moment on stage—our gasping for air.

Exasperated ideas go quenched only in the “ah hmms,” of our friends. But, when does that not become enough?

When, we’re home, I see us. I see us silenced, all at once. The telescope pulls back-- we’re quiet. We are all quiet—all of us, philosophers, literary geniuses, alike. We have nothing to say to one another.

One speaks amongst the crowd, in order to pay our idiosyncrasies, paled amongst each other, off.

They go on to be George W. fucking Bush, or something. We all laugh and scream, at once.

We don’t know how to react to the ones who rose. We don’t always understand why they rose. We don’t always try to understand, in a dance of resentment.


There is your jacket. There are the lapels in which I grasp for comfort. There are the moments I wouldn’t trade for a breath of my daughter’s life.

Not for anything.

I give you my eyes. I give you my heart. I give you everything I am. I pray to god that that is enough. You don’t believe in God. I never, ever believed in God before I knew you. I promise you that someday, somewhere, someone will make you understand. It’s a bleak darkness, an utmost unpromising absence of light—I want to bring you to the brightest part of me (and the bleakest—because, that is what I can offer in experience.). Sweet, sweet, tart (pause, pause, pause…) me.

There are eyes I wish to scoop out and harness in my understanding. I want to make you realize what I can offer you. I feel as though you may never understand me. I feel as though there are nights in which this melts away, in which we need each other the most.

I need you the most, now.
Now, in the most inconvenient and consuming way.
I loved you first. I just never wanted to disappoint you.

But, I will always do just that.

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