two poems: what sad girls talk about when they’re not sad / for us to gain much more than just bread by Sol Camarena Medina
what sad girls talk about when they’re not sad
tw: depression + sex mention
Sad girls, when they’re not sad –
they talk about love,
and war. Their own unfinished poems,
and mostly, mostly
bacchanals for joy.
Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they talk about washing their hands before
touching their own wounds. They list
each and every function for laughing
hold parties, and throw pillows at each other –
nobody ever mentions
the way tears are now engraved on sheets, and so to sleep is now an adventure
meant for sagacious lady sailors.
Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they write less,
and they dance more. They do so with no need for drunkenness –
just like putting on pajamas
right before going to bed. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they talk
about washing their own panties on time
so they aren’t left with none.
Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they don’t ever forget
about sadness. They put together a small nest for her, with what’s left of ex girlfriends’
bouquets of flowers, and a canopy for her bed which they embroider
with beautiful words. They care for their own sadness
they breastfeed her – their chests cold
they play being Mom and Dad
even though they’re still scared
of being able to have daughters themselves.
Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they hoist less flags but that’s because, for once, they
to read manifestos preceding them. They’ve got time left
for something other than due soup,
or worn out dreams.
Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they fuck less
they love less
but they do it all
a lot better. They moan at more sympathetic volumes
for the sake of their neighbors’ work hours. They masturbate
for some other reason than just inertia,
Sad girls, ultimately, are
a lot more than just sad girls
a lot less than healthy women
but they’re forever
going to remember
something nobody can take away from them.
for us to gain much more than just bread
(for friends at ASIEM, a mental heath org meeting I was invited to at my city; they're doing some wonderful work for mentally ill & mad people like me here at Valencia, so I wrote it for them all as an expression of gratitude for their invitation!)
We basted loss on a worn-out cloth,
and we tore the embroidery in order to find the needle
we misplaced years ago. It’s no haystack
but it’s close.
We’re lord & lady knights for withered roses,
and underground carnations,
and bleeding poppies,
we’re here, despite it all. Kissing life’s wrists,
and finding tiny lights within the night,
and embracing that which is dark out of our own insides,
and making a home out of the edge of the wind.
We crumbled prejudices within gazes,
and we unleashed litters, and we took down
spikes. There’s no prison left for this dream
for getting better which we promised.
For laughter’s our own sail within this ship –
and tears are joy’s loyal companions. For hope’s
squeezing our own hands with her caress,
and to resist –
that’s no longer
the only thing we’re doing.
we’re also doing the living.