the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Category: writing (page 8 of 109)

welcome (the world)

welcome (the world)

he introduced me
not knowing
there is no one i need
to know. and while
these women gossiped
and laughed and bantered
my lungs expanded
while my eyes closed.
they said: she’s an alcoholic.
she isn’t one
of us.
they spoke and spat
mouth running mischief.
when this happens –
protection shuts
me down. before i rise
i take time
to consider. to think
about the color of his e(yes)
and accent of his voice
and things he does
not say
while he was trying to know
me. i was
never. one of whatever.
i hope he pleases her
before me
because i am nothing
but one second
of time. that
does not exist.

your socks

The last night I saw you was the only night my dog ever pissed on my floor. She did it while you were here doing drugs in my bathroom that were delivered by my dealer in a silver BMW about twenty minutes ago.

These are things that happen in Manhattan.

I’ve known you for almost two years now and you have begged and pleaded and played on the weakness my divorce cut me with and broke both of my knees.

I’ve given you a lot. Too much. Things I will never get back. Things you will never deserve. But if you ever thought I would give you the number of my delivery service – you played yourself. Continue reading

éveil internationale

I’ve been writing in French lately…

éveil internationale

et ses paroles sont devenues
mon pinceau. mon inspiration.
mon amour.
soudain,
je pensais en français…
pinot noir. creme brule.
baisers à Manhattan en –
rêvant de l’Australie.
et mon monde
élargi. couleurs
que tout a commencé
quand j’ai regardé dans les yeux.

international awakening

and his words became
my paintbrush. my inspiration.
my love.
suddenly
i was thinking in french…
pinot noir. creme brule.
kissing in manhattan –
dreaming of australia.
and my world
expanded. colors
that all started
when i looked in his eyes.

hurricane draft

hurricane draft

when it started…
hearing his voice
(like sunlight on your face)
became… natural.
and his words
were… (wind in your hair)
Art.
to make you. pace.
blown away –
(mon trésor, mon amour)
cattails.
floating on the breeze.

safe bet

safe bet

i would never
tell
how he invited
he asked and begged
and i did… Continue reading


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