J A N U A R Y. 2001

Name or Alias:   Amber JMD
E-Mail:   amber1252@juno.com

Why do you write poetry?   I suck at communicating vocally. Poetry helps me to feel strong or give a belated retort. It is the only place I feel secure enough to express myself.  I tend to detour in person, writing or drawing helps me focus clearly. The incredible relief to set things straight has become almost obsessive compulsive, a bit too self indulgent. BUT this art is my survival tool for my pain.

Why is poetry important to you?   It's the one thing I am proud of, because I can see the growth within my poems. I need to create where I can be seen or heard, poetry is one of my outlets. Otherwise I'll explode- you can only stuff a dead bird, I'm gonna react 'cuz it's a fight to survive and so I write. Plus there are no rules when writing poetry!

As a Fiona Apple  fan, can you make a statement that connects you to Fiona and poetry?   We both experienced similar painful events at a very young age. For example: I was raped at 6 & 22. In therapy from 9-14. Kids were cruel, and made fun from ages 9-16. We've written poems since 8yrs. old. Went to a special private school for kids with emotional disabilities/handicaps? We are both Virgos - I'm five days older. And we have the compassion and strength to deal with our strife wisely, we didn't suffer for nothing. We learned from our past. But it ends there kind of. I'm not famous, nor do I think I have the audacity to pursue it either. She's just the Super hero version of me. I wish I had the video collection of all her songs, don't you?

Love in wonderland

I remember the light on your face in the morning
and the birds chirping for us to join the world again
I remember the hard rain at night and the fresh air
on our porch we'd sit there quietly intoxicating all senses
Through this looking glass experience
I never wanted to be on my best behavior
I couldn't accept anything, unless it was real

I'm on my head- soul searching through my pathos
I remember we were nocturnal animals
Our lives were heard more clearly through 2AM walls
Our love was like an empty cyclical journey
Like a spiral staircase without any newel

I've been tensile
a recluse, oh Lord my indolence, recidivism
I thought if I was prolific through my art
that I might save at least one organ
think, thinking, spacy
I am my own deception
and I remember you telling me to grow up

six years short of your experience
I was a fool in my desire for you
my love for your body- the Art of every curve and muscle
the meaningless catch in my tummy
for any expression on your face
I was evolving into a religious animalcule who only longs to be in your
lulled like Rilke...instrumental universe
Violence instilled without an outlet
childlike innocence exiting adult love
constantly in the swallowing action
to sink into a hole without a bottom
I'm going mad
solitude. cabin fever
zero. this is my nature
minus love degrees Celsius
whirling and wailing- yearning without focus
on this nocturne melody

I remember such idiocy.

state of depth

This spine is stapled to the bed
simple, colorful, something missing
like Pablo's fleurs
thump, thump, thump
it's your heart
it's your hands
wishing i could touch the intensity of the music
the teardrops in your voice
metal springs magnetize, stuck me beneath the sheets
closet dark cranberry, hunter flannel, gold ribbons
so much strength has me incognito
dirty light blue flower pillow
ruffle my soul, seduces me dull
i don't feel my glow
even though they say I'm on fire
toasting too long, listlessly surviving
i wont crumble violently, not anymore, I've done that before
folded into abandonment luggage
the only way I know how to be
November patterns, every year
i remember my father unclear
i repress my brother like a belly ache
i cant bring myself to communicate
been digressing, but consistent
i wish i could pause all this exhaustion
fast forward to phone mail sloth
i hide myself, appearing innocently undamaged
the charcoal gray wool is hidden
underneath lemon terry cloth.

misdirected pain to the fullest

I can scream as loud as you can
I can be like you and thrash the things we own
I learned how to focus my anger like you
So I am all over the place in search to let out this anger
Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding--I'm outside the ring
and in my home
My voice is sore, the phone is broken - 
the batteries must have slipped behind the couch
I did a number on my hand, my digits indented the door
i feel trapped, my emotions are shredding my soul
I must exhale each piece of pain by feeling
the slam of the telephone against the wall
the slam of the plates against the floor
the slam of my fist against the door
i must express this anger to the fullest
i don't know how to stop or censor
this tension in the house- we rise to the fullest
this passion for our needs- we hurt to the fullest
nobody hears me
unless i freak out
When I freak - I am cast as the evil child
the bad seed
there is no results unless I freak till you hear me
i will freak till you hear me
i use to hide in corners
i use to cry privately
not anymore, i cant hold in my tears
no control
i am unable to calm down
i couldn't reach you or explain my side
you wanted the last word, to be never proven wrong
if i position you speechless--you hate me for it
that is what makes me a piece of shit
why else do i have emotional fits?

Inner life

she rocks on her bed
to soothe her emotions
she has no trust in her 
society, gender, or her fellow humans
a child shouldn't feel this void in her heart
i feel for her
i feel disgraced and ashamed to admit I am human
this is not in our nature to abuse
these human habits need a remedy
and different priorities

her world is warped
and I wish I never experienced 
my childhood
Justice doesn't exist for me 
but my body supplied some therapy
after all these years
my memory is still scarred
and my anger picks at my un healing scabs
i still bleed

my Father preaches the good word
daddy is a snake beneath your skirt
a chameleon for his behavior
slithering Father chameleon doesn't practice what he preaches
Daddy dearest gave me
a chain saw massacre to my inner peace
and I hope this torment would end

a man's touch still makes me feel dirty
I desire with fairy-tale faith that I'll be loved one day
all I crave is love
so I'm a saint for Mother
a comedian for my friends
a nymph for my lover
my God I'll cover my inner self from my outside life
this is my strife of my inner life

a time like strychnine

Sorry I'm not your mangy little whore
you think if you don't enter me
I won't feel like you've taken a piece
don't get so defensive
you're the one who suggested
disengaged acts
I'm not one of your hobbies
nor an extracurricular activity
I may be androgynous
but that doesn't mean I'm emotionally detached
I am still a women when it comes to physical contact

inner peace can be reached when we forgive
but how can I forgive when you don't let go of my limbs
the past is smacking my every present moment
It's like an infinite touchstone that I can not condone

Yeah you may be a lingering syndrome
doesn't mean you turn me on
your greasy face is screaming for glycerine
and your intriguing cackle is annoying me
you think you can roseate my feelings
well I give you a manly sorry, 'cuz you can't
lubricate my mind
your slippery words like strychnine
can longer make me cry
too bad,  you can't have me
you used your time unwisely
I survived what you jeopardized
Now please,    step aside
and let me
                           my life