Before 2013 runs out entirely, and in the spirit of renewal, change and anticipation that is another year’s arrival just days away, we are branching out on hittingthesweetspot by Bob Skelley, trying something new and offering our first poem for publication. This is one I had written while in school this past year. While many who have already screened it call it depressing, I prefer kinder adjectives to describe it. Having a poem here for the first time speaks to the category-defying nature of the sweetspot—you can’t take pleasure at hitting the sweet spot unless it’s a moving target. Indeed, the blog continually morphs, transcends what blogs are supposed to be, and now that I’ve put forth comparably as many words in this introduction as are in the poem itself, I give it to our readers unconditionally for year-end savoring, reflection and deliberation.
Disappointment, jilted lovers, poor body image and tainted aspirations,
combined, bestowing ravages of time,
upon twisted, fragile, princess girl,
whose fleshy escapades merit no response.
Thrust harshly into whimsy and backroom encounters,
high heels, hopeful, hips switching seductively,
face turned away, body at war seeking recognition,
the occasional compliment mistaken.
Optimism not attainable, stuck in neutral,
oddly comforting, things staying the same,
oversexed, bereft of intimacy, fallow,
fleeting flutes of warmth betray her.
Wild, hoary nights of temporary relief,
gazing at thick hair, moist with sweat,
her lips dry and wet simultaneously,
feeling hungry all over,
the mirror angers her.
Life beyond struggles, like a dark rainbow
sky finally blue as reapers await,
the blackness of eternity her salvation,
the hands of old lovers fidget at a service she did not want.