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Gina Young Poem
I wish I could be as gorgeous as you are now. Strong and strong-willed. Muscled and lean. Compact, hard, soft, curved. Covered in sand. You are all long legs, tendons straining to push muscles further. You are all long hair tied back, braided. Concentration written on your face. 4 girls. 1 net. 1 ball. 21 points. And you are a glowing beast.
Dedicated to Misty May-Treanor and Kerry Walsh.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2012
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Gina Young Poem
I once walked into my backyard
and found two slugs mating in a bucket
I had just learned how slugs go about mating,
or trust-I would have been rightly confused
Here hangs a long line of slime, almost a foot long
and then halfway down the thread of slime, it begins to twist, to look like a strand of DNA
I am fascinated beyond comprehension
What am I seeing, I mean I KNOW what Im seeing- But WHAT am I seeing??
These two gelatinous creatures, that I admit Ive never given much thought to before
are forming the most intricate, delicate dance of fornication
This is too much for my mind,
and so I just sat and looked on in awe...this lasted for awhile so I unfortunately wasnt there for the seperation.
Now, Im lost in the realm of procreation, its consumed in my head every time I go back and imagine those delicate slugs.
Cats. Big, small, lions, cheetahs, tigers..I believe they all mate the same way.
A female goes into estrus, and males come rolling in from far and wide. Marking every guidepost along the way, announcing his arrival.
The Lioness lays comfortably in the shade, waiting to be presented her King.
And the brawl ensues. Maybe hours or days. Screaming and slashing, boasting and threatening.
And finally when the lesser males are too worn out, too ashamed, given up, deflated...
The big man with all the prowess grabs his woman with his teeth, mounting her, her resisting..testing if she approves.
They are loud and vicious when they finally get down to it. And persistent.
Days go by, they barely eat, they are barely concious of their surroundings, hormones driving them.
They mate, they rest, they fight, they mate, they rest.
And then its over just like nothing ever happened. And shes left alone to gestate the next generation.
Birds. Birds vary...dogs and cats can be predictable when it comes to making babies.
But birds have different rules. Alot of birds mate for life and are monogomous...better than humans at it too.
Swans are particularly faithful, and heartbroken when their mates die.
There is a type of male bird that will spend hours upon hours building elaborate, beautiful nests,
collecting pretty, colorful things...making a comfortable space to get it on with his lady.
And then the females browse the different nests looking for the perfect living space for a very important event.
Some birds dance, they show off every beautiful move they have to earn the heart and eggs of a woman.
And we all know peacocks. The males are burdened with being beautiful, trying to catch a pretty birds eye. Quite opposite of us peoples, huh?
I could go on...but just a few more points on procreation.
Penguins, males keeping the eggs, almost starving to death to make sure they hatch.
Crocodiles burying their eggs just offshore, and just waiting to take out predators looking for yummy croc eggs.
Octopi will do some craziness where the female starves herself to death to make sure her young hatch alive.
Male seahorses defying everything we know about life, carry the babies....if they can, why...??
Orcas will nurse for up to 5 years, even after another calf has been born. The females never leave the family.
Female hyenas have a 7 inch ******** which they give birth out of, Im grateful to not be a hyena.
The strongest, largest shark in the womb will cannibalize its siblings. Survival of the fittest.
So now Humans.
We have hormones like all the other animals, we act on them, we procreate.
But its almost as if we do this slyly. Not everyone obviously-not aimed at people fighting to have a child.
We say were making love, connecting, feeling. But how much is truly lust, hormones and instinct?
We have similarities of all animals in our mating rituals, whether babies are in mind or not.
Men act tough, or try to look so slick. Women flirt and dance and wear bright shiny objects, like shes trying to lure a magpie not a partner.
And we have our fights, we get vicious and physical, we fight and we penetrate, fight and penetrate.
And then almost always someone walks away.
I always come back to the slugs.
Where there seems to be no pretension, no need for competition.
I could be so completly wrong about so many things.
But those slugs just seem to be doing something right.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2013
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Gina Young Poem
I carry this 30 pound bag wherever I go,
Some call this item a purse,
I say burden!
Inside;
pink wallet with metallic stars
(not alot within except an unused gift card and an ID)
12 hair ties, all black
2 bottles nail polish
(1 is Lagoon blue, 1 is something called Rant)
6 dollars in change
2 books
lint roller
make-up bag
2 kinds of perfume
(a girl needs to smell pretty)
cell phone
cigarettes
2 lighters
5 pens, 2 pencils
notebook for poems
Sour Patch Kids and Swedish Fish
Gobstoppers
hand lotion
2 magazines
mp3 player
eye glasses with case
name tag for work
antibiotics and pain relievers
and a random cat toy, a blue mouse.
What a mess!
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2011
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Gina Young Poem
..."Animal abuse should be a felony."
Animal abuse should be a felony.
No creature should be beaten, tortured, and abused.
I have never known how anyone could be
Malicious and demented, so cruel and unforgiving.
And for what, what is the reward for you,
Laughter for a moment, looking big, showing off for your crew.
Animals, I have seen,
Bloodied, beaten within an inch of their lives, dying.
Unloved, unwanted, neglected, abandoned
Starving for food and love, in my head I can hear them crying.
Every little piece of love is needed, every little soul needs fed.
Written by Gina Young
for Write It Deep and Dramatic, Please
on 9/4/11
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2011
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Gina Young Poem
cross hangs down, silver hits the desk as i inhale. i try so hard to be good but this feels better.
the relaxing god, the fanatic inside the savior inside who helps me through these sweaty nights.
serenity is soothed in silver. and its 1+1+2+2+1 and the lights are burning my face.
ive got a new dress. i dont wanna burn it up, stay awake.
little rituals. little ways and parts and places. the real world is approaching fast,
i wanna stay here in this bubble, i wanna live where no one will ever hurt me again.
only so much powder and the pain is not in your reach.
teeth hurt but the clenching ended days ago.
i beg for sweet sleep, but to not dream of vows and coins and promises.
the commandments make me itch and your prayers are like angel dust.
i beg for sweet sleep, not the hard plastic chairs and the counting of days and the very special anniversaries, you all are stunning hipocrites.
so i bend again to the table. and i scratch and i bleed.
and i make it perfect for my eyes.
and i let the silver swing down to the wood and the clank it makes.... makes me feel like i am home again.
and the radio doesnt matter anymore and the lies are all gone and i sink back into a very real reality.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2012
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Gina Young Poem
Oh, my Sour Patch Kids
You are so sweet and so sour
I love you today.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2011
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Gina Young Poem
that december, i found my body had really been his all along.
this movie is breaking my heart.
i could have written volumes about the way he was ****ing me,
or the reasons he loved me,
or his favorite ways to die.
and then the summer came, and i gave my skin, my heart and liver and lungs away to him.
but i kept singing in the morning for him.
i was wrapped up in a blanket beside a stolen lake, i was going to take his arms with me.
i was hot and dehydrated and losing my faith.
and then he was kneeling at my feet and i felt my womb swell up for him.
i thought he was my needle in a haystack, my one in a million love story, i would have believed forever.
i thought that time couldnt keep up with us and that the whole world would just remain still while we were alive.
i thought the wicked pieces had been washed away in the torrents of calm we had, only, alone
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2013
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Gina Young Poem
I need to purge my blood of these shivers, smoke-filled bubbles burst in blood capillaries, an embolysym of you, an embolysym of truth. So much disease carried through an artificial vein.A wire mesh heart that surrounds the tissue, and cuts, and scrapes and tears the flesh thats pulsing there. My iron lung feed me unwell. A binge on sickness that I cannot take back. And with words settling back on the heels of my fingertips, Im ready to be ill. Emesis of b***s***, of treachery. Of indecency, of dishonesty, of facelessness, of cowardice. Will anyone ever read this and understand how a broken heart heals? The maliciousness of untrust and the misuse of of courtesy have eaten away at my regenerated liver. My borrowed kidney is rejected on the operating table and I am drained of all my poisoned blood. So give me a heart outside of my body, a big plasticine box with rubber tubing. And let my eyes see the you drain out of me and the blood of unknown angels be filtered in. I wanna watch every drop be filtered from my collapsing veins, I wanna deflate every organ inside and empty every nerve synapse of memory.I want a restart button and I want a renewable source of energy. I dont want your weak blood in me anymore. I dont needd your tiny bits of protein, your half-formed enzymes. I want anything else. An artificial sense of safety within my reach. So split me down the middle, no anesthesia, the scalpel working inch by bleeding inch. and seperate me from you.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2012
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Gina Young Poem
My 29th birthday
it was set up to be a miserable experience
without many friends or family
I was left to smile through the half-created festivities
Until...
my best friend showed up with a box
and sat it on my lap
and a bunny appeared.
A real life bunny rabbit
She was tiny and white and scared
and I picked her up gently
and whispered, "youre home".
Albino, my friend found her on a country road
2 months old, with no camoflague
And of course she thought of her best friend who cant deny an animal
and whose birthday just happened to be hours away.
That first day, my birthday, I held that bunny close.
She didnt fight, but now I know how much of a shocked baby she was.
I researched and read, watched countless videos.
I bought her a huge cage and started litter training her right away.
Its now 6 months later...
Ive worried over her more than any animal Ive ever loved
I took her to get her fixed and got really scared when I realized the vet knew less than I did.
She lived, and healed, and then she ate 6 buttons off the remote, 2 pieces of saltwater taffy, and 4 inches of hard plastic.
But she comes running for her treats and hops into my bed like a super-bunny
She kisses my hands and arms and knees and I know she loves me back.
The way she drinks up a bunch of water, then licks her lips for minutes and still drips water everywhere
The way when I call for her she looks so suspicious, wondering if its time for medicine or bathing or nail trimming.
Thats my bunny.
She makes giant messes, she eats like a horse, shes always looking nervous, shes always doing binkies or flopping her heavy body down
My pretty pure white bunny was 2 small pounds when I got her, and now she weighs 12, more than all my cats
And all of my cats are afraid of her, she tramples them when they are sleeping. She amuses me.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2013
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Gina Young Poem
Every night at 2 a.m., I do this;
I fill an empty butter bucket(3lb) with food
dry, crunchy, smelly, high calorie, fatty cat food.
It leads to adventures I just dont want to miss.
I turn on the bright light above my back door,
I sneak out into the night, with my curiousity and smile.
I love this small bit of mischief, just wait til I get it on file!
Every night this ritual leaves me wanting more.
I throw down a splattering of food, clink, crash, plop.
All of my strays come running, dashing round all corners of the house.
Wanting fed, they move so brashly, so clumsy, quickly as if for a mouse.
Little funny noises from their mouths, crunch, smack, chomp.
I spend a little time, petting while they let me...
And I am also just waiting, just biding my time.
As I wait for my bandits to act out their little crime.
Ten minutes may pass, and Ive given the signal, Im ready.
I go back inside as noisy as I like, and I wait.
Through my peephole I peek, soon enough out of the undergrowth,
comes a wee little possum,raccoon, or skunk, one or three or both.
I laugh to myself; my little bandits now have their cherished bait.
Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2011
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