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Fairy tales have rules. You are a princess or you aren’t. You are pure at heart or you aren’t. If you are pure at heart, or lucky, you might catch a break.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Lucky
Pure
Break
Princess
Might
Fairy
Heart
Catch
Tales
Rules
Aren

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The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
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I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings/ and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.
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I’m not suggesting the world is good, that life is easy, or that any of us are entitled to better. But please, isn’t this the kind of thing you talk about in somber tones, in the afternoon, with some degree of hope and maybe even a handful of strategies?
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We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.
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He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place – well then, game over.
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When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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We laugh & it pits the world against us.
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You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.
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I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made any sense, anything.
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I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.
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I wouldn’t kill your pony. I’d like to believe it, anyway. I’d like to believe I wouldn’t drag you out in to the woods and leave you there, either. So far, it hasn’t come up.
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Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
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You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.
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Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.
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Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.
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Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
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You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.
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I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.
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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.
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