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I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Body
Scar
Something
Swear
Like
Search
Empty
Feeling
Taken
Feelings
Ends
Scars

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Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
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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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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.
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.
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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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I am singing now while Rome burns.
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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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I don't know where I end and the world begins. My best guess? Skin. It's the only actual boundary between the body and the world, between a body and any other body.
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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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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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Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
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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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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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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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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?
Richard Siken
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Here I am in a rabbit run, here I am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone—assume a middle distance and transcend myself—but I’m taking to you and you know it.
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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.
Richard Siken