a poem by Paula Ray

Keep Your Pretty Words

All the pretty words are boring
like a song I've heard too often--
predictable and plastic--
an airbrushed definition
of beauty or happiness.

They kiss each other
at the ends of lines
like twins: Mary and Gary,
the incest, repulsive.

No love from above,
it's just an act, a tacky script
with a soundtrack that gets stuck
in our heads until we're brainwashed
into believing those pretty, pretty words.

But I'd rather hear a wicked truth
that peels the skin off a man
and reveals his blood and guts.
I like the sound of stammering
nervous conversations with awkward
pauses and unexpected kisses
that leave me breathless and dizzy
with one ugly word hanging
from the tip of my tongue.

© Paula Ray