I scanned the words
of one of my last posts.
It was about my sister.
I forgot how i used to think about her
with rage red and hot
now my feelings towards her have cooled
and hardened a bit
i no longer fear her
I pity her and love her,
at a far, far distance,
where her words and actions lose their sting.
She was the wall beside me,
everywhere I took myself to.
She became the pavement
my tears fell onto,
she was the drops of the fountain
that sprayed me.
She was and she
became everyone I talked to.
Soon, she was no more, but all I saw.
The ones that make your stomach hurt. It reaches your eyes and mine. It’s dizzying how good it feels. You make ma forget everything whole. For a moment, we are whole. It comes in equal waves, these moments to match the bad. They are everywhere. Sometimes I lose sight of them, so you take my hand and guide me here. But I can’t find you these days.…[Read more]
Today, my heart had wings for two seconds, and I had the faint feeling of may-be-we-could-be, this hopeful yet absolutely hopeless hope. I thought for 2 seconds about him. But I know I am the dull craters while he is the moon. I am nothing in comparison. And my heart became still again.
life is messy and i don’t enjoy it. every day,
another wine glass. french names too shy to
leave my tongue until forced. meanwhile,
i am 22 and washing behind the ears seems more
and more a cultivated lifestyle.
you, who still vacuum under the bed, consider the way
the days swell and fatten under the spring sun.
in the dream i am walking through the field by our childhood
home where corn used to grow some summers
ago. wondering as i go, fingers just
grazing the uncultivated grass–if wildflowers
have found their way here, if the dirt knows it can make
something of the dead, if the dead know the field does not
know want even as it wants. in the d…[Read more]
leaving girlhood is not yet knowing to look back
taught the bite of desire,
someone’s blunt teeth, gnawing, and the pain is
newness, you think this is love
a ring of bruises around the neck, you think
the wet heat of your childish name
what stays, is molded
I look on,
There’s no gazing here.
No dreamy eyes or rueful wishing.
Everything is still.
Not glazed over or
romantic in any way.
They look at me funny as I stand there,
walking past me
my past before me
and behind me
tearing into me
keeping me still and
You know, like that one time when you ran off to Columbia and took every reminder of who you were, with you? You know, like that time when you drove away into the ether, and the only thing remaining behind was a pair of hula hoops, duct taped together with pretty little patterns. You know, like that time when we were together at five-thirty in the…[Read more]
I can’t remember the last time I looked out from between the walls. An asylum – this mental institution, this place where white is a reminder that we’re bruised up inside. You know, you think the walls have eyes? It’s just the way the light reflects, really.
You’re seeing things again, just like me, darling.
This is my love poem to no one,
piece of fantasy
wherein I claim that you’re not actually real
you pretend to be
is just compromised immunity
place to be
where I can exist free from expectations
when I can just be me –
but you keep on intruding
I’m afraid for you, sometimes. I think a little longer than I should, and I remember the way you looked the first time you told me about having been to jail.
The fact that you were scared to death of going back.
That you didn’t think orange was your color, and how even having been there, just briefly, it changed you. A black spot on an…[Read more]
Little bits and pieces of your face flow by in my mental slideshow. I’m caught up in the way you look, the way I remember you looking and the way you might look in the future.
I’m spending time with your past-present-future selves all at once in this letter I’m writing to you and wondering how your slideshow face will look as you read it.…[Read more]
Baby, I’m worth it –
But the real question is if you are.
Because I remember this time – not so long ago – when maybe you weren’t. You weren’t worth the night of revelry, the crazy self-hatred that came along with a moment (or ten) of weakness.
Call me crazy as I sit up at night and wonder.
Were you worth it?
Oh, a class act.
You’re not the kind of person who could walk through the doors and be known all at once, are you?
You’re like me.
You see, we’re the kind of people who walk around in black with dark shadows under our eyes because we know things others don’t get, yet.
They’ll understand in time, but until then, we’ll categorize our angsty…[Read more]