Saturday, December 28, 2013

we say that you are an ocean, you are salty

fuck that.

you are more than the ocean, you are bonded hydrogen particles, you are the first
bite of a ripe peach, too sweet
and running like a stream around the sides of my mouth and my 
you lick yourself off of my kiss.

you are a mudslide, a low thunder storm, i am a foot
sinking into your mud, easy and soft and permanent. 
you grab me with hands and eyes and hips, i don't even have words
for all the weird things we are about to do. 

Thursday, December 19, 2013

i look forward to going home in the way that a criminal looks forward to sirens, full of fear, resentment, relief.

i step with heavy(ier) shoes now into the room i (did not) grow up in like a
museum, a hotel, a haunted house; it is filled with
photographs of ghosts, things that do not belong to who i am now-
pieces of hemp string, dusty pens, carpet stains with a strange sense of muted 
familiarity like seeing a person you definitely (maybe) went to high school with and i can
never tell what age has done to our faces, home makes me feel 
ashamed and sixteen.
i am made of sharp angles now and my jawline is bone;
they wonder, i'm sure, if my face has changed as well,
they wonder if we had English class together or if i 
am a complete stranger (now).

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

1:17 A.M.

idea: buy an air conditioner and a space heater for bedroom, turn them on, see if they make a tornado

idea: get out of bed, buy a dry erase board, write to-do list on it, never cross anything out, never do anything

idea: get out of bed

idea: i used to love sleeping but now it makes me feel afraid and dead

idea: if you brush your teeth long enough can they get sharp like fangs?

idea: is it very normal to feel sick on planes or at hotels or when you're driving in the pitch black on route 17 because everyone is snagged somewhere, everyone has that place that they never leave

idea: stop all highway construction, pool tax money and create flying cars, let the roads fester, let the vines crack intersections, see if anyone actually misses traffic because it was the one time of the day that they had to actually sit with themselves

idea: a phone that senses when you're drunk or sad and then blows up before you can text anyone

idea: an ever lasting kitten fountain

idea: rob a family, wait three days, give all the money back, see if they say thank you

idea: don't ever get murdered because if the paramedics go through your left dresser drawer they are going to think you're a pervert

idea: take your medicine

idea: call someone

idea: what if everyone had a microchip in their necks that recorded everything from birth and when you fell in love with someone you had to sit down together and watch a whole movie of their life, would you still love them like you did before?

idea: build a shelf, put candles on it, let the wax drip down the wall, do nothing about it, let it fill the entire room, build a kingdom out of the wax, drown in it, become lavender scented and store packaged and burn in her room and be everything, become everything, watch the way her hand touches everyone that isn't you.

idea: get high instead of fill out grad school applications

idea: stop getting high instead of filling out grad school applications just so that you don't have to think about the future and how you never thought this far ahead before and everything has been so fast and sometimes you can't breathe and sometimes you don't know what is real anymore or if you're real

idea: shut up forever

idea: it feels weird seeing facebook photos of people that you've seen naked and just clicking 'like' because you don't like it but you feel something deep and heavy and angry and sad in your stomach and you figure that it's close enough 

idea: she doesn't live near the 30th ave stop on the Q train anymore but sometimes i still see the roof shake and red lights reach through her window and the glow touch the parts of each other that we never could, every
35 minutes after midnight. it feels weird that two other people sleep in her room now and they'll never know all the love that happened there and i'm sure that no one has stared at that plaster crack or the one knotty floor board like i have and no one has ever felt as much, as hard as i did under the Q train, every 35 minutes after midnight

idea: take shower, stay in shower for days, see how long it takes roommate to call the cops

idea: when i look at my mother i feel sad and embarrassed and empathetic and i don't feel amazed anymore, when did that happen?

idea: she is the december sort of beautiful when it's cold as
hell and the sun is out and her coffee isn't nearly as hot as i am under
suffocating layers and fever warm and my bones aching like they want me to tear them out or something, to molt myself, scuttle as a hermit crab under the nearest rock, stay there for one hundred and twenty seven days until i become
something docile, something nurture-worthy.

Friday, December 13, 2013

three line love poems

i used to get high so that i didn't have to think about
whether my arms or my eyes made the first impression;
i'll never be alone at stupid dinner parties again.

i'll shave our dog every week 
so your eyes never get red
from histamines or common colds or crying.

roses smell like your neck,
as far as i'm concerned,
you came first.

we named our children after people we'd never meet like
Nelson Mandela or Oliver Twist or her Grandmother, 
let's give them big shoes to grow into.
a little south of sanity-

i've killed three dozen men in my stories and only brought one back
but my writing teacher tells me
it doesn't count.

occasionally, I get so down that I can feel the
blue in my eyes throb.
the worst is when you remember the way
you popped
at your stitch.

here's what the doctors don't tell you-
your insides look exactly
like what you always expected. your skin is
elastic layered on meat layered on lake and it'll
gape forward the second you open the door.
and under is the
part i never got to see.

the worst is when you wonder if, one day, you'll know whats beneath,
the worst is when nothing is wrong.