I was 17.
My hair was shaggy, I finally had some
curves, and my room was always a mess.
He was 18.
He was taller than me by a foot, so strong
and devastatingly charming.
He was a gentleman.
He never sagged his pants, he liked big
expensive watches, Zippos, and taking
girls out for dinner.
He'd offer to drive me home even though
I live down the street.
The first night we met he shook my
hand just like a man should.
He was grandma's basement.
A secret place that's always a mess
with crushed beers littered on the floor,
bleary stains, and ***** smells.
Where Tuesdays are spent like Fridays
making memories with friends we all
hardly remember.
He'd try to sneak looks at me from
across the room.
He was my best friend.
We saw each other ever day for
weeks, never getting sick of it.
We swallowed pizza like air, talked
with our mouths full, and belched
like a couple of boys.
He was FIDLAR.
One day I said, "Have you heard this band?"
He stared at me in a daze, turned up
the volume, and that was that.
The whole neighborhood could hear us
singing along that day.
He was a green Chevy Tahoe.
It could be heard from down the street.
I'd wait to hear the roar outside my window.
The passenger seat, a second home.
My feet on the dash, his wrist dripped
over the steering wheel.
We had no cares in the world.
He was getting high
at 3 in the morning outside my
house while my parents sleep.
I already felt like I was on drugs, so
no high compared.
But we laughed, and laughed, and laughed
some more until out ribs were sore.
He was a pack of camel blues.
His lips stained my neck. Nicotine on
my tongue, so sweet.
He'd flip a stoge for luck, leaving it for last.
That's when I knew.
Maybe we'd get lucky somehow.
Has she ever noticed the
pungent smell my skin leaves?
When he goes back to her,
leaving me for last.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
My memories come back in strange forms.
Sometimes in scents, or the way a boy says his "S's".
Sometimes they don't feel like memories at all, but
dream-like visions instead. Hazy and messy.
I used to dream of a perfect family.
A family that talks and laughs and cries together.
But the memories flow back in waves, drowning
out that vision of perfection.
As a kid I loved to escape inside stories of masked
men on horses, trolls that live in back yards, and
dragons flying somewhere across the world defending
damsels and castles.
I believed fairies came to me in the night and
whispered songs of love into my ears.
But no fairies ever came as long as I was awake,
and my young years were nothing like
a love song or a fairytale.
I try to think back on what made me smile.
It's sure as hell not the memory of my childhood best friend's
funeral, and the power ranger he left me on the alter.
It's not the memory of when the bully in class
mocked my favorite rain jacket, and being so hurt I
threw it in the trash on my way home.
It's definitely not the memory of those older boys at
the lake holding me down, when I had no
idea what *** even was,
thinking kissing made babies.
How silly was I.
Now I'm grown and my skin looks more like armor.
I know that kissing doesn't make babies
and fairies don't exist.
I know that losing my friend didn't just
break my heart, and that bully who hurt me...
Well, he's a nobody now.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
thinking I saw you
my heart skipped a beat, but I
just kept on walking
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
I once knew a kid who tried to fly
He grew some wings and went to go try
I saw him take flight
which was quite the sight
splat! went the kid who wanted to fly
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
one day we were here
full of smiles so dreamy
our love had no bounds
then our world crumbled, and fell
now I spend my days alone
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
The lowest I have felt, the weight of her words,
The hate on her tongue, the little devil with his tricks;
The fire that burned cast shadows, though slowly dimming.
And my thoughts have calmed, although they be slowly stirring;
Ships have their sails, and so have I, myself to save
And love is slipping in through the currents and into the abyss.
Where bottom feeders scavenge for that love, there deepest
Are the empty shells
The masked villain, yet none see it face to face,
The truest faith is found in little words,
The angels do not sing, and yet they praise;
True lovers have faith and fights, no god to disappoint;
Our hearts grow and fuse, and grow some more
And then they break.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Her hands swoop, turn, swipe
intertwining threads of olive and beige
a pivot in her wrist, her bones pop and creak
but heaven's angels sing to the rhythm
Do you hear their hum in the distance?
Darling, I only hear you.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
The man with the golden hair falling
Nothing to hang on to as he descended
He took a deep breathe
I couldn't make out the words
Nobody acted like they believed me
I was floating
Walls and ceilings were lost in vast, arching shadows
Distorted like funhouse images
Who wants to die alone?
Where no days break or nights fall
The rising sun was shining now
But besides that, there's nothing
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Above me, stars. Beneath me, constellations.
Still, endless, haunted by the dark.
I have passed by the watchman on my
Evening stroll, unwilling to explain
Why God does not leave us.
Still, endless, haunted by the dark.
And now far off in the fragrant
Darkness I see him,
falling,
falling,
And further still at an unearthly height.
Still, endless, haunted by the dark.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC