we stayed inside that night
swishing cold drinks around with our tongues
letting it drown out the ringing we heard
and stop the sweat gathering between
our fingers
and you grabbed me playfullly
while i was sitting in the blue chair
i hope you remember
that
i stared at myself in the bathroom afterwards
later that night
standing there reciting bukowski
to my swollen eyes and
broken jaw
my lipstick was blending in with my
flushed cheeks
and i remember
you were going to kiss it entirely
off of me in one sitting
and i swear i was going to let you
until i started thinking about
my nylons ripping and my shyness
unmasking itself as some mental illness
and that stranger walking in and shouting
telling you there is a mountain to be climbing
and a song to be written and
a friend to be helping and you’re
trying with this girl?
she’s terrified of birds
just cause they have the capability
to do what she cannot
flee—
she wants yellow
but it’s dark green
needs pills to be civil
and wine to be social
she wants nights
not days
she just wants the rain
she wants the rain
the rain
and the rain
every single day
and you and i both know
we have no control
over the sun
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 8:10 PM UTC
there is a part of you i know—
and already love
the part that sits me up on your bed and tells me stories of
yourself with bright brown eyes and
luscious lips
takes me as a whole pill in the
middle of the night
silently collapsing on top of me
( not ripping or tearing)
just softly removing
abstract pieces of my hips
and stuffing them like orchid petals
in your hands
that is the part i understand and can communicate with exceptionally well
that is the part i consume
day after day when you’re no
longer around
but there is another part—
full of questions and concerns
and blank expressions in the middle of
the day watching football
drinking beers and not wanting
to ignite the magical chemistry
the sensuality you possess most of the
time when no one is there
and you are laughing so loud and
talking about things i don’t know
anything about and your
bright brown eyes turn into
silver wings and i’m trying trying
trying trying to keep up
steadily
but i get lost in your sea of
child like gestures and weak
thoughts; in your attempts to
make me eat food and smile on
que; in your belly where the guilt
sets in for something you know i
did not do;
in you,
without strong hands and
heavy eyelids without come heres
and delicate kisses without
these things the days pile up
and taste like
rubbing alcohol
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC
according to you, love doesn’t like hot weather and
sweaty palms and cheap beer
it doesn’t hear any orchestras or go
to any movies and buy popcorn and soda
and defintely does not agree to
feed the birds at the park pieces of
a leftover subway sandwich
according to him, love does not fancy astrology or
icecream sandwiches and it never
gets it’s body wet ( let alone it’s hair)
in the swimming pool at a party
it was never invited to
according to the anonymous
love likes to sit
love likes to smoke
love likes to watch reruns of all
the television shows your mom had
a digusting addiction to
it loves boring routines;
the 9 to 5
and it doesn’t mind
being mentally drained
and unprepared for any
emotional stability
but according to me
love just likes to hide
in peoples clothes,
in lacy underwear and size 32 jeans
it likes pretending
it’s not there and it enjoys
convincing you,
it is
not
but no matter what is said;
there is an undeniable
light in that room,
as he slides his body over
yours
weightlessly in
the dark and
it starts in your stomach—
escapes through your mouth
and it becomes the moon
above the both
of you
take my advice here—
always look for
it before
it notices you
doing so and
completely
disappears
because love isn’t
half as bad as
it’s been told to be
all you need to do
is learn to
cover your ears
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 8:03 PM UTC
THERE IS NO MORE ROOM FOR HEART ATTACKS HERE,
says a sign up above your head in a crowded restuarant,
somewhere south, somewhere wrong, somewhere that doesn’t seem
clean
you were reading american ****** in an abandoned parking lot when it hit you
you didn’t call
she was riding her bike down the street two blocks down from hers that you used to reside on,
she puked on the side of your house where your car used to be parked without a purpose other than thinking about your hands
you don’t think of her unless you’re hurting
you don’t think of her unless you start remembering the summer heat
and how, for someone so particularly young, she had way too many
lines in her face, you wondered, you always wondered, where they had
come from
because the coffee cup breaks
you don’t live here anymore
she isn’t she no longer, she is a woman now
full bodied, bigger ******* yet still hiding in shadows, those shadows
you created from babysitting all the demons that possessed her and
then vanishing along with them
you ask yourself what she asks herself
where is the line?
where is the part where they come back and clean up the dinner table and let you rest outside on the swingset, with your hands in the air, with flowers in your hair, forgetting that the moment you stop and look is the moment you realize you took way too long to
keep it lasting longer
all you were saying was this wasn’t a test
it wasn’t something that you could beep a red light to and say NO
there was eggs, there was razors, and there was a small walk to and from the store that took longer than an entire war,
yet you picked this route
yet you decided to keep the scars and wash your hands
the waitress picks up the broken glass and smiles
hands you another empty coffee cup
you fill it up the way you used to fill it up before you couldn’t
black coffee, a sugar packet, one tablespoon of cream
you look back to the sign above your head
once again, reading the neon sign,
THERE IS NO MORE ROOM FOR HEART ATTACKS HERE
now,
do you smile or do you scream?
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
the thought of laying down and stopping everything in my head
easily,
just sounds way too good
just looks way too good
it’s not until i am thoroughly exhausted that it creeps up
on me finally
because
i remember mornings as a little girl
the smell of bacon and eggs
my grandpa’s voice
the old van my dad used to drive around town
my polka dot dress getting torn from the berry trees in the garden
why do these things still haunt me?
why are these the things i think of most when you are fast asleep beside me?
i remember my mother shielding the homemade apple pie from me
and saying no no no to all the things my hands wanted
an icecream cone from the freezer
a cookie from the side of the refrigerator
a candy from the container but she said
no no no before dinner, and i would
wait
i feel like that little girl now
grabbing for sleep constantly
i just keep grabbing
grabbing and grabbing and someone
keeps shielding it from me, with gentle motherly hands,
saying no no no
and i wait
and i wait
and i wait until my eyelids become so heavy
i feel like i might know what death
could taste like
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC