dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday
mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table
every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"
sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner
one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
"I love you so much"
is scrawled in the dust of my TV.
Every time I roll over and see the
motivation, my lip curves-
I feel you in what was a tent, now a house,
constructed in me.
A full house to clean,
I can't even keep the dust off my TV.
Your lips press onto me
and I swear I can feel every
glass window shatter in rooms of my knees.
I'd pick up the glass with my bare hands
just so you
could see the daylight through the pieces
in the morning.
Sometimes I let the storms tear down my walls,
allow visitors to leave the stove on a little too long-
and I push myself to the weeping willow to vanish.
You notice the lights are off and I am thrown in the wagon,
pulled back home to safety.
I don't mean to be so selfish,
thinking that I matter out there when graced
under the vines of Mother nature.
You are my comfort zone,
my bed on a sick day,
and I love you more than any of these words.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
i am a rectangle
because i too have dark, dusty corners
and sharp edges
and you can fold me 1000 times
but i will still be the same
i will never change for you
I will always be the strongest
and biggest
among my family
because i come from generations of
tiny waists and dainty wrists,
of little feet and fragile frames
of empty rectangles with soft corners
and simple lines and ribs and
what you might call petite
but i am a different being
and therefore i do not fit
in any of my grandmother's dresses
i could blame my bones
or my health or my happiness
but i see only distortion and mutation
and i should have been tinier
and i should have been skinnier
but i am me and that is that
and when i see my mother
and my two beautiful sisters
i tower and glower and envy
for i am alone in my body
while even my twin stays smaller
while i grow and glow and glare
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
the winter was bitter
cozy and cold
and i found comfort in misery
perhaps it would go away when the sun came out and the flowers bloomed and seeds sprouted with new life and new promise
but
the rain came and gloomy days remained
and i still smiled with a grimace
and i still stayed up and stared at my ceiling and wondered
when i would be happy
because it's a heavy blanket over my legs
a spider web of stories and a shattered window that couldn't be glued back together
it's the half moons under my eyes
the lack of mirrors
and the chewed cuticles
it's fine
sadness
creeping into the cracks when you're not whole and finding the best parts of you
and nesting and spreading and staying
sad
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
I am from
A yellow house and a little red bike
Bruises and Band-Aids on my knees
From learning every time I fall
I am from
The Band, The Beatles, Buddy Holly, and Bruce Springsteen
Our small kitchen table and Christmas cookies
From a family that almost fits on my Grandparent’s front porch
I am from
Summer memories and freckles and the Field of Dreams
The swimming hole, egg salad sandwiches, popsicles and pecan sandies
From Gramma and Fred and the Mill Road
I am from generations of tiny waists and dainty wrists
Of Marlise and Melissa and M’s
Brown eyes and pine needles and Big Rock
From denial and acceptance
I am from
Tea with my mom and driving with my dad
My beautiful Hazel
From the Harvest Party and my beloved barn
I am from soft white clouds of comforters
A room painted the shade of pink lemonade
Arizonas and cosmic brownies and Matt’s Honeydew melon Sorbet
From Quickway and the Gazebo and Cherry Valley
I am from a collection of keys with no locks
Chewed cuticles and paper cuts
A mouthful of words and a bad habit of tripping
From the love of glue and sharp scissors
I am from years of ***** bare feet
And freedom to be me
Getting the mail everyday except Sunday
From picnic tables and corn on the cob
I am from a love of language and words and poetry
A love of planes and tractors and the Superbowl
A big family as strong as the Brooklyn Bridge
And just as supportive too
I am from my dream catcher
Catching my fantasies of fast cars and shooting stars
A bottle full of memories and polaroids taped to my wall
From hip hop and coca cola and heart shaped sunglasses
I am from the baby freckles on my shoulders
A love of sun and freshly mowed green grass
Brave New World and Brandy Melville
From tweeting and handwritten letters
I am from the studio floor and my ballet slippers
My favorite black leotard and Fuentes
12 years of pointed feet and tutus
From the dressing room and the barre
I am from the Star of David and 8 burning candles
Suburban Philadelphia and Black Friday
Diners and Chinese Food and Fortunes
From my dad
I am from the cornfields and red barns
Chickens and cows, fresh eggs and warm milk
Valedictorians and Ivy leagues
From my mom
But most of all, I am from the puzzle pieces of myself
The dark, dusty, unexplored corners of my brain
The fear of death and rats and failure and loneliness
From the love of life and belief and hope
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
i spent the summer avoiding mirrors and avoiding eyes
inhaling cigarette smoke on a back porch
cutting open my fingertips
and collecting grime under my nails
i spent the summer crawling out of my skin
stuck between the reality and the formality
the bare truth and the possibility, the chances
i spent the summer trying not to be afraid
doing everything that seemed wrong
and trying to feel empty
trying to feel lost and free and open
i spent the summer cracking my rib cage until i could breathe
running my fingers along my sternum
wondering when it would break
i spent the summer with broken keys and resisting locks and secrets and sadness
i spent the summer with a veil
and a mask and no makeup
being careless and ruthless and obsessive
i spent the summer memorizing numbers
and listening and retreating
chasing grenades and waiting to explode
standing on edges and envisioning every violent act and staying reserved
i spent the summer lying and crying and dying and spying and prying and denying and bleeding and clawing at my spine and my scalp
until i could feel
everything
and peel onions and not cry and never cry and chop and dice and still, not cry
i spent the summer existing in yesterday and remembering and regretting but pretending and realizing but ignoring and pleading but boring and falling and catching and around and around
and burning calories and not believing
in you
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
i just want to know if it's karma
maybe in reverse
telling me i am going to do something
so very wrong soon
which is why right now
nothing is right
i just want to be happy
and not so entangled with sadness
and not so enraged by everyone smiling
i just feel alone because i chose that
im trying so hard to do everything right
but it's not okay
so i run away
down seven flights of stairs
down every dark alley
until i feel alive
or dead
i just don't know which one i want anymore
and i wasn't afraid and my heart wasn't broken
but you got everything you wanted
and im still hoping
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
you taught me how to go on adventures
and leave my phone at home
and how to let time slide by
and ignore my calendar
you taught me to how to stay in bed
all day
with you
and do nothing but be cold together
you taught me to go swimming in storms
and to smoke in the snow
you taught me how to be ignored
and how to give up on someone
you taught me to swallow words
and win staring contests
and to never stop asking questions
even when nobody had the answers
you taught me to be right
and to stop lying and start laughing
and to swim in my underwear
in the middle of the forest
you taught me how to walk on a guardrail
holding your hand
and find treasures in the trees
and run away from home
you taught me that fear is just an obstacle
you taught me that you're afraid
of something too
even if you hide it too well
you taught me that I'll never be perfect
and neither will you
and you carved an M into my lighter
just because you knew
I taught you to drink in the morning
instead of eating breakfast
and smoke in the bathtub
and fog up mirrors and draw secrets
I taught you to forget me
and to fight back
and that im not and never will be ticklish
I taught you how to say i miss you
I taught you to be 19
and to write letters
I taught you my favorite things
and my quirks and sparks and games
I was going to teach you to play chess
and to braid my hair
you were going to lean Old Pine on guitar
but you gave up
I was going to teach you to love
and to know everything
I was going to teach you my middle name
and how to read Brave New World
I was going to teach you to hold on
But you taught me to let go
and I learned that nobody breaks my heart
not even you
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
city rooftops at night,
all the bright lights,
my keys and cherry cokes
blisters and sore feet
all the concrete
walking, talking, exhaustion
yellow taxis beeping
never sleeping
whirs and blurs
my morning tea
sunny parks and bumble bees
flowers on the street
subway trains and stations
becoming impatient
don't wait if he's late
July in the city
hot, sticky, and gritty
a bittersweet summer
the best days i remember
the nights lasted forever
emerald dusk to golden dawn
rings at riverside park
juggling after dark
the corner by the river at 12:32
so meet me at 27th and 7th
or 34th and 11th
I'll be there
in red heart shaped shades
and a long messy braid
a frappe in my hand
a pink polaroid in my bag
my feet will never drag
snap, shutter, click
there is beauty in every dusty door
and every marble floor
in every street and every avenue
if you're with me,
and you believe what you see
you know that the city sets you free
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC