I've spent the better part of the last month
trying to reconstruct our last night --
the last time that the five of us were together.
I want to box up the sound of our laughter
so loud that it was probably keeping my parents awake.
I want to tie it up with a bow
and keep it in my nightstand
for when the nights get longer and the songs get slower
and I can't remember how much taller you are than me anymore.
Three years ago, I called my brother while the four of you were together.
The phone was passed from ear to ear until it got to you.
Without missing a beat, you hung up on me...
and didn't answer when I called back.
I remember thinking that
I didn't know it was possible
for somebody to make you mad in a good way.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
I spent my last night in Tennessee at your house.
We ate dinner in your front yard
so that the cars could watch us
as they drove by.
You said,
*you're rarely as burned out
as you think you are.*
Last night I counted the states between here and Montana,
thinking back to that night
I wished away everything in the April sky
so that you could shine the brightest.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
On Sunday mornings they’d grab us by the shoulders
and stare into our eyes until
we repeated those universal truths —
what goes up much come down,
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit,
even Satan knows
that he’s out there.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
here’s
what they don’t tell you in sunday school.
no matter if you make it to heaven or hell,
you could still be sitting next to the school shooter
depending on whether or not he prays
to the right god.
my father always said
that if he meets jesus, he’ll apologize.
“sorry
man, I didn’t know. if it’s any consolation,
I believe in you now.”
two weeks ago
a friend grabbed my steering wheel
and she turned me into the next lane.
she believes in god
more than she believes in saying sorry.
we always tell each other
that the murderers are going to hell.
is this wishful thinking?
or are we just incapable of thinking
that we’re going to share our heavenly space
with somebody who stole lives.
even if I didn’t know it then,
these thoughts
might just be the reason
that I used to get panic attacks
when I thought about heaven.
I’ve always been a restless soul
and being stuck somewhere forever
was never
my style.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
This could be your final lap around the Sorry board.
The moment when the German man chokes you on the Acela Express.
Skin kisses skin
crossing cheeks, pecking noses.
Before your vision blackens,
you see the blurring of blues and greens:
Live action bruising for the eggshell queen.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
This is the part where life cracks open.
The final lap around the Sorry board,
the moment where a German man
chokes you on the Subway.
Your throat closes but your heart opens up
and there are bees in there.
General Mills was wondering where they went.
Skin kisses skin
crossing cheeks, pecking noses.
The breadth between ‘be my shadow’ and ‘enough for now.’
Blow out the candles if you’re listening God,
we need a little flicker here.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Some people say that Vincent van Gogh used to eat yellow paint
in order to make himself happy.
Others say that he was shot accidentally
by two teenage boys.
So maybe he didn’t need that yellow paint after all.
The scholars and the experts say that
these things aren’t true.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Maybe van Gogh liked the color yellow because he was
on a prescription that made him see the world
through yellow glasses
every time he opened his eyes.
Maybe van Gogh liked yellow because
it was everything he wasn’t.
Maybe van Gogh just liked yellow.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
I’ll start out by saying that my parents don’t like us to label ourselves.
They don’t like us to share them either.
As a child it used to take me at least two hours to fall asleep.
Thoughts would race through my head like boxcars.
I would repeat what I was excited about the most
until my brain would get tired enough to let me rest.
Some doctors would call that insomnia, but that’s not what I had.
Since the age of six, I haven’t believed in god.
His existence always felt like a fairytale
that adults never grew out of.
Some people would call this atheism, but that’s not what I have.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been worried.
Every event in my day was cause for panic.
I would string them along like paper chains
with no rest in between.
Some doctors call that anxiety, but that’s not what I have.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t pick at my skin.
I’ll rip off pieces until my skin gets mad
and bleeds red with anger.
Some doctors would call that dermatillomania, but that’s not what I have.
Since middle school, I’ve been afraid of germs.
I won’t touch my face without washing my hands first
which makes it take twice as long to put on makeup.
I can’t eat without sanitizing my hands
which makes people skeptical to get to know you better.
Some doctors would call that germaphobia, but that’s not what I have.
When I was fifteen my throat used to close up
every time I thought about death.
Sometimes you don’t realize you’re breathing until you’re gasping for air.
Some doctors call that a panic attack, but that’s not what I had.
I’ve been on antidepressants for three years
in order to calm down my brain
from running too many marathons.
My heart was never able to catch up.
Some doctors might say that this is because I was depressed.
But that’s not what I have.
My therapist told me…
— **** I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.
Somebody told me to come here today so that
I could be honest to myself and others
about the problems that don’t have names.
The words that I can’t say out loud.
I’m hoping with this discussion
I will someday be able to say that
I used to not be able to fall asleep for hours.
I used to not believe in god, I used to worry all the time.
That I no longer pick at my skin.
I’m no longer afraid of germs.
My throat used to close up,
and I’m no longer on antidepressants.
Because I have problems that can't be labelled.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
father blank be thy name.
thy will follow the script,
thy must be kind.
on earth as it is in heaven.
give us this Christmas our yearly word
and forgive us our hypocriticalness
as we judge others before we repent ourselves.
tell us not of our faults,
rather teach us the ways to earn our tickets
as allegiance is not forced, it is learned.
for thine is the bread and the wine and the whiskey too
for ever and ever
amen.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
someone suggested that we pick a word to repeat.
hers was "breathe."
I think I might choose cad-dy-whomped.
it reminds me of the sound a train makes
when it's rushing down the tracks.
it'll give my mind something to sing it to sleep.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC