samuel-auden-moore - Hello Poetry

103rd Street / Watts Towers Suicide help lines posted on signs above the train tracks make her wonder where the stars went make her wonder what she’d do if someone near her jumped Decided she ain’t tryna save a life, she just tryna stay alive Vernon Little girl with big bright eyes, do your troubles have a name? Little girl your kicks are sticking to the pavement. Do you ever watch the planes at night? They’ll try to tell you otherwise but you don’t gotta unstick yourself. In the City of Angels someone’s bound to get caught in the smog layer. 7th Street / Metro Center She looks for you in piss-soaked alleys, on rusted fire escapes, behind buildings flashing neon green crosses, a sort of salvation — together you’re the most perfect covenant. Does she tell you that enough? Pershing Square There’s no such thing as dreaming here, and you get used to that. You get used to everything. When you’re flying over Angel’s Knoll it’s easy to forget how far you are from Hollywood, same city same jungle, the only place with hundreds of stars on the sidewalk but hardly any in the sky.

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Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC

The Transfer

103rd Street / Watts Towers Suicide help lines posted on signs above the train tracks make her wonder where the stars went make her wonder what she’d do if someone near her jumped Decided she ain’t tryna save a life, she just tryna stay alive Vernon Little girl with big bright eyes, do your troubles have a name? Little girl your kicks are sticking to the pavement. Do you ever watch the planes at night? They’ll try to tell you otherwise but you don’t gotta unstick yourself. In the City of Angels someone’s bound to get caught in the smog layer. 7th Street / Metro Center She looks for you in piss-soaked alleys, on rusted fire escapes, behind buildings flashing neon green crosses, a sort of salvation — together you’re the most perfect covenant. Does she tell you that enough? Pershing Square There’s no such thing as dreaming here, and you get used to that. You get used to everything. When you’re flying over Angel’s Knoll it’s easy to forget how far you are from Hollywood, same city same jungle, the only place with hundreds of stars on the sidewalk but hardly any in the sky.

37

put the key in the ignition, the car into drive, and all your gross post-sex insecurities to the back of your mind. forget you don’t have a license. forget she’s asleep in the bed that knows your panic attacks like they’re a late-night tv special and roll out onto the road - don’t hit the neighbor’s buick - drive. drive. take the route you used to sneak over to your boyfriend’s house in 7th grade. feel the ghosts of his hungry pubescent hands under your bra, get that old lump in your throat, wish you could go back in time and scream that you weren’t ready and that you’d never be ready and that one day you’ll be seventeen driving down his street hating the way he used to own you. remember that his street is also your street. remember that you’re worth owning things too. pass by the house your best friend used to live in, back when summers meant hot cheetos and horchata instead of cigarettes and cheap sangria. pray that one day you’ll be that way again, happy and fearless and okay with being alone. scold yourself for praying. forget where you’re going until your stomach growls and the road gets narrow. then keep driving.

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Jan 18, 2014

Jan 18, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC

how to drive in a straight line

put the key in the ignition, the car into drive, and all your gross post-sex insecurities to the back of your mind. forget you don’t have a license. forget she’s asleep in the bed that knows your panic attacks like they’re a late-night tv special and roll out onto the road - don’t hit the neighbor’s buick - drive. drive. take the route you used to sneak over to your boyfriend’s house in 7th grade. feel the ghosts of his hungry pubescent hands under your bra, get that old lump in your throat, wish you could go back in time and scream that you weren’t ready and that you’d never be ready and that one day you’ll be seventeen driving down his street hating the way he used to own you. remember that his street is also your street. remember that you’re worth owning things too. pass by the house your best friend used to live in, back when summers meant hot cheetos and horchata instead of cigarettes and cheap sangria. pray that one day you’ll be that way again, happy and fearless and okay with being alone. scold yourself for praying. forget where you’re going until your stomach growls and the road gets narrow. then keep driving.

4

bone is bone is bone is bone. my hands are forever too tiny, my hips forever too big, and you forever the girl who’s always wanted to leave. when we first met you talked of hating the palm trees seventy degrees traffic clogged grit and smog, graffiti covered rat sewers mansions dotting all the hills and everything else i’ve ever loved. i reminded myself that some people need more than a place with hundreds of stars on the sidewalk but hardly any in the sky. when i think of superpowers i imagine being strong enough to carry manhattan to you on my shoulders and all your rain clouds in my arms. if you ever turned fragile i would arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers big enough to cover all the hills, and with tiny hands i’d point to the clouds and make them fill the sky outside your window; white as bone, as bone, as bone.

0

Jan 17, 2014

Jan 17, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC

freeways and fortresses

bone is bone is bone is bone. my hands are forever too tiny, my hips forever too big, and you forever the girl who’s always wanted to leave. when we first met you talked of hating the palm trees seventy degrees traffic clogged grit and smog, graffiti covered rat sewers mansions dotting all the hills and everything else i’ve ever loved. i reminded myself that some people need more than a place with hundreds of stars on the sidewalk but hardly any in the sky. when i think of superpowers i imagine being strong enough to carry manhattan to you on my shoulders and all your rain clouds in my arms. if you ever turned fragile i would arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers big enough to cover all the hills, and with tiny hands i’d point to the clouds and make them fill the sky outside your window; white as bone, as bone, as bone.

29

i just turned 17 and i bought a ****** e-cig off some guy in venice. it squeaks when i try to use it and the vapor scares my cat, and i’m in love with this girl who tried it while she was tangled up in my sheets — she said she hated it but hey, i just turned 17 and i can’t be the only kid in this city who doesn’t need a nicotine fix. on thursday nights i stand outside coffee shops with the ones who smoke those reds and blues and velvet blacks that come in wooden boxes like fine cigars. i hate that scene but i’m addicted to it because i just turned 17 and everything about me is being reshaped like play-doh. my mom calls it impressionable, i call it fearless. i just turned 17 and i’d like to think i’m not as insecure as i feel, but i had to move the full-length mirror out of my room and nothing i do counts unless i put it on instagram. i just turned 17 and that’s the age all the songs are about, the year of dancing queens and cheap red wine and sneaking through the suburbs to get to your girlfriend’s house. i used to think i wanted to see the world but i just turned 17 and i can’t stop falling in love with the city i live in — you can’t see too many stars here but it feels safer that way, like i’m less likely to float into space. tethered is a good thing to be, at least until all the different parts of me finally get strung together. i just turned 17 and i’m scared the nicotine can’t hide that i’m just a work in progress.

0

Jan 7, 2014

Jan 7, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC

strung

i just turned 17 and i bought a ****** e-cig off some guy in venice. it squeaks when i try to use it and the vapor scares my cat, and i’m in love with this girl who tried it while she was tangled up in my sheets — she said she hated it but hey, i just turned 17 and i can’t be the only kid in this city who doesn’t need a nicotine fix. on thursday nights i stand outside coffee shops with the ones who smoke those reds and blues and velvet blacks that come in wooden boxes like fine cigars. i hate that scene but i’m addicted to it because i just turned 17 and everything about me is being reshaped like play-doh. my mom calls it impressionable, i call it fearless. i just turned 17 and i’d like to think i’m not as insecure as i feel, but i had to move the full-length mirror out of my room and nothing i do counts unless i put it on instagram. i just turned 17 and that’s the age all the songs are about, the year of dancing queens and cheap red wine and sneaking through the suburbs to get to your girlfriend’s house. i used to think i wanted to see the world but i just turned 17 and i can’t stop falling in love with the city i live in — you can’t see too many stars here but it feels safer that way, like i’m less likely to float into space. tethered is a good thing to be, at least until all the different parts of me finally get strung together. i just turned 17 and i’m scared the nicotine can’t hide that i’m just a work in progress.

35

i want you to be here when i’m no longer soft and beautiful. i want you to stay for when my voice slips out of itself and into another, when the crescent moons of my body turn stubborn and rigid and my chest is gutted, stitched, sculpted like marble like artwork like a chiseled gravestone reading “here lies your golden girl, basked in till her light changed hues.” stay until all my cells have been replaced and i look at you with different eyes, hold you with different arms. this body is changing for my today but staying for your tomorrow.

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Nov 7, 2013

Nov 7, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC

pre-operative

i want you to be here when i’m no longer soft and beautiful. i want you to stay for when my voice slips out of itself and into another, when the crescent moons of my body turn stubborn and rigid and my chest is gutted, stitched, sculpted like marble like artwork like a chiseled gravestone reading “here lies your golden girl, basked in till her light changed hues.” stay until all my cells have been replaced and i look at you with different eyes, hold you with different arms. this body is changing for my today but staying for your tomorrow.

15

1. you said falling in love would be that breath before the fanfare, that clap of thunder that starts at the timpani and catches in the space between the horn and your fingertips before sending soundsparks shooting down the finished brass. you said it’d be counting measures. said i’d feel it at my core like the first chord after two-for-nothing, something crashing through me same as a conductor’s stick; one and two and one and two and one, two, three, four. instead it tasted like stale cigarettes and the halfbreath you only remember to take after the orchestra has started without you. 2. i’ve been trying to remind you of when we waltzed to minor chords in our best friend’s basement — his piano fingers were rusting away so all we said was keep it steady, keep it three-four. you danced out of time and stepped on my toes but by the end i was still reciting "i’ll do better next time," one, two, three, one, two. 3. when you weren’t looking i circled all the fermatas on your sheet music. you found out and said i didn’t have to, you could remember on your own.

0

Oct 16, 2013

Oct 16, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC

to be held as long as desired

1. you said falling in love would be that breath before the fanfare, that clap of thunder that starts at the timpani and catches in the space between the horn and your fingertips before sending soundsparks shooting down the finished brass. you said it’d be counting measures. said i’d feel it at my core like the first chord after two-for-nothing, something crashing through me same as a conductor’s stick; one and two and one and two and one, two, three, four. instead it tasted like stale cigarettes and the halfbreath you only remember to take after the orchestra has started without you. 2. i’ve been trying to remind you of when we waltzed to minor chords in our best friend’s basement — his piano fingers were rusting away so all we said was keep it steady, keep it three-four. you danced out of time and stepped on my toes but by the end i was still reciting "i’ll do better next time," one, two, three, one, two. 3. when you weren’t looking i circled all the fermatas on your sheet music. you found out and said i didn’t have to, you could remember on your own.

41

1. it was my first cigarette in weeks that i hadn’t found half-smoked on the asphalt and it still tasted like something leftover from somewhere i don’t belong; its smoke drifted through the evening city mist like how our voices used to harmonize but only when we weren’t trying. 2. on the blue line through south central i heard someone say “i could’ve been president of the whole world, could’ve taught y’all something about success” — she wasn’t talking to nobody but the whole train listened and in that, she taught me more than any textbook ever could. 3. when you stand on 5th and san pedro you can’t see nothing besides the cliff at the end of the world, but instead of clouds there’s puddles of **** instead of waterfalls there’s shopping carts filled with people’s whole lives and everyone down there is shaking their heads at you — leave, leave unless you know what falling feels like.

0

Sep 15, 2013

Sep 15, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC

the city is only good to me from a distance

1. it was my first cigarette in weeks that i hadn’t found half-smoked on the asphalt and it still tasted like something leftover from somewhere i don’t belong; its smoke drifted through the evening city mist like how our voices used to harmonize but only when we weren’t trying. 2. on the blue line through south central i heard someone say “i could’ve been president of the whole world, could’ve taught y’all something about success” — she wasn’t talking to nobody but the whole train listened and in that, she taught me more than any textbook ever could. 3. when you stand on 5th and san pedro you can’t see nothing besides the cliff at the end of the world, but instead of clouds there’s puddles of **** instead of waterfalls there’s shopping carts filled with people’s whole lives and everyone down there is shaking their heads at you — leave, leave unless you know what falling feels like.

36

the storybooks never prepared you for someone like me. i am neither knight nor maiden but i can try to be both, can try to drape myself in armor while i wait for you to rescue me. you’re digging through me for your hero and your beacon but all you’ll find is questions and contradictions; a game of mix-and-match between what’s pounding in my head and coursing through my body; a constant war between what i need and what i’m given and baby, this is no man’s land. watch where you step.

0

Aug 9, 2013

Aug 9, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC

no man's land

the storybooks never prepared you for someone like me. i am neither knight nor maiden but i can try to be both, can try to drape myself in armor while i wait for you to rescue me. you’re digging through me for your hero and your beacon but all you’ll find is questions and contradictions; a game of mix-and-match between what’s pounding in my head and coursing through my body; a constant war between what i need and what i’m given and baby, this is no man’s land. watch where you step.

18

i’m trying to paint you a picture. your hair is draping onto my chest and scattering eternities over all my drawbacks and i’m wishing they would soak into me and leave me tethered. i’m wondering if you see mountains in me the way i see moonlight in you or if i’m still taking you in from sea level and i’m realizing that your glow will light my alleyways home no matter where i am. stay suspended with me for a little while longer - gravity seems to have lost his way to us.

0

Jul 20, 2013

Jul 20, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC

Untitled

i’m trying to paint you a picture. your hair is draping onto my chest and scattering eternities over all my drawbacks and i’m wishing they would soak into me and leave me tethered. i’m wondering if you see mountains in me the way i see moonlight in you or if i’m still taking you in from sea level and i’m realizing that your glow will light my alleyways home no matter where i am. stay suspended with me for a little while longer - gravity seems to have lost his way to us.

21

a jazz club in new orleans, late evening. the girl who grinned at me from behind the bassist has oysters on her breath and hints of my lipstick still smeared around her neck, but i won’t tell her. i’ll let her forget me like she forgets the rest of them, then notice the shy little smudges from the other side of her vanity and wish that her familiar bourbon street boys knew how to let their fingertips slide down her spine the way mine did. the timing’s got nothing to do with it. my ghost is lingering on the skin of anyone who has ever tested (swam in, drowned in) these waters. they’re playing “bye bye blackbird" and she’s forgetting already. i’m letting her. the remembering comes once i’m lost at sea.

0

Jul 17, 2013

Jul 17, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC

here i go, singing low

a jazz club in new orleans, late evening. the girl who grinned at me from behind the bassist has oysters on her breath and hints of my lipstick still smeared around her neck, but i won’t tell her. i’ll let her forget me like she forgets the rest of them, then notice the shy little smudges from the other side of her vanity and wish that her familiar bourbon street boys knew how to let their fingertips slide down her spine the way mine did. the timing’s got nothing to do with it. my ghost is lingering on the skin of anyone who has ever tested (swam in, drowned in) these waters. they’re playing “bye bye blackbird" and she’s forgetting already. i’m letting her. the remembering comes once i’m lost at sea.

27