I’m an ordinary girl
Born of ordinary parents
On an extraordinary day.

They came from ordinary people
Who lived out ordinary lives.
They never really had a lot
And seemed content with lesser.

How is it then that I was born
Always wanting something more.
Seeking that beyond the screen
Not satisfied with all at hand.

Why did I not fit the mold
That formed my sis and  brother.
It seemed to work out fine for them
But was a prison cell for me.

I bashed through those restraining walls
To seek my future my own way
Finding cliffs I could not climb
And oceans I could never swim

There was a narrow path to take
But I preferred to dance the edges
Gathering the shiny baubles
That melted in the setting Sun
And left me where I am today
Living an ordinary life

And seeking to plant Hollyhocks
Where only cactus ever grows.
                   ljm

You who are slaves to the small glowing screen
Have to scramble to do just the usual things
Like brushing your teeth and taking a shower.
The lure is stronger than Hash or *******
And it is the lover you sleep with.
ljm

Stomach somersaulting as the vessel cuts through frothing waves. Seventeen-year eyes split open long enough to photograph the ocean.

It wrecks my head.

****** back to a svelte boy on the green. Crouched with parts convex—awakening new territories. Every movement rippling through memory.

Until my mere existence is ad nauseam, personified.

Let me just slap, slap, slap the face until blood is ice water. Shuffling naked feet onto the quilted altar. Bottle of wine to consummate the lie.

This unsheathed saber will be my dread eraser.

Guts back-flipping the first time I take it all in. A lubricated overture until a symphony of deliciousness rushes through my thirty-year spine.

Alas…every crest, crashes.
Every joy, disposed of.

& when night comes, I’m alone in this tide pool. Running low on oxygen, but I’ve got oodles of unsynchronized love.

The wet blade snaps it all in half, until the cobalt surface sings of doom—impending.
Enveloped into the foam.
Wrecked in the head.

There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate NOW, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.

While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,  
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.

I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.

When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.

Shall we wax poetic?

I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
‘I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’

Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE

when everybody left
you stayed
I like that
in a human

I love this
not sure of anything else
but sure of this
I love this
I love the this is us ly ness
of this
and us,