goatgirl

goatgirl Aug 2013

i met you on MySpace and you had a girlfriend and we had a threeway phone conversation and i thought you sounded so **** when you shrieked "I love you!" to her when you had to go,
and then you broke up and she said it was because your medication had changed you and you reek of *** and it Just Wasn't Working Anymore,
and then Rick came over and brought you along and your tall, wild-haired being took my breath away
and you wore tight, brightly colored pants, and you were dark and thin and your teeth always gripped your purple lip ring and it made you look like you were constantly biting your lip,
and your eyes were amber
and they surprised me when i looked up and saw them focused on me,
i felt as if i'd stumbled upon a rare species of human,
an exotic species Out of My League.
Then you told me to step on your skateboard and i did and you grabbed my hand and pulled me and my 13 year old body was then introduced to Euphoria
and then the rain soaked us and you could see my yellow-and-pink bra and i hoped you liked it even though there wasn't much,
and we IM'd nonstop and i had no idea what it meant, but
i felt like flying and your presence filled me with hot air that was cooled only by your absence,
which came when you left me in the winter.
i cried for reasons i did not understand, i cried every night,
i walked through my dumb subdivision and would hallucinate you coming around the corner and my knees would buckle and my vision would blur,
i thought i was bipolar.
And i existed in a fog of longing and nostalgia and frustration and arousal,
and then you came back and we were both a little more grown up and we spent more time together
and i started wishing you'd do something to do your hair
and maybe smoke a little less
and maybe go to school a little more
and then i went to a football game at my new high school and i saw the muscular athletes and the clean-looking boys and
i gave my phone to Robert and asked him to tell you that i wanted to break up with you
and it was so easy for me
and i was disgusted by you
(but you were still in love)

goatgirl Aug 2013

you

you are beautiful,
with your angular, square jaw (or was it more rounded, i don't remember, i don't want to)
with your warm bronze skin (or was it more mocha, i don't remember, i don't want to)
and your perpetually faultless disposition
(i could never find a crevice to wedge myself into)
and your hands are beautiful
for the way they strummed my body
(it sounded so good i didn't know you were tone deaf)
and your aura was so beautiful
when it mingled with mine
and the patterns were so beautiful
but they could never become one color,
mine was dark when yours was bright and the contrast
was blinding
(you were the first to gain back vision)
you were so beautiful. (to me)
(not anymore)

goatgirl Aug 2013

hope in hibernation

leaves are dying and the air is thinning and the atmosphere
is no longer conducive to hot, fiery things,
everything is dying (but not Hope)
Hope never really dies,
it sets like the sun,
flees to places where it's been dark for too long,
sleeps like the bears,
finds that maybe resting for a while would be more efficient.
Hope never dies.

goatgirl Aug 2013

letting you go

At first a stab --
and then months of leaving the dagger in my skin, because I was afraid of the gaping tear it would leave behind,
it festered and turned purple (they told me I had to take it out)
So I did,
and there was a stream of blood that I used to think wouldn't stop flowing (I thought I'd die of shock), but then my body said Okay Alright, This Needs To Stop,
and the blood congealed--
but this was my last connection to the dagger, to the hand that held it,
I couldn't let it disappear,
I'd fall into trances in which my overgrown fingernails would claw at the wounded site,
just to feel the rush of blood again (but it wasn't quite right this time)
But no matter how much I intervened on the healing process, my body was smarter, had more authority over me.
Soon the wound became untouchable,
nothing but an angry line of scar tissue that I could no longer sabotage.
My skin is whole again, the breeze no longer stings, water no longer burns like acid.
(But sometimes the area aches, pulsates with something I cannot determine to be real or imaginary)
Sometimes my throat tightens because I think the wound has opened again, my stomach churns at the notion of healing again (or worse- never healing at all)
But then I remember that the smell of my own blood is unfamiliar, and the breeze doesn't sting anymore, and water doesn't burn like acid.

— The End —