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Mimi Jan 2012
I wonder how I got here, secluded in a grimy apartment filled with smoke. We drink gin and tonics with mint like it’s the ‘20s; we sit and talk pop culture because we know. Taj has somehow become the effective authority on all of these things, paid to social network and connected to Hollywood; he’s very skilled at playing to people’s wants. My Cadillac sits intent next to me markering in a recent drawing for his newest class. He’s already famous for his graffiti, one day I’ll bet you this extra credit project will be worth money. He drew me a fox for Christmas. Valentines day is coming up. He never tells me he loves me. Jack is watching me watch him out of the corner of his eye while putting on a new remix of an old song. He leans over and asks if I like it and I nod. I feel bubbled up with *** smoke, frozen in time and vaguely uncomfortable. I’d guess this is what it’s like to be “too high.” I want Caddy to notice, but it’s Jack that’s pushing my hair back and telling me to drink more water. It’s sweet. Despite his need to be seen as a womanizer, Jack respects Caddy too much to even try with me, he looks but he doesn’t put on any faces for me. Everyone thinks so hard about how they’re seen.
Jack says his New Year’s resolution is to do less *******, even though no one asked. Everyone hears but no one reacts. I try to keep moving my toes and stop shivering. Across from me Ky and Nate are reading the encyclopedia in open-mouthed awe. In a room full of intellectual up and comers I feel like Hemmingway did when he was my age, how all the minds gravitate to each other and sit in a ***** room by the beach and let the creativity go. Like Mary Shelly and the whole gang writing Frankenstein and Dracula in the same trip.  After a while I think Taj is going to make it, Jack will be a politician and Caddy will be lost and with another woman. Ky and Nate will still be smoking and reading the encyclopedia, all the way down to ‘z’. I am like my mother: attracting the company of smart successful men who pay her selective attention.
The door burst open and the cold air stayed in my pores after it was closed. Rodger invited himself over. It would have been all right but when Rodger is wasted he forgets his manners. In his animated state he managed to kick over Caddy’s favorite smoking piece, insult Jack and look at me a little too hard. His girlfriend had immediately passed out on the couch, but she never smiled or spoke to me anyway. Her head was cradled in the lap of a girl I hadn’t noticed. Her hair was perfect and her eyes shadowed, the liner and mascara smudging its way slowly onto her high cheekbones. She stared at me but didn’t speak. I tried to smile, but didn’t want to give away the champagne sensation covering my skin, still too up to speak. She had already formed her opinion of me, some young ******* the arm of an older boy. She was once in my position, I’m sure of it, we are the same kind of beautiful and empty eyed. That doesn’t stop her from judging, in the total of 15 seconds she looked at me. Her self is tamed and mine is wild still. Unintroduced and unnoticed by the men in the room, we have an understanding and a mutual dislike of each other, only to defend ourselves.
The room takes time to settle, a bowl has been packed for an entitled Rodger, and now that everyone is calm, Cad sits back down and puts his arm around me again. I lean into him, protected and anchored, whereas I had been floating or about to puke a minute ago. I don’t know what I said but Caddy seemed annoyed when he said “Just let it happen, embrace the feeling,” and so I kept quiet for ten minutes or so. The high was infected with guilt. Next time he looked at me-- it could have been an hour—I whispered, “I can’t” and finally he heard me, and stood up.
Cad came back into my vision with a glass of water and turned on Drive, prompting Rodger, Mrs. Rodger and my pretty enemy to leave. Ky and Nate had gone long before I could focus on noticing. Taj left for trivia night down at the bar and no doubt some girl; wrapped up in a cashmere scarf and cardigan he kissed my cheek before he went. Jack also took his graceful leave with the Rodger group to woo some girl who knew exactly what she was doing to herself. He did have a straight nosed charm, Jack. I could not blame this girl, one of many (I am embarrassed for her; I have been like this ******* many occasions).  
Taj had been sent the advanced copy of Drive in blu-ray, so we snuck it from his room and watched it that way (the only way Taj would see movies now, it is the future (for now)). Kavinsky came through Cad’s new speakers the boys had spent half an hour trying to wire earlier in the night. “They’re taking about you boy/but you’re still the same” crooned Lovefoxxx as Ryan Gosling cruised down a street, ****** intense in driving gloves. Gears shifting and motors growling are very ****, I tell Cadillac so into his ear, as he pulls me into his arms and covers me up with a blanket.
The movie was perfect, maybe because it made me feel less dizzy and sickguilty (Cad knew it would) and maybe because Ryan Gosling can wear a white satin jacket. I loved it, hardly noticing when the absent roommate Travis strolled in with Taj and tacos somewhere around 2am.  Colder as Caddy got up for a burrito, left me alone on the couch for the kitchen table. Registering Taj taking his place, playing with my curls and talking Hollywood to me. I’m staring over at Cad in his chair, he makes eye contact once or twice and I blow him a kiss before Taj repositions my head toward the television and my ear back where he can speak into it.
Eventually Cadillac taps Taj on the shoulder and motions for him to get up. With Cad back I can relax and I fall into sleep just as the movie ends. Taj and Trav have gone to their own beds and Cad leans over me, picks me up and takes me to bed knocking my elbow on the doorframe along the way. He apologizes and kisses my head but I am too tired to care. He lays me down on the bed with crimson sheets and takes off my boots but then sternly says, “Mimi, you are not a child.” and so I must get up and undress myself. He wraps me in a duvet missing its cover and his arms. I trust him long enough to fall asleep.

-

Standing in front of the stove it was hot, but I am easily overheated. He came up behind me and said in my ear, “you’re lovely” watching me put the last piece of French toast on the large stack, getting ready to scramble eggs. He kissed my cheek. Then my neck and then my lips, taking me away from my cooking to be pulled against him, for a sweet short minute and went back to the living room with his friends. Jack had mysteriously reappeared in the night; he said he locked himself out of his apartment after leaving to see one of his girls. Taj just sat and blasted Radiohead over the new speakers, shouting something relevant at me. I scramble the eggs and make up plates, two pieces of toast each and a nice healthy pile of eggs. It is gone very quickly and no one says thank you, except for a smile from Caddy and a kiss on the forehead. It’s usually enough for me, knowing he likes to show me off to his friends. I sit down with my cup of coffee and plate, within a few minutes Cad suggests he takes me home. I resentfully take time to finish my coffee. But we are both busy and he is right, so I say goodbye to the boys and gather my things. We drive with the “best MC on the game these days” (so I am told) over the weak speakers of the car. Cad drives with his arm around me always. Cruising into my building’s parking lot I lean over for a kiss on my forehead, nose, lips. He says go, but his hand still sits on my shoulder so I stay for a little longer. “You’ll probably have to let go of me if it’s time for me to go Cad,” I say quietly, with a tentative smile on my face. He grins back and lifts his arm. I slide out of the suicide seat and smile at him, but he’s looking at the radio dials. Then my face. His eyes give him away, softened around the edges with affection. Maybe love, but he’d never say it and I refuse to say it until he does. I try not to think about it much as he drives away to smoke up again with his friends. I wonder if this is how it will always be, but then I realize our kind of “always” is only the next few months. I turned unsteadily and walked up the stairs to my empty room—dark and overheated smelling heavily of sugar and spice candles-- with the geese outside my window for company. I haven’t slept here for days.
6.5k · Nov 2011
Knitting
Mimi Nov 2011
I’m knitting something new,
it feels good.
The new ball of yarn unraveling like time
but I’ve still got plenty left.
There’s potential in this dark teal wool
and satisfaction when I decide
the way I want to weave it.
I make mistakes, I change them
to become part of the pattern.
The stitches are like a song in my head,
I sing them, I tap them out with my foot
and whistle along to the tune I’ve made up.
I thought it might be a hat when I saw the skein
but now I know it will be an
infinity scarf.
My six inches of beaded rib is a metaphor for my worries.
Working my hands intricately help me forget them.
I have time.
Yes, I am a nerd.
4.2k · Jun 2011
Palahniuk #1
Mimi Jun 2011
If you can hear this
I don’t know
Been waiting in a cookie cutter hotel
the sheets turned down starched white
scratchy
So you’re not coming today?
that was both rhetorical and sarcastic.
Today or tomorrow
the next day, no
I crossed off your name but
I don’t know
If you can hear this.
3.1k · Jan 2013
No Willpower
Mimi Jan 2013
Truthfully this is how it’s been
how it will be for a while
beer gut receding hairline
my grumpy artist man
buys me gin and Mexican food
and tucks me into bed at 3 when I can’t take it anymore
I don’t care how many times you forget
I’m your baby and I’ll be waiting
hating your guts
to kiss you at the door
3.0k · May 2012
California Man
Mimi May 2012
It was quick and sharp
like a needle under skin.
Instead: in my heart.
2.8k · Nov 2011
Street Smarts (10 Word Poem)
Mimi Nov 2011
Strawberry ***** veins,
pronounce "Appalachia"
(correctly?)
Take care of me.
Experiment for the group "Fragments"
2.7k · Oct 2011
Graffiti
Mimi Oct 2011
Tonight I married a graffiti artist.
This is the third time I’ve been proposed to
at some ***** house party.
This time there was an ordained all-faith minister
on the porch smoking a cigarette. That was enough.
I said yes.
We’re all strictly first-name-basis here, nicknames are even better.
So to him I’m just Mimi. Focused intently on my hand,
he draws my wedding ring with a permanent marker
and kisses each finger as he finishes.
There is a tiny replica of his tattoo on the underside of my finger
in addition to my gigantic drawn-on diamond.
It is my favorite part.
We talk politics and eventually art.
Turns out he’s sort of an amazing artist.
He said he’d put my name up on a wall but I don’t believe him.
Intricate, passionate, and thoughtful.
His smile is adventure.
That’s why I married him.
He asked to read my poetry and in my fuzzy judgment I let him.
Maybe he even liked a few phrases.
And he was polite as a hopped up boy can be.
Getting me home before three,
lending me his jacket without me asking.
I know he’ll forget to call, or that he even has my number.
and that we won’t watch Pulp Fiction
tomorrow.
That I was really just a glorified
snort of some white powder,
I am like all the glitter that fades in the morning
like smiles do, or permanent marker
after a few washes.
(he called the next day)
2.3k · Oct 2011
C'mon Skinny Love
Mimi Oct 2011
It’s three am.
Or actually 2:58, right exactly now.
Sitting in bed with my cup of mac and cheese
I made in the microwave
and woke up my roommate,
because if I’m getting sexiled until 2 anyhow,
I’ll make some ******* mac and cheese.
Blowing on my plastic fork
listening to Bon Iver sing about his skinny love.

That’s something that’s been concerning me lately,
Skinny love.
But I’m eating anyway.
Because rolling on the black top of the playground
(dark and secret, with just enough irony)
with a newly blue-eyed boy
made me hungry.
2.3k · Oct 2012
Fingerprint
Mimi Oct 2012
When I ripped off my fingerprint
it was an accident
at first
the new skin grows
from the center outward
and I grow into a new identity.

I sleep like there’s no tomorrow
and no yesterday
2.2k · Jul 2011
Asperger's Syndrome
Mimi Jul 2011
Supple skin, insides of elbows
we scratched til they bled
split lips and scraped knees
I would follow you anywhere
Burrowed in your old clothes
you didn’t wear dresses
so neither did I.
Curled up on your too-green carpet
watching the fish in your tank
commit suicide one by one.
Can we stay the same?
Before Momma’s on the phone
shouting about faulty vaccines.
Before the world descends upon us.
In the night
you would slowly voice the thoughts:
what is the value of a human life
if it is miserable. If people laugh and mock,
if that life is silently and hopelessly
alone, and suddenly aware of it’s own strangeness.
It takes hours, to string this together
creeping towards 3am in the pitch dark.
we are sitting on the floor,
I promise with all of my eight year old honor
all of my fighting might,
I will not abandon you to this cruel world trapping
you. All this unknown grief
for the emotions you cannot understand.
My big brother called last night at 11:41 pm on a school night
We made plans to see a movie next year. So this is his.

(I think this needs an edit and an new title, thoughts?)
2.1k · Feb 2012
Babydoll
Mimi Feb 2012
I’m old enough to know but
too young to know better
the state says I’m an adult as of May
but I still don’t know what I want to be
when I grow up,
except for still carrying around my Blankie.

Teddy Bear holds up the pipe to my lips
I can’t do it on my own, I’m not so good at this,
he says breathe deep Baby, I’ve got you.
The fuzz on his face is rough when he kisses the top of my head.

Taj and Tibby walk in holding hands
“Baby!” he smiles and leans down to kiss me
“Hey little one” she says and hugs me tight.
Lauren and Luke come out of their room and
give me big smiles.
Everyone is glad I am home and I exhale
grey smoke because I am glad too.

I am the baby, but I am also the best cook.
While I clang pots in the kitchen my man pours
champagne and turns on the new speakers.
Chicken Piccatta for dinner, because when
you feed people, it’s the best way to tell them
you love them.

The flimsy laminate floors are sticky,
the practically cardboard walls are dusty,
the room like a cave is dark even with the blinds cracked open
but Taj makes us laugh and we dance to the music.
Kitchen table cleared of drug paraphernalia
becomes the flimsy garage-sale/side-of-the-road version
of the dinner table I grew up with.
The people crowded onto its edges
a kind of family.
1.5k · Jul 2011
Nosebleed
Mimi Jul 2011
You drove away and I thought my nose would bleed
The lump on my head makes me wobbly
Or whatever they stuck in my drink
The roar of that old red engine ringing in my ears
Go die
The boy who doesn’t know how to be in love
Leave me alone to get drunk
On the tears you leave me to
It always ends in tears
Don’t leave me like this
You always leave me like this
Go die
And leave me to mine
The lump on my cerebral cortex is getting bigger
Swelling by the minute
And I’m drinking water
And trying not to let whatever you stuck in my drink
Get the best of me
But I think I’m leaking
Leaking salt water and your own ****** fluids
Leaking my dwindling supply of iron
I’m bleeding
The lump on my head swelling to golf ball proportions
My heart turned to a solid lump
I wait for you to come back and apologize
But you never do and you never will
So maybe if you woke up the next morning
And I didn’t.
Maybe if you heard the words
“her brain hemorrhaged in her sleep”
Maybe if you had to go on without me
You wouldn’t complain about the way I fall in love
And the way you can’t feel ****
You don’t know ****.
I have no idea why this is my most read poem.
Seriously I've written better stuff.
1.5k · Jul 2011
Side-by-Side
Mimi Jul 2011
I wanted to be your same color
living in a world where back roads racing,
fathers up-and-leaving,
mothers smoking in the house with the baby
is taken into caviler stride-by-stride.

**** your hat a little farther to the side
and tell me this all don’t matter.
But it comes at you in vivid splashes,
when you try to sleep under
the lumpy comforter
in the bed that I made for you
while you were in the shower

And you call me your beautiful angel,
in stark washes of fluorescent lamplight.
You’ll take the pills to sleep at night
and I won’t
I’ll just lie there pretending
until you wakeup late and groggy
And you leave me.
1.4k · Jun 2011
Chemistry
Mimi Jun 2011
Late at night I am creative
in the form of a fizzing soda bottle
pomegranate deep purple liquid
poured into a glass tumbler three fourths full
standing on a chair moving cereal boxes

that tall glass bottle in the back of the cupboard
splashing it in the tumbler clear and sour

half a teaspoon of sugar and a squeeze of lime
mixing until I see the pink froth on top
drinking it down before I realize what I’m doing

Flash back to a few hours before
“you smell good” is what he said to me
leaning in, whispering it in my ear

Well how do you like me now?
breath full of fruit and something sharper
I can’t say you’d approve of the way my brain buzzes
but I know, secretly, you would understand
1.3k · Apr 2012
Ant farm
Mimi Apr 2012
What was it?
I was nothing, sitting on an ant farm couch.
We were all coming home drunk
In intervals
And taking off our clothes sliding into bed
With our respectives.
I was an ant on a farm,
Digging in lines of people
What will I do when my parents are gone?
You morbid little ****.
Lucky little me, born. Significant as
An ant on a farm
Or all alone where I'm just as real
As the people who talk to me
At parties or in my mind.
1.3k · Aug 2011
Summer Girl
Mimi Aug 2011
She might be a woman, bronzed face turned upward
worshiping in a small pool of dappled sunlight.
But she is most like a girl still
carrying along a pink blanket,
engrossed in her newest book,
legs crossed sitting on the porch in a
mauve and lace sundress.
The other colors of the world,
she fits into them, she wears them well.

The green of the trees in its last intensity,
beginning the parched death into the fall.
The blessing of a blue sky,
and the belladonna lilies have reached up
announcing the end of summer
(bliss, contentment, inherent joy of living)
with their bare stems and slip of pink.

The quiet charm of summer afternoons
in company with the restless spirit autumn brings
she sits to wait, remember, cherish the summer.
The cold will be on her soon.
1.3k · Jan 2012
Dorm Life (10 word poem)
Mimi Jan 2012
Asbestos infected living;
I am the saddest ******* earth.
1.2k · Feb 2012
Hypertension
Mimi Feb 2012
I think I outgrew you a while ago.
We spent seven years close but
everything changes
and I don’t want to fight but
everything changes.

I do feel bad that we don’t talk as much.
Our worlds are too different now
to have anything to talk about.
I know you look down on my
not-an-ivy-league college
but you’re with your peers now
and I’m happy with mine. Yes you’re
brilliant with books. Not so brilliant
with human beings.
You will go on to be more successful than your mother
like she pushed you to be,
but you're still looking for your
happiness.
I’m a little different, a little opposite.
Not so brilliant with books, I’d rather be with my
human beings.
I know in my heart where I’ll find my happiness
one day, and I assure you it will not be
in some grey forty story office building
still wondering why
your ex boyfriend at age seventeen
decided to kiss me under the slide
at the neighborhood park
while he was trying to forget about you.

That doesn’t feel so great for me either
being a rebound.

But at least I’ll have lived my life
and I’ll have no questions or regrets
my garden will be full of flowers.
Let’s keep disagreeing, because
I won’t let myself become so
angry.
Mimi May 2012
Last night I held a dinner party
The boyfriends smoked on the balcony
while the girlfriends cooked.
I orchestrated three courses:
spinach salad,
lemon rosemary chicken and mushroom cream risotto,
and strawberry pie.
We even had three whole bottles of wine to match each one.

It takes a sophisticated finesse to throw one of these things,
the mess of an apartment is filled with wine-tipsy giggles
and shouts of "look I'm domestic!" when the chicken comes out of the oven.
We set the table with a white cloth and tried to match all the plates.

To sit with friends and food,
I feel, are the two most important things in the world.
We gathered at the table but we did not pray.
Instead, a toast!
To friends like family, job offers on both coasts,
boyfriends, girlfriends, to be so lucky in love,
to little Mimi, she's done so well here. For those
graduating, we're sad to leave, for those returning
we look forward to another year
with her cooking!
1.2k · Aug 2012
The Homework Assignment
Mimi Aug 2012
The homework assignment was particularly hard
you never clarify what it is that you want.

I wanted to dance with you in the ***** of a dark hill
in my drop-dead dress.
1.1k · Sep 2011
Adapt
Mimi Sep 2011
This place is so quickly home
in my cinder block palace
the leaky sink, the naked boy in the bed
across from mine.
I am triumphantly queen of these gravel-roofed blocks
dragged back, bladder bursting
to my little kingdom.
my people wait up in the hallways
they are dazed and blurry eyed
the 4 am incarnations
of what we promised ourselves we’d never be.
curled up in corners
shivering away from reality.
I have conquered nothing
but my parent’s expectations.
Mimi Feb 2013
This morning I woke up to a circus runaway
He was sitting in the kitchen
of the house I share with three boys
he eyed me in my pajamas

He was sitting in the kitchen
basking in the light of the morning
he eyed me in my pajamas
He works for the circus that stopped in town

He is Evan’s second cousin once removed
I fried us eggs while everyone else slept
He missed the circus train to Atlanta
and needed a place to stay.

I fried us eggs while everyone else slept
We watched the dogs playing in the yard
he needed a place to stay
and put his feet up on the table

He told me stories about working at the circus
I’ve always had a lingering curiosity
he put his feet up on the table
and had a girlfriend waiting for him in Charlotte

This morning I woke up to a circus runaway
I made him breakfast and then he had to leave
for a few minutes he talked with Evan
about traveling (running again) to India

I’ve always had a lingering curiosity
he eyed me in my pajamas
he had a girlfriend waiting for him in Charlotte
I made him breakfast and then he had to leave
Written in the style of Stuart Dischell's "She Put on her Lipstick in the Dark" for my creative writing class. I need feedback before I turn it in! Let me know what you think!
1.1k · Sep 2011
Nice Try
Mimi Sep 2011
I lock my door at night because I’m scared
you’ll sneak in quietly and kiss me on the forehead
or traipse in with the morning and bring me coffee.

I wouldn’t put it past you,

the way you smile when you look at me.
Put your arm around me in public,
and offer me your milk when I run out.
You tell me I’m such a sweetie pie, you can’t get over it.
but you don’t know me, and you don’t ask questions.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to hear another cutsey nickname
and if you tickle me one more time I swear I’ll
break your ******* nose.

I’m trying to tell you, to warn you
“No, I’m not a sweetie pie, you’ll find out soon enough”
you’re just not enough, and you’ll find out soon
It’s like you’re afraid to break me when I let you kiss me.

Break me, please.

I’m just dying for some danger, for that boy from Ohio.
You hold me good at night but a bad girl can’t live on snuggles alone.
Seriously.
I would sass you until you put your hands on me,
but you're not worth the effort.
Nothing is intense or brave. You are not an adventure.
Mimi Oct 2011
Life is not always what you planned.
We were in the back yard of the abandoned house next door to his watching his two mutts chase each other around the perimeter. House after tiny peeling white painted house line the street “Summerbelle” with roofs covered in crinkled brown leaves. He runs his hand through his too long ***** brown hair. Tall and blue eyed, he could have been handsome maybe.
I had stopped by to pick up my glasses from on top of his coffee table. I don’t remember how they had gotten there exactly but at some point last night roasting-marshmallows-and-a-bonfire had turned into mango-juice-*****- forgetting-your-glasses-party with all the neighbors.
We were talking about fall, how the colors and the smells are beautiful, but foreboding, warning that winter and depression are coming. It’s a problem we have. On my walk over I had stopped to pick up a particularly beautiful leaf to give to him. It was just the sort of thing he would understand.
I reminded him we have to dress up for class on the 6th, and asked if he even had a suit. He then launched into a ten minute story about how he used to work on a senator’s campaign, 18 hour days and everything.
Not something I would have expected.
We gradually shuffle into the house, and I pick up my glasses from right where I had left them. The door is never locked in his house, but no one usually steals anything.  The walls are covered in crayoned drawings and quotes, over the top of it all “Fleetwood” graffitied in orange and red. I remember that is what we had decided to name the house last night. I had been sitting on the couch with a beer admiring the artist, bringing him a new Blue Ribbon can periodically for a kiss.
“Are you and A together now?”
I shake off the hazy memories. “Hm?”
“You and A.”
“Oh. We’re…yeah.” His signature grin never faded but his eyes had dipped to the floor. “How could you tell?”
“The way you spoke to him.” It was all the explanation he offered. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
My mind wandered back to the morning, waking up next to the artist brushing my hair off my face, kissing my forehead. Surreal.
There wasn’t much left to say, so it was time for me to go. Turning to the door I saw what I had written on the wall last night, hidden under the windowsill, part way behind the couch. Under the song lyrics, clichéd quotes like “Be good or be good at it” and messages of peace, love and adventure it was nestled.
*All the same, we are nothing.
Mimi Feb 2012
Every body's ******* about one-day-outta-the-year,
but I like to be your little princess for a night
when you open up all my doors,
pair the steak with the exact right bottle of wine
and we finish off the entire thing.
Chocolate mousse, made with love,
an entire pile of romantic movies to pick from
while you stare at me adoringly across the
immaculate
candle lit
apartment that's finally clean! (just for me)
Then Brazilian jazz in a bubble bath,
(you thought of every little thing)
I lean back into you, feeling your lips rest on my hairline.
You said we should do this more often.
Then I gave you a Santa bubble beard
we took pictures
and we laughed hysterically in the light of a candle.
It's how I know, before and after it all that
**** it
(I love you.)
The trick is slipping it into conversation.
1.1k · Apr 2012
Telephone book
Mimi Apr 2012
Not down to my shoes
They love me when I walk into a room
There's applause and shouts of MIMI
I can't help it
Party girl

I should have studied for life tonight
Instead I just left the book outside
Like the new telephone directory.

You know once, I walked past it on my door mat
For weeks until my Momma decided to come home
And read every single word in that phone book.

When I say you dont know **** about this life it's true
I'll sit out here all night to tell you so
All the time I think of that one way to escape

I always said I'd be dead before I could have this thought
I always assumed some catastrophic accident would take me home.
Isn't it up there? Because I can't find home here.
Mimi Nov 2011
I haven't got upstairs yet
want it to be when my eyes are heavy that I fall into bed
my very own bed.
I want it to be a truthful sweet moment
alone with my thoughts and my sheets.
Finally to be home.
Home is just a word.
All I need is a place where people love me,
and feed me,
and sweep my hair out of my eyes.
It could be anywhere.
But when I stepped out of the cold into the foyer;
then into the den
and no one knew I was there yet, I saw the clock.
The old maritime chipped-gold-plated clock that chimes on the hour.
Had not moved since 7:27 very many months ago,
since last time I was here.
This has been my job since I was very young.
Open the clock face and reset the time to 2:27
To grab the gold key hidden under it's wooden frame,
to first twist the clockwork cog that creaks and
hear the ticking alive again from turning wheels.
Then the cog that works the bell,
and flick the hidden switch to turn on the chime.
Close the face with a click and sigh
as my family runs in to greet me.
1.0k · Jul 2011
My Father's Pen
Mimi Jul 2011
We like our steaks ******
my daddy and I
wear plaid and glasses and slippers
and hibernate in the winter.
I steal the pens out of his desk
and lose them.

I steal the wedding rings out of his dresser
and stare at them on the bedspread.
Sometimes I wear the gold one
and remember that time I found it
in the glove compartment
with the rest of the loose
change.

It is ritualistic.
and it makes me aware
I’m scared to become him.
But I know he did what he had to;
I will do what I have to
when my time comes.

My time and the easy way out,
I am already so much like him.
But at the end of the month
there will be a new package of roller *****
in the desk drawers
and he won’t say
a word.
1.0k · Sep 2011
The Boston Boys
Mimi Sep 2011
This is happening more and more.
It’s ungodly early and we’re tripping on bricks
a pack of feckless teenagers still.
That never changed.
The tall one, skinny with rosy cheeks
and the eyes of a fighter
is holding loosely onto my hand
his nose won’t stop bleeding.

We follow the broad intimidating one
in a red sox hat,
he’s punching every stop sign we pass
and just hollering
how we’ll always stick together
you don’t mess with family
(I’ve known them all for three weeks)
his accent is getting thicker through his swollen lip.

In the rear the shorter one, but still much taller than me,
his hair stuck up in all directions
is still getting his breath back from that sock to the stomach.

We all love that frozen moment, when first punch turns to full on brawl.
Peter says even if you get hit, at least you’re feeling something.
We all taste like bourbon, cause this is the South now.

I’m draggin’ them home in my favorite blue skirt,
two heads shorter at least.
Saying, soon we’ll be home boys, I’ll fix you up then.
Because they’ll fight for me, I fight for them.
Saying stop punching public property, Paul and
Stevie, I’ve got you, don’t cry
The Pats are on tomorrow boys, and we’ve all got work to do.
just a little longer

I find family where I can these days.
1.0k · Jul 2011
Restless (Listless)
Mimi Jul 2011
We’re like tramps living in this half-furnished house
taking two-mouthful shots outta that big old bottle
playing 8-bit games in between smoke breaks

And when we feel like dancing the house will shake
letting the primal urge take we throw ourselves around
the basement room empty save a couch, the speakers
and some ****** art installment we are still painting

There’s a pile of us on the extra mattress in the laundry room
talking about hopes and dreams for a new life
****** out of old nests, we build our own in the ***** clothes
someone starts crying
I swear I’m in love with every person in the room.

It’s time for another pack or two of smokes for the boys
So we wipe our tears and snot and leave the nest
to run down the 4 am streets with no shoes
sparkling in starlight like vagabonds.

And I turn to my shoeless friend and say:
We could live like this.

Home to a half-furnished house, muffled in sleep-sighs
the couches, the chairs are draped with passed out kids
I cover them with sheets and blankets and kiss every one goodnight

Even the mattress in the laundry room is full
so we lay out a blanket and throw pillows in front of the ****** art installment
sleeping in just shorts, as the heat wave holds the town
the boys let me on top of the dog-pile because I’m smallest
and because in the morning I’ll wake up to make them breakfast.
1.0k · Oct 2011
The Problem
Mimi Oct 2011
It’s started up again
just in time for winter
lighting fires on Wednesday nights
watching the sparks fly up to the sky
wondering what would happen if I stepped in
and became a spark too.
The train rolls by six times a day.
Six times a day I see myself under the wheels.
I stand a little too close. My hair is ruffled by the speed.
The rails still sing as the last car rolls away
steel polished clean by speed and weight
and heat.
I look at it leaving. Hop the ties and keep moving.
Carrying a pair of glasses in my hand I feel like some kind of omen,
as if anyone on this street would notice.
see more clearly
Threadbare white t-shirt and my three nazar bracelets
protect me from the evil eye to
see more clearly
Give me luck this time, in the tradition of my ancestors
but not my parents.
The paint on the sides of the receding cars
remind me of my artist breathing in deeply,
exhaling grey smoke. He says it opens up his third eye to
see more clearly.
It’s not my problem
This clouding of the mind though
I can’t see my heart and my soul  when the world around me starts to rot too.
Muscles obey other voices sometimes
near the knives or rail ties
rubber car tires.
Mimi Jan 2012
Lying on top of you breathlessly panting
(2am, nonexistent sleep schedule)
I almost said “I love you” which turned into
“I love...how you make me feel” you knew it
and I knew it. I almost ******* up.

When we wake up
(11:27, barely made it to morning)
you get in the shower and I stay in bed.
The morning feeling never lasts long, soon
you’re on the phone making plans you can’t tell me about;

illegal. Many thousands of dollars.
“Don’t tell anyone baby. Shouldn’ta asked questions”
But who would I tell?
You’re my favorite person here.

Long day, back in bed. I made you a fake pie
(12am, pudding and peanut butter in the fridge)
after you took me to see the puppies
(I didn't even have to ask twice to go).
Curled up around you I kiss your tattoos,
the picture you drew, inked into your skin,
of the woman you’ll marry
(you’ll have her colored when you meet the girl)
and you whisper you might get a few more curls added
a little more brown in her hair
but her eyes and her nose,
already match mine.

You started snoring
I turned on my side and had a panic attack.
Mimi Jul 2011
Your washy grey eyes only meet mine sometimes
when you’re being really serious.
On days when you laugh we talk about how
when we’re old and rich, I’ll buy you a green
Lambo and you’ll buy me a red one.
Or, how one day you’ll be president.

I try my hardest to make you smile on days like these
they don’t come very often anymore
your cheeks are hollowed deeper
whispered to me late at night about that needle
because you trust me for some reason
you have decided I’m the one you will trust
and I think that’s why I try so hard to make you smile
on days when you laugh.
Mimi Jan 2012
We went out to dinner and you ordered my favorite
when it came, we switched plates
because you knew I’d change my mind.

We walked into your friends house looking for some beer
instead they pulled out a sweet little baggie
filled with don’t-say-it-out-loud-named drugs.
Everyone gets big stupid smiles watching Rodger
cut it in lines on the table.

I’m trying to tell you with my eyes that my heart is beating faster
than it’s supposed to
that I am in no way comfortable here
please please take me home *******
and you told my eyes out loud,
“Yeah but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

(Full blown panic attack. It’s what you do to me
baby.)

Leaning over the table like you’re about to get ******
(that was mean, but I am mad),
inhale deeply through that roll of paper.
I’m watching you sourly from the couch
whispered into your ear
“when you come down, you’re taking me the **** home”
(this entire poem goes in The Swear Jar)
instead we had makeup *** upstairs and
I flirted with all your friends.

I guess it got later. The party started going,
some Taylor kid’s speaking in my ear
“That boyfriend of yours, does he love you?”
“Not at all” (I’m a flirt but at least I am honest)
Told me to call him when I shake off the loser.

How can I shake off this loser?
How could I give away the boy (man?) who orders
my broccoli cheddar soup
so we can switch bowls
after my disillusioned moment
of chicken noodle wanting.
He carried me to bed again, and held me when I woke up
crying.
We listen to Neil Young in the car on our way out to the woods
he said
“What a sad man…his Mimi went away.”
running his hands through my hair.

This is my excuse:
you don’t know a person, until
you have gone through their medicine cabinet.
They say.
Mine have prescriptions
You’ve had to find yours yourself
to find yourself.  But now I think
it’s time to grow up, or die real young.
It’s not my problem.
I think I maybe should stop it with this
problem.
979 · Jul 2011
Unholy
Mimi Jul 2011
There we sped down the highway
leaving town, windows down
going north.
You drive like a bat out of hell, twenty above the speed limit
one hand sneaking up my skirt in the suicide seat.
Can’t keep your ****** hands to yourself.
My head tilted back,
Ignoring you a little bit
to watch the light from the western sun
glint off your new rosary:
semi precious stones and Jesus
dead and ******, oversized in bronze.
Oh, our resounding love
and church qualified sin.
It’s a little too much
how the juxtaposition of our separate lives
crash together in the summer,
when it’s too hot to wear your
penguin suit
little black dress
cassock.

I’m not bitter.
959 · Oct 2011
Why I Prefer the Red Sox
Mimi Oct 2011
I am up so late
the Yankees fans next door
screaming through the cinder blocks.
Infected all over. I am
exhausted and done with this.
I would  like to go shoe shopping,
but there is 5.00 to my name.
I spent it all on medicine
for this sad little heart.
949 · Aug 2012
Steal or Still
Mimi Aug 2012
Steal my heart
or still my heart
It makes no difference, just
filling the silence till
he says he loves me (tomorrow?
maybe never again).
So if you ask me to come I'll come
but don't you dare bore me
sentimentally
I'll put out (my cigarette in your eye).
946 · Dec 2011
Twisted
Mimi Dec 2011
I am twice the size of my mind
a half zipper from being undressed
They say kids with higher IQs do more drugs
because we’re looking for something
there’ve been studies but
I haven’t found anything yet
I’m just shivering dizzy confused lying on your bed
not going to puke.
In your arms you’ve got me safe for some reason.
It takes all my effort to lift my head “What?”
“You’re lovely” you whisper
that’s not what you said the first time I think.
“even now?”
“Sleep, baby”
I always had a thing for boys tellin' me what to do.
Mimi Nov 2011
I don't have walls
rather fences
your brain could hop
I am having waaaaaay too much fun with these 10 word poems.
Mimi Nov 2011
4am made me cry
to see behind glasses
into eyes
907 · Dec 2013
Dried Out
Mimi Dec 2013
A lot of people will write about her, I know
she was not only mine.
We are sad we are grieving
a community bands together.

My anger is macabre inappropriate:
when her light turned out, she turned out several others.
My dearest friend:
empty gas lamp.

Trying to relight is against a tempest
and sequestered in despair,
with internal lighter fluid drained
our marrow dry as dust.

(the real truth of it all is much harder to swallow
than the news story you heard)
Mimi Feb 2012
I've been getting sicker
skinnier
if you missed me
897 · Jul 2011
Trinitrotoluene
Mimi Jul 2011
On a Wednesday, Thursday driving
by your father's house
I come bearing gifts
but no one is home.

And all I want to do
is give back that
effeminate powder blue shirt
and say good riddance
to your mother's house.
884 · Sep 2012
Burned Alive
Mimi Sep 2012
I am not a perfect human
when I was born there was gunk in my lungs
and for a while now my heart's been talking to me in rhythms
like let me out like forget to beat like no blood to my brain
or fingertips

They tried to make me a perfect human
in the summertime under the knife
under flourescents instead of the sun
crinkle sheets crinkle paper gown
crinkle pop heartbeat

When they burned me from the inside I could feel it
I woke up when I wasn't supposed to like a volcano of survival
the light was white, I screamed, I remember it all
till anestesiologist put me back to sleep
all three seconds

Days and weeks after bruise hobble
the monitor is even now every third beat
like a perfect human being's
I watch everyone around me breathe strong
I breathe strong too and only check my pulse
out of nerves.
881 · Jul 2011
Sunday Afternoon (Sinner)
Mimi Jul 2011
God your car smells terrible
running errands Sunday afternoon
windows down, driving fast
on the north side of town
feeding you peach rings while you drive
listening to the Lady herself.
Smile your sharp-toothed smile and
I’ll remember mine
Darling, I want you to drive off the road
so I won’t have to tell the world what we’ve done
You and I both know
these burning secrets at the bottom of our hearts
eventually come out to see the sun
Shining in our eyes on a Sunday afternoon
877 · Jan 2012
Place Holder
Mimi Jan 2012
I.

Drinking on a Tuesday is just a Tuesday here.
When you wouldn’t walk me home for my contact case
I cried like the rummed-up little girl I was (am)
walking back to your place on the train tracks.
It was the first time since I moved here I’ve been able to cry;
so it all came down in snot and salt.
Every last thing. The pressure and my father and depressive
tendencies, my mother won’t see me. blurted on the grimy floor of your bathroom
I couldn’t get up for sobbing.
How I don’t love you. And I’m not going to love you.
But I don’t think you’re going to love me either
(I didn’t say that out loud).
You held me anyway;
shame. because no one sees me like this.
This is the way that I am
When my contacts fell out
I stuck them in saline filled shot glasses and you told me to blow
my nose on a paper towel. Then undressed me like I was two again
and held me while I cried myself to sleep.

II.

Sometimes you’re at your lowest
curled up naked in a helpless bed
inadequate with nerves and pressure
so we just talk about our lives
and I hold you, and you cling to me
It’s more intimate than *** anyway.
About my weak ankle and your broken wrist,
our families, all the times we’ve been
kicked out of our homes.
One day you might come home
and listen to the jazz music in June with me
we’ll take a picnic and meet my families
One day I might go to your home
and climb the tree on a cliff
eat beef and broccoli with your uptight step mother
and see all the walls you’ve painted in the city
all the secret underground sewers painted with your name.

III.

Sat on a still plane in the gentrified south
panicked about what exact day it was that month.
One day too late. Which is when you start to worry.

We love so young and free,
but I know you don’t really love me.

We’ve got big, big plans that don’t include each other.
No mistakes can hold me down to you, nothing.

I am meticulous with foil packets and times.

My sweet artist, I don’t know how to ask
why you stick around, if you’re following my rule,
if you’re in it a little bit for my brain too.

I’ll charm your friends and make sure you get your hair cut.
You’ll teach me to brew your coffee and smoke a pipe

As long as you don’t love me,
I don’t love you.
861 · Nov 2011
Genuine
Mimi Nov 2011
Sometimes it’s easy to think that he might love me.
Curled up on the couch like it’s Sunday afternoon
he kisses my forehead softly.
Our faces touch, his cheekbone up against my nose.
Eyes closed we sigh and enjoy the feeling.

He asks if he’s a good blanket.
I say I’ve had softer but never sweeter.

We are not paying attention to the television.
I am stuck in feeling his hands playing with my hair,
and tracing my bones
up to my neck, asks if my necklace is real pearls.
I tell him yes they are real,
you can tell because they are imperfect,
and that is what gives them away
as genuine.
night at the artist's apartment after a meeting.
849 · Nov 2011
Living With You Briefly
Mimi Nov 2011
Let’s just kiss and make something up.
It’s plain that I’m not sleeping enough
as a practiced insomniac you know,
and make coffee for us in the morning.

Last night we fell over laughing,
exhaling smoke I drawled,
“Everything in this kitchen it sticky”
everything.
For five minutes I think we laughed.

I made brownies.
You held me around the waist,
and spoke with your eyes.
Mimi Jul 2011
And we lay there under fast moving clouds
sometimes-revealed stars
in the reclined seats of my mother’s car
outside of the other boy’s house
hands behind our heads
let the wind from the open windows
blow the humidity from our foreheads

I find you so handsome in the weak moonlight
the strong bridge of your nose standing out
from underneath your shaggy hair
the bright whiteness of your teeth
as you grin, amusing yourself with words

Our conversation is give and take
Neither speaks more or less than the other
give each other time for thought
in a delicately held balance I find comforting
just like when we were so young

The days when your mother drunk dialed
and your father tried as hard as he could
when you clung to me and my words
walked from North Platte to Lincoln
to escape her long red fingernails
and fall into my open arms

All I ever wanted was to see you smile
the same as now
while we wait in the car
but you left me when your mother stopped
when you found yourself stable, happy even
I became irrelevant, despite professed love

I know you further than
the other girls.
far enough to sit in the back of my mother’s car
seats reclined, watching shadows pass over the moon
looking at me like you used to
you see right through to the center of me
of course I still love you.
Mimi Jan 2012
All I can say:
I'm glad you're not gone
yet.
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