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dee-double-youPoems
I don't write as much or read as much as I did in between classes and on busses or under the bed at three a.m. with light from those glow-in-the-dark spoons out of cereal boxes. I forgot what it's like to say i love you to family and friends and they forgot, too, around the time dad stopped smoking and we lost the house to a gambling addiction -- they don't know I know. I missed the class on making decisions and holding my ground and learning to love myself in that way that the important people love me. I wasted time on drugs and empty wants, promises-- ruined parts of me I see on bookshelves and in B flats on sheet music. I sleep, I dream; I tread softly, and I steal the words better suited to someone else but I missed the class on expression, too. Students and bosses and ones I met for a moment on the street laugh and it's always at me, even when it's not; even when I hide in plain sight, shoulders hunched, head down, reciting Yeats or Siken under my breath like some mantra of people with bigger, more painful, beautiful pasts.
0
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Perditus inter tempus
I don't write as much or read as much as I did in between classes and on busses or under the bed at three a.m. with light from those glow-in-the-dark spoons out of cereal boxes. I forgot what it's like to say i love you to family and friends and they forgot, too, around the time dad stopped smoking and we lost the house to a gambling addiction -- they don't know I know. I missed the class on making decisions and holding my ground and learning to love myself in that way that the important people love me. I wasted time on drugs and empty wants, promises-- ruined parts of me I see on bookshelves and in B flats on sheet music. I sleep, I dream; I tread softly, and I steal the words better suited to someone else but I missed the class on expression, too. Students and bosses and ones I met for a moment on the street laugh and it's always at me, even when it's not; even when I hide in plain sight, shoulders hunched, head down, reciting Yeats or Siken under my breath like some mantra of people with bigger, more painful, beautiful pasts.
dee-double-you
Written by
dee-double-you
American
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
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