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Sara Kellie Dec 2017
******* barking and let me in,
Check the form,
I wreak of sin,
Where's your Master,
the man in red,
Tell him I'm here,
I'm finally dead,

Those ******* people and their lies,
so full of ****,
I do despise,
I couldn't take it anymore.
My body, I've left it on the floor,
Well, what's left is no good,
It's all covered in blood
and how do I feel?
I feel ******* good!

They smiled at my eyes
and lied to my ears,
They think I don't know,
I've known it for years,
I wrote them a note
and sealed it away,
That note is still here
to this very day.

****** poetry by
Kaydee.
8 years on and that note is still here. Along with other truths that will live on long after I'm gone.
Written with a specific purpose. To accompany the envelope titled
'Dear Voyeurs, Part 8
JJ Hutton  Feb 2013
almond milk
JJ Hutton Feb 2013
swashbuckling kittens wallpaper -- cutlasses, eyepatches, royal blue bandanas --
lined the walls of the kitchen.

"you love it, don't you?" Mathilda asked. she poured me a glass of almond milk.
and I could drink almond milk with a lesbian forever. and ever. and ever.
fridge door open. it's sparse. a world weary McDonald's bag and a last chapter beer,
the only other tenants.

"it's neat," I said. don't care much for animals. don't hate them by any means,
but don't go out of my way for them. my analyst says it's Sparks, Oklahoma's fault.
see, when a boy, I had seven---no, eight kittens named Simba. the howl of the coyote
taught me about expiration dates. Had a hard time accepting total loss (e.g., eight Simbas).

"do you feel okay?" Mathilda asked. and I didn't. but I said,

"yeah, yeah. sorry about waking you up last night. just didn't think I could make it home."

"I noticed you slept perpendicular to the futon. with your sneakers on. interesting choice."

Mathilda can be funny. and the almond milk was good. and like I said, I could drink it with
her forever. the ceiling fan, though, rocked off-kilter. she had stray, sad balloons in orbit
around the fan. imagined the balloon with the red-lettered "BOO-YAH" entering the wake
of the wobbling blades. imagined the blades flying off one-by-one. imagined one striking
me in the head and freeing me of a hangover. imagined being in the back of the line outside
the gates of heaven, while St. Peter kept letting the hot, single girls cut in line.

"will you?" Mathilda repeated, I think.

"will I, what?"

"take a picture of me in front of the wallpaper."

"sure."

"sorry, I've taken like 30 selfies trying to get Grace to re-notice me.
starting to feel like a chronic masturbator."

"what do you mean?"

"well, you know, selfies are pathetic indulgences in narcissism. hell, they can be
necessary, as is the case this time, I assure you---but pathetic, nonetheless."

took the phone. Mathilda stood in front of the pirate kitten wallpaper.
she leaned forward. made a kissy face.

"do you have to do that?" I asked.

"don't bust my *****," she said, "just take the photo. I know what Grace likes."

the two broke up last week. Mathilda in her oh-yeah-wanna-run-off-with-ol-banana-***** fury
threw a ******* party with balloons (they were tethered to things at the time.
the dining chairs, cabinet doors, the wrists of guests, etc., etc.). I left early that night.
I'm straight and not very relevant. so, well, you get it.

"would you like some coffee too?" she didn't look up. with locust clicks she fingered
the screen of her phone, uploading the kissy face, pirate kitten wallpaper picture to
her Tumblr. I nodded.

at the party she bedded two skeletal, Sylvia Plath feminists. self-fulfilling prophecy.
she'd written about the then-fictitious scenario months ago on her blog.
Mathilda called me crying the following morning. between the
shame/guilt/self-pity wails, she advised, "don't ever be the third wheel in a threeway."
noted. she said the three had a silent, last breakfast before they left. and I said something
to the effect of, you didn't let them go near the oven did you?

the first droplets of coffee hissed as they struck the bottom of the ***.

"if only coffee were a woman," Mathilda said. "am I right?"

"if coffee were a woman, I'm afraid I'd still pour her into a fine porcelain cup and drink her."

"you're awful."

and I am. but she doesn't mind because I've been celibate for two years, and she's been
so successful it brings her down. off-setting penalties, the basis of our friendship. or maybe
it's the way we leave things where they fall or rise. natural resting places. Simbas. balloons.

when the brew idles I grab two cups. fill hers three-quarters full. she likes almond milk in it.
and I could drink almond milk with a lesbian forever, I swear. to the fridge. the ceiling fan
seems a bit louder. one-by-one the blades. and heaven. and St. Peter, the pervert.
gave the almond milk a shake.

"why you holding on to the McDonald's bag and the practically empty beer?
I think they're starting to smell."

she didn't answer. well, not right away, anyway. and I took that to mean they belonged
to Grace. natural resting places. so, I mix the almond milk into the coffee.

"I know I should throw it out. Grace doesn't even like McDonald's. Do you know what's
in that bag?"

"I don't."

"avocados."

"what?"

"yeah. one of her friends works there. just cut up some avocados for her."

what sacrilege. made me tired, you know? fast food avocados, selfies,
Sylvia Plath feminists, etc., etc. the ceiling fan sped up, for no reason, I think.
the balloons cast shadows over the dining table. and I could drink almond milk
with a lesbian forever. trust me. just not under those conditions. beeline for
the fridge. door open. snagged the bag of blacker-than-brown avocados
and the bottle of beer.

"stop. she could be back any day," Mathilda said.

and what I should of said was no. what I should have said was Grace,
for all intents and purposes, was dead. and what she was doing
was reusing a dead name. and reusing a dead name isn't a resurrection.
but what I said was, "okay." and I sat down under the ceiling fan.
my natural resting place. almond milk forever. and ever. and ever.
Ramonez Ramirez Feb 2011
At the crack of dawn the rusted screen door hinges squealed;
he placed his hands on the push handles,
and shifted his weight forward.

Front wheels, up!

The bare rear-wheel rims scarred the mahogany threshold,
and the seat cushion squeaked a little louder
under her almost-dead weight.

Cusco! *******!

Like every other morning for the last thirteen years
the old retriever gave him a blank stare,
its glass eye bleedin’ blue.

Hold on, Edna.

They made a quick one-eighty ‘round the dog’s empty food bowl,
avoided one of the craters in the floorboards,
and came to a halt on the landing.

We’re almost there, dear.

Edna did her morning wheelie down the porch steps.
The liver spots on her hands seemed larger
in the early morning rays.

Here we go, Edna!

The wheels sank away and whispered over the lawn;
the birds stopped chirping as if they listened,
and the river birch waved good mornin’.

Almost there, now.

They passed the birch and pulled up under the apricot tree;
the blossoms’ shadows danced her to sleep,
and her oxygen tank hissed blue ******.

*There, there, darling.
Ngg kiss my ***,
I will throw you in glass,
You think that you have voice,
You have **** choice,
I will throw You in glass twice,
That will be so nice,
You are always like bad ice,
But you come with more advice,
Ngg *******
Ngg **** me off,
Ngg show off,
Ngg kick off,
Ngg stand off,
Ngg *******,
And I'll say,
Ngg team ***** !
Christina Hale Jan 2018
*******
So once again you’re in my thoughts, you managed to somehow weasel your way back into my head
I don’t know why, you’re not very good at comforting me when I’m down, your choice of words made me wish I were dead
But that’s okay, it’s not your fault, I should have never put you on that so undeserving pedestal
So what consoling is not your very best
I just wanted you to be there, put forth effort that you cared, you failed the ******* test
I was vulnerable, I opened up, I’m an opened wound, now there’s nothing left
You say I’m playing victim and have to be more positive but I’m the one dealing with all this pain
No thanks to you all by myself
With no help of drugs or alcohol to ease the anger and anxiety
That you seem to intensify inside of me
Maybe I should walk around oblivious and aloof like you but my ability to be sympathetic and empathetic towards others keeps me conscious and sane
Regardless of the pain

You say I shouldn’t feel the way I do, I should **** it up, keep quiet
But if you were in my position and got ****** over the way I did, right now you would be crying
Because I remember back when something similar like this happened you were crying and I know if I were to confront you about it you would deny it
Well I’m not one to bring up the past to make someone feel embarrassed or worthless
Because you’re so good at lying and hiding things and flirting with the guys to get your way, you know how to work it
You’re so good at sorry
But the difference between us is I follow my heart, I don’t give my love out or flirt just to make me feel relevant

I told you time and time again how I was feeling
You only bothered when you wanted, most of the time you just said nothing

Time and time again I showed you what love is
You made me feel so irrelevant, I’d rather you say something even if you said you don’t want it, but you just said nothing

Thanks for opening and pouring salt in these wounds
Now I have no ***** left to give
You try to say I’m overreacting
But you must not know me, I’m resilient
You try to act like you’re so innocent
Now that you’re not crying and everything is so perfect for you but one question how can you trust those guys' whose ***** been in your throat
You can **** on these words and choke

Why don’t we go back to the beginning, I was the one who was here
Supporting you through no matter what, showering you with the sweetest words, I was there
But you don’t even care
You forget everything, sometimes I wonder where does your mind disappear
I’m DOOOOOOOONNNNEEEEE

I guess I’m too much for you, oooohhhhh
I’ve tried to turn your world upside down to hide that I’m irrelevant
Who the **** are you to turn my emotions like this up
Your silence, I get it, it means it’s enough
I’m done, I’m not a weak girl, I’m tough, but I’m no fool to just keep giving away my love
You may have had me duped, you even told me that I was the sweetest to you
But enough is enough, I hope those *****/guys will be there for you

— The End —