I keep it in my pocket
in case you lean in for a kiss.

You'll smell it
before you taste it
but you'll never forget it.

Maybe you'll crave it,
maybe you won't like it.

Either way it's on my lips.

A lady in blue.



In a purse

unzipped,

A coral pink lipstick

A rose blusher

A bronzed eyeshadow

A fuschia eyeshadow

A black eyeliner

A mascara

A compact powder

A lipgloss.



Strolling in a park,

The purse

clutched.



Poised.

Protected.

i picked up the small tube of lipgloss & headed toward the register. "will that be all for you, ma'am?" the woman working the cash register asked me. i nodded as she told me the price : a dollar & ninteen cents. i gave her the exact change & left the store. when she kissed me, i was going to taste like strawberries.

PINEAPPLE LIP GLOSS
By: RENE

Not long ago
I fell in love
With her beautiful lips

I will never forget how sweet

That lingering after taste
Stayed in mouth well after she walked away

And
When
She was almost out of my eye sight
It became real cerebral melancholy of a love affair
I had misplaced

It took from me something objective
Watching her leave of absence

And
From a distance
At that very precise moment
It became a sharp piercing pain in the center of my heart

But I remember
Oh how I remember
I remember
Her

(PINE APPLE LIP GLOSS)

The way we French kissed for long periods
When I held on tightly
Tightly til midnight

The memory of her legs in white embroidery stockings
How my fingers danced with excitement
Triggering investments traveling up down her highway

I was dizzy
While tickling the measurements of her
Inner thighs
I remember this

When I was
Creating
A representation
That was supposed to last forever

The further she walked the smaller she grew in my vision
My eyes became a small rain storm drenching screaming
Pulling me away from dreaming
Away from my world as I had become too know it

I
Didn’t know what to say now
Like words on a black board being erased
I was at a loss for words
So I held on to the memory
Of
Her

(PINE APPLE LIP GLOSS)

The way we French kissed for long periods
No air escaping
Imprisoning our tongs

My own
Perfect example I visualize an imagine
I create in my mind the ability to conceive my own embodiment

A pine apple salad with the juices flowing over
When we touched each other’s lips
Among other things!

‘You’re so wet for me baby’ they say
‘You’re not saying no’
Rinse repeat

It hurts I say
‘That’s normal ‘

It is what it is what it is what it is
My words stop

‘You’re so quiet’ they say

If I unzip my abused vocal chords I won’t be able to stop the noise
Keening screaming bursting like a dam

It’ll fill up my head
My ******* bone marrow
Where do I begin and where do you end flush against me

I am good at being quiet
I am good at being small
I am good at being needed
I am good at pleasing others
I am good at saying yes when I mean;
Stop
Get me out
You are choking me
I can’t breathe
There’s is blood on my teeth
On my hands

I held you after you assaulted me and you told me about what was plaguing your mind
So I comfort you
Rinse repeat
Tell you I’ve got you through gritted teeth

Is that so bad is that so bad I am needed so why is it so ******* bad

You fill my lungs acrid and burning
Inhale exhale
Inhale exhale
**** and ***** coat your lips like a gaudy lipgloss

Wash away the taste of you
Clean my teeth with dettol
Empty my veins clean the dirt out my veins
Trying to forget the way you coat my teeth

Your mouth is so good baby’ you say
It is bad honey and expired milk

It is not being touched since
It is not sleeping
It is wanting to be held but being terrified of the thought

nothing like going back
to the golden days
when getting up 20 minutes earlier
was a fun thing
to put on a bit of mascara
and lipgloss;
the blush was natural.
now 20 minutes of sleep
seems like a treasure,
worth everything
and never to be given up.
back when laughter was sunflower yellow,
music was neon blue,
and friends were a sweet purple,
their smiles like lavender
addicting and easy to find.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when choosing the font for a paper
was an hour long experience;
the funnest part of writing anything.
now no writing matters
to anyone
unless it's 12pt font,
Times New Roman,
double spaced,
and with a heading in the top left corner.
back when school was light,
homework was a breeze,
and the only thunderstorms
were those that involved
coffee shops, window seats,
and copious amounts of hot chocolate.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
filled with warmth
and honey
and a whole lot of butterflies.

Abigail slides the glass door shut.
As beads of water percolate off her body
and land on the faux stone tile,
the smell of chlorine from her swim
and the smell of coffee from my brewing *** blend.
My uncle, Abigail's father, and my mother
are seated at the sticky, spilt soda kitchen table beside me.
"Go get ready for dinner," my mother's brother says, sending
Abigail's bikini'd frame through doorway and around the bend.
The brew idles, and I'm all porcelain and sugar substitute for a moment,
then back by my uncle and mother.

"Abigail has gotten so thin," my mother says.

"Is she eating?" my mother asks.

"I know it's tough for girls her age. When they're looking to marry," my mother says.
I want to bash the smoking cup into her face.

My uncle says she's been training for a marathon.
My neurons get tidy and taper off.
So, it's out of the kitchen and into an empty living room
to park my *** on an empty piano bench.
I set the coffee on top, and press eight of my fingers down
on black keys.
I hear toes-to-heels, toes-to-heels.
I gaze over my shoulder.
Now, Abigail's in a black, black dress. Mid-thigh.
In her left hand,
red ****-me-shoes with a heel that could turn a curious man blind;
in her right hand,
black pantyhose and cherry lipgloss.
"You should have swam," Abigail delivers with hushed precision,
like she'd been reciting the line throughout the duration of her swim.

Abigail has long brunette hair,
and it's sticking to her neck.
Deep permanent dimples frame her lips.
She's a nurse in Waco.
Each time I see her, I think about
Bukowski's 103-pound "Texan".
It makes me rash, violent, a heady monstrosity,
and trembling sick.

"I forgot my trunks."

"That's no excuse."

I would respond, but she's sliding the hose up her leg.

In the living room.

While my uncle talks a second mortgage around the bend.

Her right leg crosses her left,
an overpass and an interstate.
My forehead overheats in a flash,
and I feel like she's staring back at me.
When my leering eyes shift from
her toes to her eyes, the pupils beckon:

"All roads lead to me."

It was like camp
But I spent the first night
On a thin plastic mattress with ****** sheets freezing
Instead of encircling a campfire
Singing cowboy songs of the West
And little dogs

My first activity was not making a bow and arrow or a target but instead I was
sitting after breakfast
on a concrete bench
in the Sun
Trying to fill myself with that allusive happiness.
That was my plan.

On the next occasion in the open
I did not get a compass
nor a map
but I sat with a table of girls
And spoke up without being asked
They started to show off their pale pinkish arms
I was at the cutters’ table
Smoker’s edition
Layers upon layers of
Rippling Scar tissue
at the elbows in particular
It is thick.
Bleeding and healing
To be sliced open again
For crusting over.
They were cheerful
Despite hallucinations and panic attacks,
Lost children or tomorrow
Scuttling along a murky seabed that did not want them but
Here’s a cigarette

I did not make a sundial or find my canoe
Or make shoes out of leaves
but let the morning sun stick around
while the smoke issuing from their chatty mouths pinched my nose
I would take their smoking breaks with them.
I claimed two for myself and once lit,
slyly handed them over
As I listened to the chatter and laughed
I feel a faint yellow heat
From up over there.

We didn’t at first hover around each other
Talking about nothing like high school
Girls with braces and dorky pajamas
Or bend over from the top bunk to say
one more thing before lights out
At first I never added more than a informed observation about lipgloss or
a roll over the eyes over the next dumbbell talking about nothing that existed
But I was tolerated
And as their numbers diminished
only to be refreshed again
my comfort grew
I made “friends”
We laughed and co-conspired
Over pills, soda and what’s that on your tray?

There were movies on the tv
But no westerns
With horses trekking through the tall grasses
Nor
Smoke arising in the distance
Imitating a life that we were imitating as well
Yes we were!
Just a slightly different tale about
Endless treks and wandering

On the weekends
The rules relaxed and the counselors,
Had there been any,
Would have been preoccupied with private intrigues and how to make pineapple cocktails
And we, left to our own devises,
Would saunter in and around each other
Braiding hair and reading magazines.

There was a telephone.

When it was time to get into the car to go back home by way of the freeway
I didn’t have a hat that I had painted myself with only three colors
Nor feathers
or a blue ribbon for starting fires
We all said our good-byes
Even the mean one called me by my name
And we shot off like the explosive plumes of fireworks
into a dimming sky.

Dina?
Deanna?
Deena?

What was her name?
A diminutive of something
Or a shortening.
And I don’t even think that I am close

I miss you.

a small concrete table
white
a group of girls
Smoking and smoking and smoking
Trading lipgloss
I don’t remember what we talked about

But I do remember that the meds made you so
Hungry
“Are you gonna eat that?”

That’s how it begins in such places
Passing off a cig
Or trading processed food
Or just giving it away.

Have a lie down
or hand over the pill stored in your cheek
for someone
needier.

You said after your second plateful of anything
Make sure you let me know if I start getting fat

I tried not to follow you around
We had breakfast
Cigarette breaks
lunch and dinner
I could have sat with you all day and night

But I let you roam like a yearling
talking too much to too many people
Spinning around in the hallways
The skinny girl
on the floor doing a striptease on her back
in the streaming sunlight
I could tell
That you got paid for this at some point
Even the imaginary boa scared these boys

You loved to talk about God
I, however, do not

You loved a ****** ******
They were your favorite
and would reminisce with the junkies
Always sitting close-by
You claimed that you could make a man cry
By what you could do to his body
I can only imagine
what you’ve done so far
At your age
and you have a kid

I know
that you’re frightened
to be alone
with your mother
She’s so small
You wouldn’t want to hurt her

And I see her
that one time
with candies and soda
that you made her bring from
the 99 cent store to share
with all these people that don’t like you
that she is
a tiny thing
Yes
anyone could crush her
I see your point.

Deena
Dina
Deana

I can’t remember your name

You’d wake me for breakfast
Or, I you
You said the voices never stop in your head
Not just voices but other strange noises too
You acted like it was
a drag
But in fact you were **** scared

I can hear sounds too I offered
Bells
And Strings
Faint Voices calling my name
Offering succinct advice
Can’t everyone?
Leaning against a wall
with you at my feet
I saw your head snap
To the right
I said
Don’t worry
I heard that too
And you were so relieved
You grasped my feet in gratitude

You said that you are three.
Dread is the bad one
a male
And another
a ****** female who’s name
I can’t remember either
I suggested that there were more
Perhaps.
I met the ***** and I did not like her
at all
In anger I returned your sweatshirt
And you said
You know she’s terrible
I told you that
Take back the shirt
It’s cold

The men here don’t understand
our
Relationship
They assume that it’s lovey
Their minds are blown by
Companionship in difficult circumstances
Holding hands might help you through
You never know until you try

You loved to have arguments over the Bible
I would make a lot of noise to shut it down
I cannot listen to that
You would talk on that phone on the wall
With the father of your child
About god
You missed your boy’s
first day
of kindergarten
You called him on that phone to make sure that he got the plastic truck
or some such toy in your absence

I wonder when you gave up your life
When an injection of Ativan in your ***
and a night
In an darkened empty room
Bound
became an ideal resolution.
You couldn’t figure out
why you had a lump on your head
And I explained that
it was the result of
banging it repeatedly
against the wall.
Side effects of Lorazepam include:
Little recall

You seemed to have a plan.
Visiting and writing up the coast
The Dean Moriarty of Hospitals
But what about your kid?
The doctors say you can’t leave until you’re well
I couldn’t even tell what’s wrong exactly
Or what he’s really trying to tell you
Other than too much too soon
But that’s every girl in LA
Isn’t it?
You said that
It
Emerged at age 24.

I think about your son.
I can’t believe that you have one.
And your mother
Who adopted you.
What did she in fact bring home?

Deanna.
Dina.

When they called to say that my car was here
That I could go
You covered my neck
With kisses
And said Thank You Thank You
I Don’t Know
What I Would Have Done Without You

What is your name?

Dee.
D.
Just the letter.
I remember
Thank you.

On Monday, November 14th
She wore her favorite dress.
Blue with grace.
Lace that covered her shoulders.
Lace that teased all the men that walked by.
Falling to her knees.
Barely brushing the scabs and scars that sat there.
Hugging her hips like the night hugs the moon.

On Monday, November 14th
She smiled.
Cherry lipgloss smeared quickly across her thin lips.
White teeth peaking out.
Her lips perfectly outlined.
The corners tucked up beautifully.

On Monday, November 14th,
She stood.
Pride in her perfect posture.
Proud of her lean body.
Her body perfectly aligned.
Not a flaw.

On Monday, November 14th
Her arms were pale.
A gold bracelet hugged her wrist.
You could see each blue stream, happily working.
Dusted with freckles.
Soft and pure.



On Tuesday, November 15th
She did not wear her favorite dress.
She wore a different one.
Black with sorrow.
No lace.
Falling to her ankles.
Encasing scabbed knees.
Hugging her in all the wrong places.

On Tuesday, November 15th
She frowned.
Blood red lipstick stained her thin lips.
Her teeth hid inside her blooded lips.
The corners fell, drooped.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
She sat.
Too exhausted to stand.
She let go of her posture.
She was cautious of her appearance.
Aware of her flaws.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
Her arms were whiter than before.
Each vein slashed.
Red.
The gold bracelet still hung there.
Her freckles throbbed with pain.
No longer soft, or pure.

On Tuesday, November 15th
He died.
Early in the morning.
With him, he took her strength, her smile, her pride.
He left her bare.

On Wednesday, November 16th
She missed him.
She missed him a little too much.
Her heart couldn't take it.
Her eyes red and swollen.
She was there, but gone.

On Thursday, November 17th
She joined him, quietly.

2003, where did you go?
My Scene dolls and All Time Low
Red Jeeps and glitter cheeks
Thirteen and hip hop beats
Tube tops, pop n lock
Don't forget your frosted lipgloss
Butterflies and Blink's First Date
"Forever Yours" on a silver keychain
Belly rings, snorting pills stings
Tiered skirts and ankle bling
TLR, Summerland
South of Nowhere, Degrassi: The Next Gen
Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton
Travis Barker and Ashlee Simpson
Fall Out Boy and Timbaland
Pete Wentz almost ended it
Promiscuous, Grand Theft Autumn
Jeans hung low, and girl you got em
I wanna live there over again
Everything was better then