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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.
SøułSurvivør  Aug 2017
8 Ball
SøułSurvivør Aug 2017
Patrick (Lucky Stars) O'Hara set his disabled grandson up on the old horse's back. Contrary to his moniker Paddy was anything but. His luck had run out. His son had just died of leukemia, and his grandson was now fatherless. His "daughter-in-law" had run off long ago. Couldn't handle having such a disabled son, and a sick husband. Paddy had never liked her anyway.

Patty looked at the child's wizened body. The cruelty of scoliosis. The doctors said it would cost vast thousands of dollars to straighten Bobby O'Hara's spine. Money Paddy absolutely did not have.

His sad gaze shifted from the boy to the horse he was sitting upon. Oh what a magnificent creature you were, 8 Ball! His own retired racehorse. What was once a stone black coat was now mottled with white. The figure eight shaped blaze on his forehead had given him his name. Not to mention the way he took off at the Starting Gate. As if someone had goosed him with a cue stick! And he bounced off the turns in the track as if he had a spin on him that was absolutely deadly. 8 Ball loved to run! He was unbeaten in every race that he entered. A real Dark Horse. With no particular lineage whatsoever. 8 ball just had Talent. And the track owners hated it. Most races were rigged. And Paddy O'Hara didn't play the game.

So they set up a race. With a big race horse named Red Rodger. This horse was also unbeaten, and had a promising future. But Red Roger's jockey was told to lay his horse down... Right in front of 8-Ball. So lay down he did. Killing Red Rodger and severely injuring 8-Ball. There was a lot of speculation about the race. Especially how the jockey riding Red Rodger had jumped from the horse just before the accident happened. He said his foot had slipped the stirrup. No one could prove otherwise. So red Rodger was dead, and 8-ball was very effectively out of the game.

8-Ball, being a sweet natured horse, stood stolidly as a little boy patted his withers. He looked back at him with his gentle dark chocolate eyes and nickered with what Paddy could have sworn was tenderness...

He heard a frustrated whinny behind him. Looking back he saw what he expected. The F-tch was back.

Lady Genevieve Summerfield-Fitch looked down her long nose at Paddy. Astride the most magnificent jumper O'Hara had ever seen.

Gentleman Jim was an astonishing animal. The dappled grey of rainclouds on a milk white sky... and his lines were flawless. Not to mention his lineage. His dam was Proud Nelly, and his sire was none other than Seafront View. And The Gent was as good as his name. He wasn't hare- brained like some horses which became ******. This was a well-tempered, almost intellectual horse. He worked WITH his rider. Practically thinking his way through a course. And it was no surprise that Gent won more awards than you could shake a club at!

But Gentleman Jim's rider was anything but his counterpart. She owned him, but she was no lady...

All of a sudden Paddy's gaze shifted again... this time in the far distance to take in an apparition. A small blonde girl... hair the length of her knees! Running like the Hound of the Baskervilles was after her! She closed the distance between them so rapidly O'Hara was almost dumbfounded!

"I... must... buy... your horse", the child panted.

"He's not for sale..."

Suddenly Paddy saw who the youngster was running from. Back in the middle distance was an ugly bald-headed creep. The spider's web tattooed over the left side of his face was enough to change Paddy's mind... he'd give the girl TomTom, though. He was a good, swift horse....

... then, before he knew what happened, his grandson was sitting on a chair by the stables and Blondie was astride 8-Ball!

"Hey! That horse is old and LAME!

"Not anymore." The blonde girl said simply. She pressed something hard into his palm. "And he's now mine".

As 8-Ball wheeled around to go out the gate something... happened. Was it O'Hara's imagination? The Ball's coat got darker! And shiny! His "game" leg seemed to... straighten...

When he made it out to the trail with his small rider he bunched up his flanks and took off Like a bat out of HELL!

The young blonde girl's long hair streamed out behind her like a sail as she took on the seat of a hockey... PERFECT FORM!

Paddy looked down at the hard object the girl had pressed into his hand. It was a classically cut emerald, dark as the hills of Kentucky. And bigger than any Paddy had ever seen...
Classy J  Sep 2016
Nerd Life
Classy J Sep 2016
Friendships are easy to lose when you play competitive videogames, rage quits and pride on the line, and yeah that's when things get insane. Smash bros, tekken, street fighter, king of fighters and mortal kombat, the greatest fighting games to ever come out of game designers hats. Its magic man, its addictive like gambling, who is the best gamer and who is a noob that everyone be trampling. Gg bro, even though we don't mean it though, your not as good as us, compared to us you are nothing but a ***. Powning and owning all you suckers, PC or console gaming, either way you are bound to find some trolling little *******. Gamer life, and one aspect of the nerd life, but there is more to our expansive life. There are the: know it all’s who can reference anything and corrects everything everyone says, and if you can't keep up, you can have a nice day. Star trek and star wars, collecting action figures that are definitely not dolls, roll them dice boy to see if our clan survives going down the falls. Dungeons and dragons, role-playing in a fantastic fantasyland, joining clubs like board games, videogames, writing, reading or band. Make fun of us now, but in the future we could be your bosses, so think about the next time you say that were wasting time trying to beat a dark souls boss. Cosplaying and reading comic books, this is the nerd life man, relaxing in our snuggies and croc's. Don't judge us without getting to know us, who knows you might want to get on the nerd bus. On a mission like Frodo or harry, going faster than the speed force just call us Barry. Feeling lucky punk, riding over you like a monster truck. Nintendo, Sony, Microsoft, steam, Sega, and PC, may just be me but I love it all, I'm not picky I appreciate things as they are like Marvel and DC.  Go go gadget, hate getting stuck traffic, I'm not the killer, I'm as innocent as Rodger rabbit. Please Ed, edd, and eddy, don't need to cause a scene because that would be pretty petty. What's the sitch wade, better beat those bad guys that choose to miss behave even if it effects my school grade. Kids that watch Cartoon Network nowadays will never how awesome it used to be, shows like samurai jack, power puff girls, Johnny bravo or Dexter’s laboratory. Duck hunting, ****** tunes and chill binge on anime and the only slam-dunk we do is Denny's pancakes sorry Shaquille O’Neal. Pocket protecting fiends; not to good at puberty, man we spending it all watching reality kings. New beginnings, love seeing what’s new at e3 each year, except for waiting for that game to arrive, counting the days till it finally appears. This the Nerd life, I may have never got the attention of girls when I was young but who knows I may just find myself a nerd wife. I can't wait to show my kids all that I know, the circle of life man, now I have a new perspective on watching this kid of mine grow. Future hopes, future class blasting off into possibilities, nerd life man better build up my durability.
JP Goss Dec 2018
The last of the angels’
Castaway nametags
Hung from the plush red edges
Of the art deco interior.
A breeze from the open door
Cast the doctor’s pamphlets to the floor
Advertising his services
For the special remediation program
Since he could not sleep
What with all the voices
From below chanting his name—
How he envied the people he killed:
For they were spoken so little of.
That is, except for on his intake sheet:
After passing over the names,
Seven in all,
Whose lives were, shameless,
Shed over ***,
The latch clicked
And out came the doctor’s hand
Beckoning through the door
A “come hither” gesture.
On the couch he sat,
Neck conforming perfectly to the couch
As he swam a cascade of Rorschachs
Apart the mirror-faced, owl-like man.
Speaking with a heavy Eastern-European accent
He knew exactly why Elliot had come:
Perhaps the intentions were dubious,
Perhaps he was looking
For quick solutions;
Regardless, Mirror-Face was there to help:
Too easily, these days, was it
To determine dysfunction in the masculine—
And this case was rare,
Awash in chatter from below.
So, there must be something deeper
Rooted in fear of perpetual
Romance fetishism
And absence of its referent.
Yes! The penetrative is missing—
The limerant object
Is without form, shapely, and feminine
And would forever escape him,
In part by suicide,
In part by isolation.
The reason you are here
Is the absent-present offspring
Of such missing ***,
A veritable porcupine-dilemma
In the flesh, a show of insufficient ****** capital—
See now in this face of mine.
Yes, now that I’ve diagnosed
What ails
Let us explore what solutions
Could have been:
The living world does offer suitable surrogates
For those lacking—
Recognizing this is the first step
To being forgotten,
To allow you to sleep.
Yes, you recognized then
The gun as the extension of the phallus
And it levels the playing field
Raised up, aroused by power
One feels when operating heavy machinery—
Yes, all flesh which is the metaphorical egg,
The bullet is the *****,
Which penetrates the flesh of the paramour
Impregnating her with life inverted
And creates, in death,
The child of ****** frustration.
While this child is one of children lost,
It is child nonetheless.
Yes, and this gun, the metal *****,
***** not one
But many—in fact, incestuously,
It ***** entire families,
Entire communities,
And leaves their lives gravid
With your legacy.
Yes, it is the only way to create
The ultimate matron, the universal feminine,
The supreme m-Other
For the Supreme Gentleman.
And you, as you see me,
Are the absent-present of this child of death
This union of bullet-***** and the whole-body womb,
With which you, sadly, impregnated yourself.
But, here’s the secret,
Because of this, you can only do damage control:
Your child will prevail.
Yes, the name may be gone, but the child prevails.
Name may be gone, but child prevails.
Name gone, child here.
So, have the voices stopped?
Has the child matured in you?
You are on your way to being forgotten,
But the child lives on:
Yes, the name may be gone, but the child prevails.
Name may be gone, but child prevails.
Name gone, child here.
Guns are bad--but why are we attracted to them? Why do men **** women?
Mike Hauser Mar 2013
Hare Krishna's
In their Pickups
Depressed Comics
Down on their Luck
Teenage Girls
Screaming Meme's
****** *****'s
Leftward Leaning
Vincent Price
Flo and Eddie
Rodger Rabbit
Priscilla Presley
Nuns in Habits
Dwarf's in Ponchos
Deadbeat Dads
Munching Nachos
Right-Wing Nut Jobs
Trading Slogans
A few Hero's
Including Hogan

Are just a few of the sights you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee

Buddhist Monks
With Electric Banjos
Holding Signs Up
Of Marlon Brando
Taxi Cabs
Blaring Show Tunes
Pregnant Women
Down-loading Soon
Derby Jockeys
Flying Monkeys
Kool-Aidholics
Skittle Junkies
Bozo The Clown
Bumper Stickers
Psychedelic
Crazed Toad Lickers
Rhinestone Cowboys
In their Skivvies
Gothic Girls
Heebie Jeebies

Are just a few of the sights you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee

Blue Haired Granny's
In pink Moo Moos
Ballerina's In
Tattered Tutus
Mathematician's
Number Crunchers
Even have Some
Out to Lunchers
Model 50's
Do *** Daddies
One More Round Of
Flo and Eddie
People Sneaking
Across the Border
Lonely Fry Cooks
Taking Orders
A Few Wannabes
Not Saying Much
Will The Real Elvis
Please Stand Up

Are just a few of the sights that you see
At the front gates of Graceland
Memphis, Tennessee

Thank you...Thank you very Much

Ladies and Gentlemen
Elvis...Has Left The Building
The farm at Little Rottingdeane
Lay fallow for a year,
Since Cromwell’s Ironsides had spent
The winter, quartered there,
They’d emptied out the pantry, killed
The cattle, stripped the barn,
And ***** the little milking maid
Before they left the farm.

The farmer, Rodger Micklewaite
Lay in his bed all day,
Too sick to raise his farmer’s head,
Too ill to bale the hay,
His wife took on the milking of
The milker they had left,
And comforted the milking maid
Who cried, as one bereft.

‘The master should be well again,
By early May or June,’
The wife had muttered tearfully
While gazing at the Moon,
But soon a pair of pigeons took
Their places in the loft,
‘Lord help us, it’s a sign of doom
To curse our little croft.’

The pigeons had been there before
When folk had fallen ill,
And when they came, it fell the same
For death would spread its chill,
And Rodger died, when they appeared
There was no time for grief,
A man called Palm soon bought the farm
To give them some relief.

The milking maid, her belly swelled
Betook her to her bed,
A tiny room that lay in gloom
Beside the milking shed,
She cried and cursed the Ironside
That set her on this course,
‘May Satan put a thorn beneath
The saddle of his horse.’

The babe was born by All Saints morn
She’d screamed to see its face,
The head shaped like a helmet or
Some bony carapace,
She only could discern its mouth
With teeth sharp, and ill-formed,
‘I cannot nurse this ugly waif,
I’ve bred the Devil’s spawn!’

Then Palm screeched at the sight of it,
Was sick unto his soul,
‘I never should have bought this croft
Or housed this Satan’s troll!’
The widow made his sickness bed
And counted him as lost,
For pigeons two came into view
And settled in the loft.

Then Palm began to waste away,
She fed him beer and broth,
He died upon the seventh day,
Was buried in the croft,
But then a troop of Ironsides
Rode through there from the moors,
And one of them remained behind
To tend his fevered horse.

‘What ails your horse,’ the widow said,
The trooper growled with scorn,
‘Some fool that saddled up my horse
Slid under it, a thorn.’
The milking maid, recovered then
And ****** into his face,
The baby, wrapped in lace and shawl
To hide its carapace.

‘You left a trace of you behind
When last you passed through here,’
The trooper blanched to see its face
Then shook in mortal fear,
The hungry babe went for his throat
And bit with all its might,
As blood streamed from the Ironside
To drown the Devil’s mite.

Two pigeons flew into the loft
Just as the trooper fell,
It only took a minute for
His soul to wake in hell,
The widow and the milking maid
Packed up and left that night,
‘This time, we’re like two pigeons,’
Said the widow, ‘taking flight!’

David Lewis Paget
i dreamed i was a pirate on the seven seassailing on my galleon sails blowing in the breezewith the jolly rodger hanging from the mast just like long john silver a pirate from the pastlanding on an island with with my treasure mapwith a patch on one eye and a pirates caplooking for the gold in the treasure chestthis was the part that i liked the best then set sail again heading for the shoretill the seven seas took me home once more.
Leah Rae Dec 2012
I Decided That I'm Going To Write A Love Poem About You.*

Something I've Been Battling With For A Long Time, Like A Empty War In My Chest.
I'm Not Sure Who Brought The Trojan Horse Into My Heart And Defiled Me From The Inside Out,

But I Know That I've Decided On The Final Solution..

Some Nuclear Weaponry To End This Once And For All.

I Had This Idea In My Head That Writing A Love Poem About You Would Somehow Make Me Less Of A Poet. Instead Two Quarters Sell-Out, One Half Wannabe, One Seventh Cop-Out, And Now You're Probably Laughing At Me Because There Is No Way That Adds Up To One Whole Of Anything.

But This Is What You've Made Me Into.

We Used To Make Fun of The Girls With Their Boyfriend's Name Tattooed Across Their Collarbones, But Now I'm Sketching Out Your Initials On The Cover Of Every One Of My Notebooks, Wishing It Was My Skin.

And When I Can't Answer The Next Question In Class Because Of You, I Can't Help But Laugh, Because Suddenly I'm The Ridiculous One Now.

And That Makes Me Love You Like I Love Concerts. Being Smashed Against Seven Hundred Screaming Bodies, To Get A Glimpse At The Heartbroken Hero Who Is Singing Just For Me. The Next Morning, Every Single Part Of My Body Is On Fire, And I'd Tell Myself It Was Somehow All Worth It.

Because You See, You're  Somehow All Worth It.

Worth Being Called Every Single Cliche I've Been Battling.

I Pledged When I Was Twelve Years Old That I Would Never Cry Over A Boy. But I've Shed More Tears Between Us Then I'm Capable Of Counting. And Even Openly In Front Of You, Which Is Something I've Never Been Very Good At.

And I've Written Apologies Letters To The Both Of Us, For Not Being Everything I Could Be.

And You've Made Me Want To Make A List Of Our Every Occurrence, July Seventh, 2010,  August 14th 7:53pm, January 19th, October 29th 3:14pm, March 10th, Like A Date Book Of Every Important Moment Because I'm Afraid I Might File Them Away In The Back Of My Mind

And Then Forget Where I Put Them.  

And By Now You've Probably Noticed That I Haven't Been Able To Stick With One Single Metaphor During This Entire Poem And I'm Several Shades Of Scarlet, Because Somehow You Make It Impossible To Be Anything Except A Mess.

And That's Coming From The Girl Who Color Coordinates Her Underwear Drawer.*

You've Also Probably Noticed That My Usual Over Emotional, Polished And Perfect Poetry Of Pretty Words Has Completely Gone Missing In This Piece. And Instead All I'm Left With Is This Awkward Imagery Of Something Much Less Honorable Then What I'm Usually Referencing.

But Somehow I'm Still Smiling.

And I've Been Wearing My Heart On My Sleeve For So Long Now That I Can't Remember What Part Of My Body It Belongs In Anymore. I've Been Listening To Your Voice On Repeat So Often That It Has Became My Soundtrack.

I've Decided To Give My Empty Parts, My Fingertips, My Shoulder Blades To You As Gifts, Make-Shift Wrapped In Newspaper, Because I Didn't Have Anything Else Left.

You Took Them As Yours
Took Me As Yours

Now I Spend Every Night Connecting The Constellations In The Spackle Patterns Of The Ceiling Above My Bed, Wondering What Stars You're Staring At.

And Suddenly This Love Poem Doesn't Feel So Terrifying Anymore.

Because You've Scared Away The Sorrow, Put Hello-Kitty Band-Aids On All My Old Scars.
You Make Me Want To Make You Chocolate Chip Pancakes In Bed And, And, Read Shakespeare For Fun!
Because If I'm Sally, Then You're Jack, Rodger To My Mimi, Princess Buttercup And Wesley, Hermione Granger And Ron Weasley, Allie And Noah..

And Now I'm Rambling.

And You're Probably Smiling Again.

What I'm Trying To Say Is That I Want You To Know That I Will Spend The Rest Of The Forever You Give Me Listening To Your Voice.

Singing In The Shower, Humming In The Back Of My Mind, Whispering It To Me Late At Night, All Those Songs Of Longing.

I'll Lay Wide Awake And Listen, Repeating It Myself How Incredibly Deep You Are.

So Deep I Could Throw Myself Into You And Drown Inside You, Before I Ever Have The Chance To Come Up For Air.

And That Aching In My Chest Would Somehow Make Me Feel Like I Was Finally Home.
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
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Ace
Casey
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Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
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Cornelius
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­Eric
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Pinto
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Han
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Dirk
Spot
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Ethan
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Mal
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*****
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Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
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.
Waverly  Jan 2012
Yukimi.
Waverly Jan 2012
My aunt passed away

almost a year ago.


And I was never super close with her

but the things I remember

are important.


My whole family

Aunt Florence

Uncle Rodger

Aunt Debbie

and Romy

came down

and Stayed with Me, Ma, Joci and Grandma

when I was a kid.


I remember she kissed

me

and hugged me

in our living room.


And I felt the love

without words;

it just came out of her body

in waves.


Her small voice

was loud with it.

I am beginning to learn
Yukimi
like a backstory
and
her body
teaches me about love
in a different
but completely nostalgiac
way.

— The End —