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andY 7d
a list of things
i need to do:
kiss myself
and find the truth.
marianne Aug 14
She pins her hair back
twenty-three and resolute, baby on her hip
and says goodbye forever
Her eyes catch on a single point, somewhere
in the hazy distance and she sets to it
makes a life
gets **** done

There’s no time to consider,
to touch the centre of the windstorm that compels her
it only winds her tighter
and because there’s laundry to do, and she likes things
neat and tidy
she carves herself up into glistening pieces
and leaves them there—
in the hot Paraguayan sun
in the endless cold Prairie snow
when her children disappear with terrible secrets
She skillfully wraps each fluttering fragment
and gives it away, no longer her concern
God will take care of it
lucky *******
and I am left with none,
or one

I’ve only ever had a part of her
the one that read the rules and promised
clean clothes, a roof, full stomach—
her soft-beating threadbare heart
elsewhere

Maybe she’s tired, like I am now—
my own list in hand
To feel is the most demanding
of tasks
moon Jul 7
i realized so many things.

1. i have to stop starving myself
2. she isn't the people in my past who hurt me, things are different now
3. i have to continue letting go of things that make me sad
4. change is good
it’s fresh sticks of vanilla deodorant,
cap’n crunch going on sale,
ladies selling mangoes in midtown,

it’s the pictures of baby cows,
the most specific dream tattoos,
documentaries about unsolved ******,

it’s an oxymoronic vegan cheeseburger,
striped shirts with a graphic one layered on top,
the clear memory of pacific air,

it’s all of robert smith’s hair,
prodigy kids on cooking shows,
stinging sunburns quickly fading,

it’s the perfume of onions and garlic sautéing,
smooth sidewalks where mom’s back is safe,
well-loved shoes that used to be white,

it’s an avocado perfectly ripe,
girls riding skateboards alongside boys,
rings that don’t turn fingers green,

its bras that won’t make memory foam of me,
jars full of change -- saving for something,
still going strong senior couples,

it’s an anthem that came up on shuffle,
the last clean socks without a hole,
chipped tooth smiles, snaggled ones too,

it’s just the word hullabaloo,
three new albums in a day,
someone else’s king sized bed,

it’s the **** pieces of loaves of bread,
an empty train after a long night,
dog tails that are just teeny nubs,

it’s sour candies and numb tastebuds,
weezer’s ever expanding discography,
end-of-day hair thrown into a bun,

it’s cobalt.
it’s b flat.
it’s twenty one.

it’s whistling.
it’s goosebumps.
it’s serendipity.

it’s getting out of the sound of the city,
untangling tiny necklace knots,
reuniting with my long distance cats,

it’s tongues to the tune of soundcloud rap,
learning a language even a little,
finally seeing real lighting bolts,  

it’s tourist dominoes when the train jolts,
finding keys -- being able to leave,
breaking in the most stubborn shoes,

it’s the empty after puking up *****,
flirting with customers and getting paid,
knowing every word and singing along,

it’s not breaking my friends’ bongs,
still doing cartwheels because i still can,
getting a thirty but taking an hour,

it’s waking up first, getting the warmest shower,
cutting my own hair, well, when it goes well,
having an umbrella when it starts to rain,

it’s getting out a demon stain,
taking pens from work, they don’t pay me
enough,
walking in to no lines at trader joe’s,

it’s picking things up with my toes,
learning the chord i’d been looking for,
tacking knick knacks on the walls,

it’s loitering in suburban shopping malls,
frosting cookies during christmas,
laughing for the first time in a while,

it’s getting told someone likes my style,
feeling a heartbeat other than mine,
sneaking in a second to breathe,

it’s witnessing every single thing,
picking through the good and bad,
and letting the little guys win,

it’s seeing.
it’s living.
it’s taking it in.
Cyd Jun 20
For the days my skin feels like it’s being poked by thousands of needles all at once
Or when a constant jolt of energy is rushing down my spine rendering me almost completely useless and I’d love nothing more than to crawl out of my own skin
For the moments I can’t see straight let alone think it

1. I am not alone and I never will be. This isn’t to say I’m not special but that tons of other people share and can empathize with the things I’m feeling. I am simply not alone.
2. Solitude and time are my best tools to heal.
3. My dogs are the best dogs and will love me no matter how awful I’m feeling or how much I don’t love my own self
4. I am right where I’m supposed to be.
5. The summers will tame me, I will ******* youth in its nights.
6. Times will be tough, AGAIN.
7. I am resilient.
8. I have to able to look at my faults without judgment before I can truly continue to grow.
9. I’m problematic when it comes to love.
10. I’m fine way I am.
2018
c May 13
1.  I lie when I say I Love You

1b. Maybe it’s because I’m a compulsive liar or maybe it’s because I add a big DON’T in the middle, but either way, I lied

2. you are a dying star folding in on itself and I cannot support the cold dead core you're going to leave behind

3. your tongue tastes like espresso and caffeine makes my heart beat way too fast

4. you say "maybe" too much and act like its a promise waiting to be broken

5. I am SO GOOD at loosing sleep! Over you! Because of you!

6. you have never cried in front of me

7. you have really good music taste and I don't want my favorite playlist to ruin me when you leave

8. I once read that indecision is the present form of regret. you can't make up your mind and I'm starting to think that's a sign

9. you drink to get drunk and I drink what tastes good. now my throat is burning and I’m not sure if it’s from the words stuck inside it or the whiskey in your kiss.

10.
clem turner Apr 25
10:
i find myself mentioning you again in a conversation - i say, my OLD boyfriend. instead of EX, **** letters to spell and to hear, most of all to let pass my lips. the person i speak to nods, because they don't know you. i'm glad they don't. i don't want to know how you're doing.

9:
i lay in my bed. my thumb drags up my dim phone screen [the room is dark, and no light seems particularly dim] and i am suddenly forced to remember that your mother and i are friends on Facebook. there's your brother - he looks older. i don't like that. i click her page, just to catch a glimpse of you. you look older. i don't like that.

8:
"are you still with [redacted,]" says a friend whose voice is much deeper than it was in eighth grade [as voices are ought to do, change].
"no," i say. i laugh, "not for a long time."
"huh," he says. "that's a shame."
is it? the words dig into my mind and refuse to let go throughout the conversation. i think about them as my friend walks away, and as i step into my father's car. i think about them. and you.

7:
i dream that we're sitting in a full theater, millions of balconies high, watching a play. i dream that your hand is close to mine, warm and exciting, on our shared armrest. you say something that makes my heart hurt, but i can't remember. dreams are like that.

6:
i stand in the college gym. we went to a game here, once. do you remember? the first time i can pinpoint that i could notice your disinterest in me. i can still see you smile at your phone and unlock it. i can still see her name in your notifications - but you two look very good together. i stare at the seats we'd sat in, the last time we'd been in the same room together. the last time i laughed at something you said.

5:
i broke up with you out there. out in my backyard, right around the time where the sun is set just enough for things to seem blue. it was on the phone. you said "don't do this." but i did anyway. and then we talked for an hour, laughing. and then we never talked again.

4:
i can't seem to connect with people since you. commitment is an exhausting thought with anyone else.

3:
i have finally forgotten your phone number! i know it starts with a 7, i know our area codes match, but the rest are blurry in my head. i don't know what progress feels like. is this it?

2:
i wrote a song for someone else. i wrote about love and i put my heart into it and i didn't mention you once. not in a metaphor, not in subtext. you are absent. this is not about you.

1:
she says, "can i tell you something selfish and stupid?"
i say, "of course."
"i wish you had written your last song about me."
i blink.
"it's not selfish," i say, and i mean my words. "because i did."
this is still a poem, right?
Madhumita Apr 16
One-click shopping,
instant payment –  
so convenient;
so ******* easy
to cross over
from being a shopper
to a low-key hoarder.

I don’t buy expensive stuff.
No, nothing excessive.

Just read about a new book,
must-read of the season,
rave reviews on Goodreads.
Available on Amazon?
Yes, it also has a Kindle version.
(See,
even though there is no comparison
between the warmth of a paperback
and the cool efficiency of e-books,
I prefer my Kindle simply because  
it’s easier to carry multiple books.)
So I click – buy – get it.
Now it sits
in merry company  
of all the books I bought
so ******* conveniently
while I keep rereading the books
I’ve already read.  

Don’t get me started  
on my obsession with stationery.
Is there any feeling better
than writing on blank paper?
Seeing your busy thoughts
fall in neat lines,
march in formation,
until they reveal the idea underneath.
I keep browsing through the section
of notebooks, journals, diaries,
pencils, pens – oh, there are so many kinds!
I click – buy – get it.
A moment of ecstasy
when the I get the delivery
even though I mostly jot down
any sudden flash of inspiration  
on my phone because it’s always handy.

Getting bigger?  
Get larger jeans.
No need to stand trial  
before judgemental eyes
of the “helpful” salesperson.
Sidestep the self-esteem crisis,
just click – buy – get it.
Easy return policy;
quick refund if it does not fit.

Idly scrolling on social media
and I’m bombarded
with some choice targeted marketing.
How can I refuse
such a customised bait?
Hook, line, click on the link –
there – it’s not that expensive,
nothing too excessive.
I’ll buy that yellow dress,
those cute strappy sandals,
the quirky socks,
ooh a new mascara!
Wear the dress once and chuck it aside,
then go back to cycle the same five outfits.
Put on the mascara,
bat my eyes in jubilation,
then banish it to the drawer
because it gets on my contacts
and causes irritation.

I can go on and on and wax poetic
about the wonders of window-shopping
from the comfort of my couch.
I swear it’s such a great feeling
coming home to find my package waiting.
NaPoWriMo Day 16
Poetry form: List
Zaza Apr 14
When you left

You taught me
To only love men
who do not know of all the ways a heart can be shape shifted into broken
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