I always thought I knew what cologne smelled like.
It was harsh and made my eyes water and nose burn.
All I knew is that my dad wore it religiously.
I always thought my dad wore cologne.
I was ten years old when I learned what whiskey smelt like.
I was sixteen years old when I took my first sip of whiskey.
It was weak, mixed with diet coke, but it still left my throat burning.
I never liked the taste, but when I brought the cup to my nose and smelt the bitterness and I saw the eyes of my father, I knew that the smell was so much worse.
It was that moment when I understood why people drank to forget.
That night I closed my eyes and I saw the black label of Jack Daniels Whiskey, I saw the long brown paper bags that my dad hid in the cupboards, I saw the coke cans littered around our trash can.
I was too young to understand, but with whiskey running through my own veins I connected each individual dot like each sign a constellation.
I set the cup down and winced.
My friends laughed, of course.
They didn’t know.
They’d never even guess.
They probably thought I was a lightweight, a girl who couldn’t even handle a sip of whiskey.
I smiled, too.
I don’t think I’ll ever drink whiskey again.
we’re learning about
Winston and Julia
in 1984, but
all I want to study is
I want to study less
control and freedom
Big Brother has
and more about
the calculation of your
I want to study the way
your knuckles could be an
infant’s home, small
hands reaching out
longing for you
or the way the veins in
your arm makes abstract art,
beautiful enough to be showcased
in any gallery.
I understand now why they say
“as pretty as a painting.” Because
you’re as timeless and
And your blue iris's,
swirl with dark and light
tones with a slight
a golden glint,
I could stare into them for longer
I’m just better suited to an art class.
I want to learn the primaries
so I can swirl them all together and
get your dark brown hair.
I want to add the most expensive
white, so I can paint the
faint freckles on your nose and
I want to mix blue and red adding water
until the colour is a perfect match
for the faintest birthmark
on your shoulder.
Instead of the History of Russia,
I want to learn the History
I want to learn what makes you smile
and what makes you cry.
I want to study you,
I use each brush stroke to
perfect your skin,
each pen writes down
I have a whole book
full of each heartbreak,
so I can learn a lesson
There weren’t many lights
In our neighborhood, but cars
Stacked along the curbs.
They melted into asphalt
After the sun sinks into backyards.
That was when the bikes ran--
Their wheels turning at the will
Of a bloodshot-eyed-teen-ager--
Looking for a fix to snort
Or smoke, no street lights
To guide his primal desire.
One girl melted into the cars
And another let them drown her,
Both with tar filled lungs,
Both covered in metallic gasoline,
Both still girls gasping for air.
He pedals on, itching with his
Chalk covered hands at his addiction.
Ironic neighborhood watch signs
Stare vacantly into dark streets,
Lit by cigarettes and cellphones.
his words are black and red and vomit green
his train of thought's route's picturesque --
but utterly obscene
i know nothing's drawn him to me
beyond pairs of scarlet cheeks and 34Ds
the opportunist strikes; sniffing out and scouting
the internal court case of "when the moment's right"
vs "who else could possibly want me?"
innocence and uncharted thighs
the rarity of a body that might not say 'no'
and maybe i'm a cock-tease for leaping to my senses
but quite frankly, he'll always be a toad
Who did the dicks?
I'm wanting to know
Was it Chrysta or Alex
Or someone unknown?
27 dicks chilled my spine to the bone
I've seen less dicks on porn sites that I surf when alone
Evidence was prevalent at the High School and the class fool was pinned as the guy
Peter and Sam then planned to document everything to figure out who and why
I won't spoil specifics cause that wouldn't be slick
I'll let you peruse through a plot so thick
Keep your eyes open watch for clues in the mix
And ask yourself this question:
Who Did The Dicks?
and a little cold
you can feel
we are intoxicated
i am tipsy
you are drunk
off my shoulder
as you throw
back your head
i tease you
by licking your straw
and think of how the
would taste so
you tease me
i am trying
act like i am
i am playing
you are a
and i can feel
the heat in
the cold winter
they are brighter
than the stars
in the black sky
we looked at each other
a little too long