parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle

peddling back home
         peddling
                 peddling
stop
I dropped


My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****”
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate

I was asking around for poem ideas, and one of my friends told me to write about past relationships. I was looking through an old box of notes and cards and stuff that I still have, and this poem just kind of bubbled up inside of me. I'm not sure that I like it, I was just kind of writing to write and then FEELS.



When I was young
and my family told me boys (or girls) would be
"breaking down the door to date me"
I didn't realise quite how many people
would say they loved me
and how many people I'd say I loved
in a lifetime.
It's amazing how love can be given away
so freely,
so willingly
yet so painfully...
I have memories
of each one.
Lucas will always be my Percy Jackson.
Devon was a constant "babe" and "baby",
"you and me,"
and a Valentine's card/stuffed bear that I still have.
Evan was "1... 2... 3"
playing Doctor Who with my little brother,
I wonder if he still keeps that 4th grade picture
of me in his wallet?
Derick was "#dickerdoodles"
and a Valentine's card/stuffed Pikachu that I still have,
Netflix, a rainy day, a pack of cigarettes
a notebook
and a promise of New York City in a year.
Hannah was a bass
duct tape wallets
carmex,
a song lyric or three, and
"How do I love thee?"
Ellie was the Tumblr Accent Challenge
cigarettes, alcohol
a homecoming dance
and incredible music.
Magus was Zelda, movie nights, and
"I love you with all my heart,
with all that I am, with
everything I have."
Jayne was (and is) "kiddo," and now "baby girl"
JannaLee was "Stay strong, babe, and burn bright.
You're my fire; I'm your hurricane.
Those nights belong to us."
Jason L. was "Aw, butts..."
Scooty is "John SNOOOOWW",
"Groot..."
heart-to-hearts, and
Jekyll and Hyde,
#TeamApplesauce.
Travion was "Hey, let's face battle"
a note on yellow lined paper
and Hotel Transylvania.
Andrew was a lick of the lips,
my 9th Doctor,
"Hey, Nii-san."
Randi was "honeybabe" to me;
I still think that's a cute nickname.
Matt F. was "You're DIGAUGFN... I <B you."
(and I still don't quite know how to say
how much the jumble of letters "DIGAUGFN"
still makes my stomach flutter.)
I've made sure not to replicate
with current lovers things I've done
things I've said
special phrases, special actions
with past lovers
Memories are sacred, see.
I don't believe that any men or women
have hindered my ability to love
but at the same time I want to hold
the ones that I've loved
(or maybe don't want to admit to myself
that I still do love)
in the back of my brain,
in the bottom of my heart,
in my palms, rolling them into joints
and inhaling them until all that's left
is a labyrinth of white smoke and a smile,
lightheadedness and a moment of peace
I want to make this explicitly clear:
Just because I have loved many
and still hold many dear to me...
That does NOT hinder my ability to love
any given person at a time.
After breaking up with my boyfriend of 3 years
for a man whom I didn't know I could love
as much as I do
I realise that with all the people in my heart
I still have room
and as awful as it sounds,
I live in the past
as well as the present.
I can't let memories of people
things, places go
but please do remember that
I do know how to be faithful
in mind and in action.
I know how to hold only one,
how to kiss only one,
how to date only one,
how to marry only one,
how to live with only one,
when I say I'll never leave,
please believe that my words ring true
but I'm sorry...
I do not know how to love
only one.

First off,
unshaved legs, rumbling stomach.
worn underwear, shot elastic.
nervous hands, sweaty palms.
calming touch from him.
uneven *******, slight embarrassment.
chapped lips, overcompensating Carmex.
stuffed nose, whistle breathing.
soft kiss from him.
nervous hands become slowly confident
unsure hips begin to sway
passionate kiss from him.
whispered words, anxious thoughts.
calming touch from  her.
arms holding, bodies contouring.
"let's just lie together".
pattered raindrops, perfect bed.
promises made, kisses given.
lazy caresses, staring gazes.
almost first time.

This goes out to the ladies whose lip gloss is poppin
The ladies with the thick lips
The ladies who generously use Carmex
The ladies who **** a lollipop without giving a **** about context
It started when I was 15
She looked good
I looked at her perplexed
Something about her
It was complex
Her lips
So pink and so pretty
Couldn’t stop looking
To the point that they were alluring
I liked her
I wanted to kiss them
I’ve never been kissed
I wanted her to lick them
I ended up being dissed
But to be a realist, I wasn’t alone
By far...
When I said in a love letter
"I think you're hot and
You have some **** lips”
I was sure I held her in higher regard
That was my start
She was my star
She still is
But as soon as I saw some lips I wanted to kiss...
Her BFF,
Puckering her own pouty lips in my midst
And said this:
“Hi, **** lips.”

Ruthie Plackett lost her jacket
On the Severn line,
And once misplaced, she never traced
The things she kept inside:

Her recipes for aft’noon teas,
For scones with clotted cream,
For warm tray-bakes and sandwich cakes,
Of which her reg’lars dream.

And in there too, a tube of glue
With which she would repair
The cracking plates and old milk crates:
Make do and mend with care.

Her keys: no loss; at negligible cost
She’d soon have them replaced,
And the Carmex tin with not much in
Had acquired a funny taste.

It was, in fact, the lining that
Concealed a paring knife,
And with its blade, Ruthie had made
A move against a life.

Decades passed, and no-one asked
About the shadowy fella
Briefly seen, and darkly keen,
Now buried in the cellar.

So Ruthie Plackett, in her lined fur jacket,
Rode the Severn line,
And through her plight, she held on tight
To the secret hid inside.