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a m a n d a Oct 2018
if you care to know what
life was like
for a teenage girl,
in Buffalo, NY
i would have to tell you,
that indeed,
stonewash jeans were HOT
and even more so,
if they were rolled up,
folded, and p i n n e d.

it was the tail end
of punks,
with the rise of grunge,
pearl jam
s o u n d g a r d e n and
REM
michael jackson
and
p r i n c e.
SNL, chicken wings,
and
the phantom of the opera

the world was sad
the middle east was sad
and the president was
a pervert.

what more is there to say?
other than the
driveway and porch parties
and of course,
computers
pagers and
andy warhol.

there really wan't
much to it.
camping,
stars in the country and
crisp fall air and
winters that never ended.
brutal sun,
freezie pops and
dance routines.
i was a girl.
what more can i say?
chelsea greene Mar 2011
When you get used to being around someone,
you memorize where your things can't go,
(the cellphone on the windowsill, glass on the
dresser) because they -
the person that is -
and everything about them and with them and on them
occupy that space.
Their collective useless clean-up-after-me crap jams and crams and
fills themselves (maybe by magic, perhaps by fate)
into places where only you and the great clean air around you used to go,
and you want to **** them for taking over this sacred space - or at least tear
their throat a little with your teeth - their
***** underwear and the piles on piles of plastic freezie wrappers and
crumpled receipts
dig and claw their way into your skin. they burn and choke and burrow in
so deep
that
you
miss them when they're g n . But of course,
that isn't what you think of always. Not really.

Every under appreciated, suffocating action, every
dagger word, the electric pulse that tore through your skin because
they brushed up against the wrong part of you
(sometimes, unknowingly, the right part of you)
suddenly disappears with them.
And you, unforgotten, loved, have to stay.


and when they're gone their smell sticks to you
                                    for a little while.
Its the end of summer and the flowers are readying for fall
guess its just September's way of putting in her hooting call

London trees are sighing and the city folks are buying mohair
the sun is raying softer shades as we put away our lawn chairs

Writers tuck their hats and trade their benches for a cozy home
poetizing about Italian memories they pen about a trip to Rome

Here he comes Mr. Freezie by morning, Mrs. Warm by afternoon
I really did enjoy this happy summer but I think it left too soon  

its the end of summer and the flowers are finally waving goodbye,
funny how people cling more to life, when their making ready to die.

— The End —