"opi" poems
I used to paint my nails every month,
the night before chapel,
just to have something to scratch off the next day.
(Flakes of OPI No. 25 in the cracks of cheap pews)
Today I peeled the clear coat from my index finger in math
while I stared at a bottle of Diet Pepsi
Kept up at night by politics or teenage hormones, but usually both.
(Transferral: Catholic to Jewish, Madonna to Lindsey)
Steel replaced by fingertips, arms replaced by thighs.
A year ago, I wouldn't have believed I would be thinking of foreign policy puns at midnight,
even if Jesus himself had told me so.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
She smiles
My little Opi
And then the clouds
All go away
She smiles
My beautiful child
And the snow
Starts to melt today
She laughs
My wonderful Opi
And gray
Turns to "Yay!"
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
The pen drew dots in my eyes,
my grip lessened and there I was
Nothingness
No, not bad
No, not good
Nothing
Nothing was...
Nothing
I liked to spend most of my time being nothing
in the bath tub
While the days happened without me
and blurred over like watercolor
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC