My grandmother likes salami, God, and bougainvilleas
I like to think she likes tenuous pink things-
but then there’s the salami.

One day she taught her daughters to string neck-
laces from bougainvillea petals
like-ponies-in-a-junkyard

I think I chewed too much bubblegum in mass
because I picture God pink
an ethereal globe of a poppable pale pink.
And for some reason, I like to think Brother
Charles saw that too

I bet my lungs are somewhat pink:
more pink than my berry red blood
but less pink, sweet and/or hairy
than a cotton candy poodle.
I forget if they were strawberries or rasp-
berries too

There are things that are pink
but then there are things that are pink
and shadowless.
Like subterranean lungs,
God, the future, and
the smell of flamingos in the dark

The future is still pink and
somewhat fruity
like a lukewarm strawberry milkshake blushing,

or was it maybe just the taste
of my pepto-bismol stained lips.

One of those ponies was my mom

I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…

Behind closed lids, my eyes darted back and forth
As if trying to see something in the darkness,
As if the dreams were real, the thoughts, the tales
I knew from that point, sleep would not come easily
Suddenly the posters on my walls flew about,
Trying to confuse me, just like the furniture,
I rehearsed the words I would say, if suddenly, one day
And I tossed and turned, wide awake, eyes shut tight
Hiding my face from the furniture, and posters
And eventually I shakily tip toed to the kitchen
And gulped down two giant table spoons of pink liquid
As a last stitch effort to remind myself I was not being watched

Be afraid.
The breakdown of civilization
is at the hands of our well-meaning,
overly thrifty,
spoon-wielding  mothers.

Be very afraid.
They are entranced by spices
and covering condiments,
pepper and powder,
onion and garlic galore.

Gingerly they add cumin and dill,
cinnamon, nutmeg or cloves
with thyme to add sage and curry,
parsley, paprika and allspice.

Their casseroles become
zombie food
as the dead
reanimates.

These cheese-added monsters,
hungry for mystery-meat,
render brains to mush
and bind our bowels.

They stiffen our gait
with numbness and nausea
until we are rendered victims
of another pepto-pandemic.

And in the night
of the living dead,
feeding us salt
in a casserole apocalypse,
we panicked victims become
the casseroles we consume.

Now paralyzed
in fear
by the light
of the open refrigerator.

There is a storm.
Raging in my brain.
A **** storm.
In my **** brain.
Torrential diarrhea.
Tangential galleria.
I’m gone.
Beyond Pepto-Bismol.
Nothing to be done.
Too much to wipe away.
Poetic explosion.
Pathetic implosion.
What are you feeding me?

ive got a bad case of earphone head
added to the laundry list of reasons to commit suicide
im not the outline i was born to be
josh says he's talking to voicemails
n i guess we all kinda are
my legs are melting, dripping from telephone babies
i don't want yr hours i want socks without holes in the toes
i keep forgetting to bring the tea that reminds me of her soft skin
i think she is an angel
either way ill end up like the bride ghost

It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.

Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.

The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.

This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.

The sentence looks like someone who's sibling I used to be,
smells like sand and Pepto Bismol.
and is wet and warm and sticky.
As it sounds like a gun shot in an apartment in Virginia,
The sentence whispers to me a time of death.

I say, whoa now
You say, let’s go
We are ones for running
Our knees have the scars to prove it
Sometimes my fingers grasp for the rail but silly me
That’s not how falling works
We are humans
And humans do not carefully climb down scaffolding held-to with harnesses into love
That would take forever
And it’s boring to say
We fall into love
Crash to the ground together
Get up and laugh heartily
Spitting our broken teeth out as we do
Love is a collision we don’t all survive
But you and I are the Bear Grylls of the heart
And I would gladly drink my own **** to stay loved by you

I say, hey girl hey
You say, boy please
It’s sickening to watch I’m sure
But **** if you aren’t my Pepto-Bismol
And I ain’t your TUMS with Vitamin C
And I ain’t a fourth
And you ain’t a fifth
And we aren’t some sort of major lift
And
Ugh
I’m sorry that was dumb
I’m sorry
It’s just that song sometimes
It reminds me of that time I felt the corners of my lips curl up involuntarily watching you watch my favorite cover of it
And I get all worke

I say, I’m sorry
You say, I love you too
Falling isn’t always graceful
But having fell is always worth it
Grass stains and all
I don’t see futures
And you don’t make promises
But next to you is a place I’d like to wake up tomorrow
And the day after
And if you’re tenable to the idea the day after that as well
I am knee deep in love with you
This quick sand has hold of me
I’m struggling harder so I can sink faster
You say, closers dive in head first you *****
I say, I love you too

It's been 19 hours
  and I think I've finally ****** away
  the ***** I drank while giving you shots of water
  so you wouldn't get sick
I thought maybe you were too drunk to notice
but I guess you weren't because you smiled
at me with a sincerity I can't come close to describing

It's been 19 hours
  but the wrenching pain in my stomach
still hasn't gone away.

       and in the airport today
I bought a bottle of water and some pepto bismol
and as I handed her my debit card,
   the cashier asked me
             if I was heading home
                   and I just
*******
choked
  and I'm talking about the really ******* ugly kind of crying here
   and the poor thing didn't know what she had done wrong but
she told me about her grandfather
         who used to say that crying
         is just your body's way
         of getting rid of the toxins
         and making itself stronger

Its been 17 hours since I last saw you
and I don't know how long it will be
before I see you again
but I really,
            really hope that it isn't too long.

An unnatural mass, eaten delicately
In a dim lit den,
Made me dazed
lightly breathing
Gripping the cancered drive thru receipt.
In my softest

Seeing
your balancing voice
by blue Gulf seas.

Great scientist
who taught me
that love is a fossil
And that darkness
is the absence of soft blue rings

turned statue
With the weakest of arms
Wrapped in wood-

And in the afternoon
descending
I wished my eyes
would clear
And that my stomach would hurt
so you could discreetly slip me
Pepto Bismol from your purse.

But wait!
Why don’t you invite some friends?
Pepto Bismol, Tum’s, Imodium, Kaopectate, and then a moment in thought, “I only have one life to live for my country”
I don’t think so
I would also make sure I have my legal document in placed and a Bed Pan if I just can’t make it
Well the Bake Off is on
But let me stand back where I belong
The competitors are baking with all their secret ingredients
I wonder what’s their secret?
I don’t want to know
But on with the show
Just don’t tell my stomach in advance
Now back to the Bake Bake Bake Off
The competitors are now ready to place their cakes into the oven
The oven is set at 350 to heat
This might be a good time to retreat
But I might have to be the Judge
However, why do I feel like I am being nudged
It’s a ***** job but someone must do it,but why me?
The cakes are ready for the taste test or garbage bag
There were five competitors:
COMPETITOR# 1  - Cake went flat like a tire

COMPETITOR# 2  - Cake couldn’t be cut, and the only words that came
                                       out of the Competitors mouth was “BUT”

COMPETITOR# 3     I am not sure if it is a Layer Cake or Pancake

COMPETITOR# 4     Shouldn’t be in the competition as cake had nasty
                                       all over it.

COMPETITOR# 5     Well done with their cake in bake. It was moist and
                                        Tasteful. Now that was a cuisine.

Well I managed to get through the whole ordeal as I am still to tell the tail and aftermath.
This concludes a moment of bake
As how does my stomach feel in this journey, let’s just say “Give or Take”.

esophageal flames.
shots of whiskey with a bleach chaser
on wednesday where the sky is clouded over
and the strays stick close to the watering hole.
pepto becomes water
to ***** the fires from within
while the alarm clock blinks 12:00
because I haven't set the time.

i heard my mom use the L word
when i was telling her
about my personally forbidden escapades
with the boy
my doctor
who i’ve let see
a framed picture of
an iota of my wounds
but still cannot bring myself to call
my boyfriend
as if the word is somehow poisoned
as i’ve convinced myself
in my loneliness
that the idea of that
feeling that most definitely isn’t love
was the stinging venom
burning through my veins
melting my skin to
waxy torrents coursing
from gaping wounds
butchered into my supple dermis
trying to escape my corporeal prison.

my body seizes at the utterance
of two syllables
because i am terrified that
the house of cards that
hold up that word on such an
unnatural pedestal
will crumble
evaporate into the
ether hanging around me
keeping me drunk on
that piquing ache churning
reaching deeper than
the bedrock of my stomach
that my incessant pepto can’t touch
a blowfly burrowing itself
into the mucosa of my abdominal cavity
that i know is filled with my
vital organs
but feels more like a vacuum.

he’s not my boyfriend
even though i tell him to turn over
in the darkness of our
shared slumber
so i can be the big spoon
and he can teach me how to breath
his respirations in his back
pressing my chest into
inhalation
just as my head on his chest
rises and falls
with him
my pectoral moon
pulling my tides
surrendering to the
inevitable turn and living
in that imperceptible moment
between inhalation and exhalation
a silence wherein
we are one
and i feel like his skin
could perhaps be mine.

The suspect said the thought bubbled up in her mind
and grew a silver, shimmery shell
It rolled down, pepto bismol freeway
snaking through her brain
It bounced down the neon back roads of her nervous system
She said it took its **** sweet time enjoying the view
It turned to mercury in her veins and slithered its way into her system
The suspect said she never saw it coming
Because “[my] sanity never said we was playing hide n’ seek”

I hear…I will…I do not understand, if you are speaking through me won’t you please make your presence known. If not, kindly show me to the door. Jolly rancher, jolly Rodger…Every rose has it’s burden, a shifting stone takes in all it has coming. A stitch to throw in a ditch saves just three under a dozen. Come in and care. Come in and make yourself at home. Come in here and cough up a phlegm-ball. Rest your weary head on my tombstone.

There’s a reason for all the things I do. Do you want to know what it is? One thing, and ONLY one thing: Pepto-Bismol. **** gets things done. That’s my excuse, pardon me, sir, if you don’t get it, you won’t get it you won’t NEVER *** it down in yer soul where it needs to be.

Never so young as you were that day. What a show. What a show. Pretty maids all in a row, fit to a one with tight trusses emblazoned. BUTNER BUTNER BUTNER! Three cheers for Butner. One big long cheer with corresponding slutty ***** dancing routine thrown in for free. From your friends in Butner.

They ate that right up. Didn’t even have to spoon feed ‘em. They’z musta bin reeeel hungery. Sure thought mine was special.

And it was.

Take my pick, that’s the schtick. Maybe the doll in the unwashed dreadlocks? Maybe the gal with the go-hero pout. Maybe the one with the sad dropping eyelids? Maybe the ***** with the genital itch. Maybe the ***** with the venereal sore. Maybe the **** with the cellulite ****.

Or maybe the tiny, mousy mouse of a sprite, never had love look her in the eye, that stuff only makes a man wonder why. Hair shorn short and shut out the lights or you will never see that incredible aura and glow she dwells in like a bubble. She’s the one to choose. She’s the one, you can’t lose, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain, how can I make it more plain? You’re gonna get wet if it rains and I haven’t got time for the pain, Strange Woman. MY woman.

Make some plans for a one night stand I’m a dope smokin’ man and I sure get around and my life revolves around Strange Strange Women. Strange customs. Strange habits. Strange ideas of just exactly how incredibly Strange they actually are. I’ve got mine, now you go get yours. We’re hookin’ up at the dance.

Dilly dance, dance of the week, American Bandstand dance and you didn’t like the words but it’s got a good beat so you give it an 85. You could dance to it.

Such was my hope. Twas to be my destiny, if luck stayed tucked in my pocket I was fittin’ to be gittin’ my share o’ what I got comin’…

…and I did.

melatonin for when you just wanna sleep
midol for when your cramps are unbearable
molly when you wanna dance
ibuprofen for when your parents are yelling
acid for when you wanna trip
tums for when your heart burns
xanax when you're anxious
eye drops to make them believe you weren't crying
pepto-bismol for an upset stomach
**** for when you wanna chill
alcohol when you wanna forget


but little do you know
i don't need any of these drugs
because you make me feel
better
and higher
than all of them combined

I have never believed in the idea of love-
it once tip-toed it's way into my heart
only to be thrown from my nervous system like acid reflux
the kind that pepto bismol won't cure.
Someone once tap-danced on my heart strings,
played that **** like a violin
so passionate about the way each and every movement
across the strings made me want to scream-
because they were playing the wrong things.
I knew who I was once-
maybe I was like 4 or 5 but I sure as **** was alive,
the days when trees had their own area codes
and the backyard was Narnia.
At some point between the "heartbreaks"
I lost it.
Then in you walked-
heart upon your sleeve like the latest fashion
and you kissed me.
I felt like I was a kid again-
the butterflies in my stomach began demanding refuge
it was a different kind of feeling..
I've always sort of had anxiety,
the crippling kind that makes you wanna throw up
but this, **** this was different.
I had never experienced good anxiety?
The kind you get after winning a big game,
or being in love..
I finally found it-
the love I never knew existed
but I still questioned it's authenticity
even as it painted pictures across my lips
and the butterflies whispering affirmation into my ears.
It's been a year-
and I'm trying to imagine the next one without you
because it seems to me that's what you want
But I can't seem to muster up the courage to be without you..
everything in this life has left me.
I hear the violin faintly playing in the background
and the tap dancers are coming closer now
the acid reflux has turned into regurgitation
and my heart doesn't know what to feel.
I've never had love for anyone
like the love I have for you-
I don't think it will ever go away.
I'm stepping on the edge, and it's begging me to jump
and usually the ground isn't too far
but without you, it's yards and yards away
and I don't think I can fly anymore..

Dear Sarla
people look at me
and all they see is you
I hate that
and it makes me hate myself
you make me want to die
and hell if my pain tolerance
were higher I swear that I
would cut them off myself
because all they see is my
outsides and my double D *******
and even if I carved the word
boy in all caps
into the soft plush of my ******
a little lump that is always too small
to be seen as an ***** *****
they would still only see the
******* shoved away in the back
of my dresser drawer
cuddled up next to my sports bras
that does nothing to hide my *******
and I have been living inside you
for ten long years
my ***** are ready to drop
I even started shaving the little
peach fuzz stache your father shamed
you into bleaching
I let my leg hair grow out
and willed the chest hair to grow
around my navel and then into
the fleshy V
that my hips create
all of my body hair grows freely now
to keep me warm
but mainly to spite you
and ****** what they see
when they look at me
eyes coming up from my crotch
to my chest
is the shadow of a girl
they see a beautiful blossoming
young woman
and yeah okay
I can see that too
you would have been beautiful
but I cut and snuffed out
your life in the middle of the
prime of your youth
I killed you
and have been in the hospital
three times because of this
because of you
and when my first hospital doctor
told me that my coming out was
just a diversion tactic
it felt like the week old cuts
on my wrist
opened up and all of you that
was left inside of me
bled out at his fancy shoed feet
you were pepto-bismol pink
and my empty husk filled up
with the blues of a thousand
unshed tears
I was a raging ocean of boy
my waves crashed onto your body
until you were drowned in it
and then you were gone
but when people look at me
all they see is you
and my blood is blue on the inside
but when they cut me open
they didn’t see the blues
they saw my ******
and my tubes
and the folds of my womanhood
hell yeah though
they still saw my fat
fat thighs
fat stomach
fat arms
fat fat fat
they still see my scars
and my crooked glasses
and my *******
people still ask if I have
a ****
as if my genitals are any of
their ******* business
and probably if I did
get surgery
my cosmetic scars would still
label me as a freak
I still wouldn’t be enough of a
man for them
my ***** would never be big enough
no man or woman would ever be
able to love me with the lights on
because hell
I’m still not able to pleasure myself
your body is a landscape
albeit a barren one
filled with mines
and I am too clumsy to
traverse it
your ******* only become ***** from
the cold and the only wetness in
your boxers is blood
and I am afraid to look at you
in the mirror
because even I can’t will something
to grow that wasn’t programmed
from the start
and even the friends that never
even knew you
they hold you over me
I’m not a boy because I haven’t
had The Surgery yet
what bathroom do I use
I don’t count as a boy because
of my huge ****
I can’t be a boy because
I like pink shorts
and the only things that have
change are my name
and my hair
I am a *****
a girly boy
but ****
I’m enough of a man for myself
I will never be a mother
and I will only let them ****
me like a man
the swaying of my *******
as I bend over a constant
reminder that I am wrong
but the only boyfriend
I’ve had since sixth grade
only asked me out because
he had a crush on you
I have to tell people that I am
a boy and remind them of the pronouns
that I use
over and over again
but technically I’m still a girl
well technically *******
honestly though Sarla
I wish people would be able to
see through to me
because when my light does
distinguish I don’t want to
be buried in a dress
don’t want my mother to cry
over her little girl
I think my sister would cry
for me though
she calls me her older brother
and once called my ****** a peen
she has come around
with flying colors
and she really gets it
I know that when it seems
like the world is against me
I will always have her
she sees through you
to me Priestly underneath
and Sarla
as long as I have her
I know I’ll be okay
it makes the wait for people
to come around a lot easier
I love my sister so
and someday you really will be gone
***** and period and all
I’m going to have a proper burial
for you when I get home
but until then
I’ll take good care of your body
and I know you’ll be watching over us
Love Priestly

Oh, the quasi-related grace
Of saliva on the toes;
The reds, the blues, the greens
Of pregnancy.

Castration?!

We melt like mosquitoes
Across the heated causeway
In June;

Pepto-Bismarck?
I hate shocking pink.

One pill, two pill,
red pill, blue pill.

Chalkier than Pepto Bismol,
smoother than Crown Royal.

The blender does not care.

It just spins its blades,
without considering the drink it makes.

I sip and wonder if
it will be lonely tomorrow.

Stay sharp, blender.
Don't ever get dull.

hi.
i don't know my name,
i've forgotten her again.
she's a stranger in an alleyway.
she's reaching for me.
and her soft, fragile hands;
with rose fingernails,
wrap around my throat and squeeze.
she's the young girl i used to be.
thick, dark eyelashes and a petite frame.
she wears cherry flavored lip gloss.
her long, blonde hair drowns me.
i cut my way free from the yellow rope.
her locks lay at my feet in chunks.
she wails in despair,
i dig my scissors into her gut,
and she bleeds pepto pink blood.

hi.
i don't know my name,
i've killed her again.
a ghost rises from her corpse.
he's reaching for me.
and his rough, calloused hands;
with scraped knuckles,
strokes my hair and hugs me tight.
he resembles my late father,
dark hair and scruff on his chin.
exhausted, sea-colored eyes.
he washes the blood from my hands.
he wraps the girl in a garbage bag,
douses her in gasoline,
and sets fire to the plastic.

hi.
i don't know my name,
but you can call me miles.
i'm tired of hiding and pretending.
i'm reaching for you,
and my shaking, ***** hands;
with scars and bruises,
i ask you to listen and understand.
i am transgender male.
homemade haircuts,
and thrifted boys' clothes.
i will never be a son to my mother,
and my house will never be a home.
but you all are my family,
and your support will keep me warm.

As the book opens feeling upset
Eventually it will become a bet
Eat at your own risk
But you need to think on this
There was a woman named Maria Forsure, who loved to cook
But for someone who didn’t know how to cook, it sure made people shook
It was how Maria would cook
But all you had to do was just look
That’s all it took
The fact Maria didn’t know her way around the oven
Don’t even mention the word bake in being a dozen
Once there was dinner at Maria’s house
The idea even scared a mouse
If the meat was duck
If it wasn’t cooked, it was just plucked
As the guest were talking in the living room
There was a certain boom
The oven door was open and the duck was on the ceiling
No one knew what actually happened
A change of plan in what to serve
It wouldn’t be Duck, as the guest didn’t deserve
A Hamburger to the rescue
Are you sure you want to follow that cue?
People often got sick when eating Maria’s food
It would be a nearby toilet of the stool
Pepto Bismol being a welcomed guest
Let’s be honest, it was a request
Maria’s meal certainly didn’t have appeal
It was simply a nightmare being for real.

Guilt, it lives inside us all
Strives, drives, lives in us
Growing, tangling, vines to conspire
Sickening, ***** up your feeling
Pepto-Emotional, there's no such thing
Always something eating you,
Swallowing you whole, until that whole is cleared
Right or wrong?
There's just so many questions....
Conscious springs alive
Engulfing your soul, life, eternity
Darkness, ******* you in
Just search for the light,
The darkness will leave
Renewed, amend, forgive
Such a harsh emotion, so confusing
But it lives, breathes, sleeps
Within Y O U

I overact in overalls
When overcast jump overboard
I overdo not overdose
I'm overdue and overdrawn
I overhaul my overhead
Throw overhand or overarm
  
I overthrow the oversee
And overwhelm those overseas
My overshoe's in overflow
An overnight in overcoat
Earned overtime then over-ruled
The over-ride they overlooked
  
Don't overstep over-the-counter
An oversight I've overcome
I over-run the over-rule
In overdrive I overpass
It's over now; Buy Pepto too
And you will get over the gas

Death stared at me from the same recliner she always did.
Her veins wrapped around her legs like spider webs.
She poured pepper on her perogies and commentated for the TV,
“No whammy, no whammy, no whammy, Stop.”
I was too busy making plans on my phone.
“Isn’t this nice?”

Yes grandma

She used to clean her Catholic church on Saturdays.
I’d bring my toys she got me from McDonald's
and ran my race cars through the ramps filled with holy water.
She’d lay arms stretched before the alters and I’d follow suit,
but only in play. Our devotion was not the same.
“You make me so proud, my little Christian.”

Yes grandma

I’d spend nights for what must of been months,
because she lived in town where the parties were.
I was chasing tail, drugs and alcohol.
We’d both pretend she had no idea at all.
Our best conversation following a night of glassy eyes.
What we said I can’t recall.

Soon enough the pattern fell as I finished high school.
I moved away and walked new halls, an undergraduate.
It was in those halls my phone cried out and I soon after.
I drove new roads my eyes a flowing well.
We waited outside her room in vain.
I would not get see her that day.

I made a point to see her once she returned home.
She now sunk where her rear was once plump.
Her skin sagged relieved from the pressure.
Fluid dripped out her lungs the color of Pepto Bismol,
and they missed every second breath.
Yet, she was beaming, “Look how skinny I am.”

Yes grandma

I’d only see her once more, after another trip.
She slept in that same recliner as the TV played.
Wispy white hair, thin pressed lips and tired eyes.
Her head hung against her chest and I hid mine.
My sister asked if I’d like to wake her just to say hi.
I considered it, but thought better.

“No, I'll catch her next time.”

Guess what will happen
when the world's done digesting
us ends with a flush

                              Kelly McManus

Run for your lives
A couple of years ago, my Mother decided to make Thanksgiving Dinner
Eat at your own risk as you enter
Now this was a choice that wasn’t wise
But if I have offended I will gladly apologize
My Mother made the meal that didn’t settle being for real
A Turkey that looked like it would rather fly
Yet the Guest observation in not wanting to try
A table that looked like it couldn’t hold any more food on it
To top it off, my Mother made biscuits that seemed more fitting for Yankee Stadium
Those biscuits were hard to eat
Now you would think we would have retreat
However, when my Mother announced she made biscuits, my Grandfather said “Oh No”
As for me, I just went along with the flow
My Grandfather stated he rather have bread instead
Well the meal went on but think “SOS”
SAVE OUR STOMACH’S
For dessert, my Mother made a cake that looked like a life preserver
But I wasn’t about to come down with any ship
Yet my stomach felt like all to shore with the thought in be uncomfortable in not being sure
Pepto Bismol became my dear friend
When my Grandparents and I got home, we competed on who was getting to the bathroom first
I won out
Now my story was something to talk about
Food for thought
After all that, I had to be a sport
I lived to tell it all
It happened and I saw
A Thanksgiving past I will never forget
Now eating that food now that was truly a regret
I would continue, but I will just let.

Been much like
Those years that swam and swung by
Long sweaters covering dainty wrists
To hide the cuts and twists
Bathroom felt like a sanctuary
In the darkest corners
Of a small town
I knew not how to fully express myself in.

Wispy moon hair
And the confidence to do as one pleased
Kept it at ease
From those that liked
But didn't, couldn't
Want to fully support
Alabama leaves
Blowing through trees
Into a higher vibration.

An adult now
But sometimes no such thing
In the pit of butterfly guts
Collecting fiber, wood for fire
A tray filled of what wasn't said
Shown, or given
Fighting those entities daily
As to not
Wallow in
The all too familiar feeling
Of that corner
Of the sky blue
Pepto-bismol pink
And on into a limey seafoam green.

So we become a scientist
A philanthropist
An alchemist concocting
What measurable amount
Of joy
Can be found
In each corner
Of this room?

let me... think a minute
that's it
that is what drives me
I could never be a success
I think...

because I need to sit
on the porch and watch the sunsets and digest
****
I don't digest things on the run
it gives me mental diarrhea

One day full I have to sit half on another thinking
or I get all ****** over and Pepto Bismol
has been no help
I like to just sit
and think....

...
...
...


...
still thinking

I buy Advil for the pain.
A disembodied ache,
Persistent and unyielding.
Something’s clawing at the inside of my mind
Or something’s trying to break in.

I buy a toy car.

I buy Pepto-Bismol for the anxiety.
A squirming in the pit of my stomach,
Sweating and pounding.
With this vibrant hue of pink
I crave the washing away of panic.

I buy a sparkly pen.

I buy Melatonin for the insomnia.
A stubborn wakefulness,
Leaving me alone with the dark.
I have a simple desire to end consciousness
With a bitter swallow.

I buy a teddy bear.

I buy caffeine pills for the exhaustion.
For the long hours of the day
When I’m too tired to breathe.
I choke on concentrated motivation
To provide some lost enthusiasm.

I buy a pack of gum.

I stand at the counter to fill my self-prescribed medication
But, of course, I spent my paycheck on all of this last week
So I go home without anything at all
Just like last week