"sleave" poems - Hello Poetry

When the hard cider is all gone and the pabst is all stale and the ***** makes you gag and the drug testing doesn't let you smoke **** what do you do? You have a ******* good time with some great people and you pack bowls for them and roll joints for them and hate the frat boys with them. You laugh at the funny jokes and duck call at the bad ones. You smoke too many cigarettes and give away your only lighter. You fall asleep with one of them in your arms. But don't worry, next weekend it will be someone else. This time it was a tenacious blonde who's taking you to prom. Next week it might be the lovely red head who wears his heart on his sleave or it may be the funny Jewish kid who plays beer pong by himself. Maybe it'll be the girl who shows up when all the ***** is gone and sits next to you and lets you hold her close. But never by yourself, they're all to lovely to let that happen. A few days from then you'll go on a walk and bring a few cigarettes and a book but the cigarettes remind you of them and the book reminds you of her so you leave Leaves of Grass in the grass and smoke the cigarettes thinking of the Before. thinking of the Then. Not worrying about the Now and forgetting the When. You sleep like a baby, in the sense that you wake up every few hours and struggle to fall asleep without your mother's breathing to sing a lullaby. She's outside, falling in to old habits, throwing two years into a bottle and downing it. She's smoking her last cigarette so she sneaks into your room careful not to wake your seemingly sleeping Self and digs in your backpack until she finds your cigarettes. In the morning she will magically have those two years back and she will have forgotten those cigarettes she took from you. But you'll throw her empty bottles away before your sister can find them and Understand. And she won't lend you that twenty bucks she said she would because she spent it on two bottles of Jägermeister. And the girl who lives down the street knows none of this because to her it's not real. She only knows that your mother has a two year NA chip and she only knows that you used to Hate yourself. She knows that you like her and she thinks she likes you. And she lets you put your arm around her and she snaps at Satan with you. And you love the lovely red head and you hope he reads this and is happy because he is in one of your ramblings. just as your heart smiles when you find yourself in one of his. however more poetic and sensitive and lovely they are.

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May 1, 2013

May 1, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC

jeremy-duff

A String of Thoughts and Happenings, Part One.

When the hard cider is all gone and the pabst is all stale and the ***** makes you gag and the drug testing doesn't let you smoke **** what do you do? You have a ******* good time with some great people and you pack bowls for them and roll joints for them and hate the frat boys with them. You laugh at the funny jokes and duck call at the bad ones. You smoke too many cigarettes and give away your only lighter. You fall asleep with one of them in your arms. But don't worry, next weekend it will be someone else. This time it was a tenacious blonde who's taking you to prom. Next week it might be the lovely red head who wears his heart on his sleave or it may be the funny Jewish kid who plays beer pong by himself. Maybe it'll be the girl who shows up when all the ***** is gone and sits next to you and lets you hold her close. But never by yourself, they're all to lovely to let that happen. A few days from then you'll go on a walk and bring a few cigarettes and a book but the cigarettes remind you of them and the book reminds you of her so you leave Leaves of Grass in the grass and smoke the cigarettes thinking of the Before. thinking of the Then. Not worrying about the Now and forgetting the When. You sleep like a baby, in the sense that you wake up every few hours and struggle to fall asleep without your mother's breathing to sing a lullaby. She's outside, falling in to old habits, throwing two years into a bottle and downing it. She's smoking her last cigarette so she sneaks into your room careful not to wake your seemingly sleeping Self and digs in your backpack until she finds your cigarettes. In the morning she will magically have those two years back and she will have forgotten those cigarettes she took from you. But you'll throw her empty bottles away before your sister can find them and Understand. And she won't lend you that twenty bucks she said she would because she spent it on two bottles of Jägermeister. And the girl who lives down the street knows none of this because to her it's not real. She only knows that your mother has a two year NA chip and she only knows that you used to Hate yourself. She knows that you like her and she thinks she likes you. And she lets you put your arm around her and she snaps at Satan with you. And you love the lovely red head and you hope he reads this and is happy because he is in one of your ramblings. just as your heart smiles when you find yourself in one of his. however more poetic and sensitive and lovely they are.