"snapchatted" poems
Snapchat me at 11 pm
Are you drunk for courage or for remission?
"I like you"
"You're beautiful"
"I want to **** you"
You say, "call me" and we talk until 3am because I think I like you too and mostly because I know, we know, we're both so lonely.
It seems like you only talk to me when you're drunk but my mind tells me it's better than being ignored, like after Halloween when you couldn’t look me in the eyes. I thought it was the kiss and I still don't know if you remember or if you just pretended to forget. I remember, because you don't forget cinnamon liquor - like your skin, warm and bright.
I left town last week and you snapchatted me saying you missed me, at 3am again, in my new bed. You're leaving in August and I'm scared. Because I'll miss you too.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:36 AM UTC
the year opened on two kinds of olympics:
Sochi and selfie.
we spent months looking for
one missing plane
276 missing girls,
and 43 missing students.
from Ukraine to Mexico,
Palestine to Venezuela,
to Ferguson,
the front of the battle lines
were crammed full.
their stories captivated us,
their movements motivated us.
we snapchatted, we vined and instagrammed,
we remembered their names.
Malala Yousafzai
to Mike Brown.
Eric Garner to Ebola.
we made some friends
and some enemies.
and I think,
when I look back,
years from now,
at the year 2014,
the first thing to come to mind will be,
"I was there."
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
today is your birthday.
a year ago today we were on the phone,
at this exact time.
5:00am.
we had been talking since 9pm,
but time flies when you're having fun,
or in my case,
when you're in love.
i remember exactly what we talked about.
how much my parents loved you,
and how much your mom loved me.
how badly we wanted to have our families meet.
and how bad we had always wanted to go to florida.
together.
or go to universal studios
and take pictures in front of hogwarts.
yesterday i watched your instagram story.
and guess where you were?
in front of the hogwarts castle.
i know i can't be mad
or shocked that i wasn't invited.
you're touring with your new best friends.
meeting more people.
more girls.
prettier than me.
better than me.
however, we exchanged our first words in months.
i snapchatted you to say
happy birthday. a civil thing.
i didn't think you would answer,
so it nearly gave me a heart attack when your name popped up.
"thank you so much, lex. miss you."
that's all you said,
followed by a yellow heart.
i know you don't miss me,
and that was all out of pity.
maybe you want to feel better about leaving me behind.
maybe you know how badly i'm hurting.
but,
maybe you might actually miss me too.
i doubt it though.
boys like you don't love
girls like me.
boys like you don't kiss
girls like me.
not anymore at least.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
I had a dream that you Snapchatted me.
When I woke up the next morning,
I had the hardest time determining whether or not it had actually happened.
What was it that I opened?
Caught between too convincing possibilities.
Still, I miss the dreams where we used to transcend reality.
What ever happened to them?
Did they get buried beneath our physical limitations?
Did we get so caught up in our own problems to the point where fantasy became too outlandish,
even in sleep?
**** that.
I'll dig them back up -
No matter how deep.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
With the sky’s blood stiffening
& plugging the holes in its felt fabric
I admitted what I’d known for a bit too long.
It was 19:24 when I told my best friend
how I’d had an anxiety attack in Poetry 310,
how I’d pulled back from the terrible ricocheting
bullet whizzing into each synapse, an attempt
to distract my analytical thought patterns seizing up &
found my limbs convulsing without command,
my breaths zipping past my lips, 100mph in a 30mph zone.
My father had emotionally abused me & I found out
about 14:00, staring at a wealth of information,
how emotional abuse affects kids and I was gazing
into my own scars with chewed up cheeks.
Do you know instant inabilities, froth the mouth,
lashed to ceiling, concaved roundabouts? Belligerent
companions, I thought didn’t exist, not like this.
Not like how I’ve been told. Hadrian, short for Josh, short
for Navan’s boyfriend, at least in most stories.
It was almost 22:00 when she snapchatted me, eyes broken:
I want to commit suicide. It was 23:02 when the police called,
& 8:47 when she thanked me. The blood,
my blood, braced for impact, was this going to be my first time?
Do you remember your first friend’s suicide? I haven’t yet.
But waiting is nostalgic, counting taps of my foot.
Bleating for help, cry wolf, cry & die. Stonewall had enough
death seamlessly woven into history textbooks. Say,
maybe I ought to up & lie about tension riddled bodies when
my parents materialize. Afraid’s a word I studied
until it memorized contours of misshapen, looming, dried out
pride. Baked in the imprint of my fingertips, bruised, bashed,
cantered to lissome ledges overseeing basket-sized lakes.
Now it’s 14:58 & the lights won’t turn on & tunnels don’t mind
loamy silences with crippled arteries.
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC