sweaters & swears

White wine makes me love everyone
I love you

RIBS

bit the bottom of your  rib cage

trying to feel the rib

that was never there

the dusty blood

invading your space, instead.

You always say you  created me

from the mud that formed each lobe

and follicle filling up the

air that had no breath.

You never needed that extra

bone.

(((((Use what you lost

(Pounding the

humanitarian reminder

that sub-sects of

sub-species rarely

merit the time blotted

to mark a space in the

earth.)

))))))

A curved line saying

you claimed this property

before you even opened

your eyes.

WROTE THIS WHILE DRUNK IDK Y

Just tell him

(N)EVER

circle one in a crib

playing “yes” or “no” on a playskool keyboard

make your answer on a bubble sheet

of your future career choice

lining up like a tardy saxophone player

in the middle of marching band practice

slightly out of the lines

OR

 in a note passed between

two hands during school store hours

on its knees asking for a response

of penciled in definitions

that were made in wet cement

the lined paper with those

words fell into the

rainbucket trashcan

drowning in its own worth

that was more than

ten golden Spanish coins found

at the bottom of a shipwreck

there, underneath an applecore

and a Kleenex

Do you like me?

Circle One:

Yes or (No)

I’ve always liked you.

Please say yes?

Crumpled up

In forgettable origami

At the bottom of

The classroom garbage

to the x-ray technician- i swear i wasn’t drunk

i puked so much that i thought i completely emptied myself

and i felt so light

that i accidentally thought

i could fly.

that’s why i broke my ankles.

i wasn’t drunk.

just confused

by my bodily limitations.

Getting Drunk Dials at 3:20 a.m.

I just got a call from someone. Yes, at 3:20 in the morning. I thought it was a typical drunk dial but I had no idea what the number was. We talked for twenty minutes. He kept on insisting that I was in some kind of dance competition with him. And that I pinky promised him.

Apparently I was out last weekend and I got black out drunk and I gave him my number and I promised that I would meet up with him, pinky promise that is, to do a dance competition. Not just any dance competition, but a dance competition like dancing with the stars. And we were supposed to practice this week. That’s actually why he’s up so late. And tonight I cheated on him by dancing with someone else. We were getting serious, I guess we were going to make our relationship Facebook official. Because it isn’t real if there is not Facebook attached.

The weird thing is - I totally did that on Wednesday night. Made a promise to a guy about a dance off, that is.

The weirder thing is- I didn’t give my number to any one on Wednesday night (except for the guy who I went on a date with)

We went on for 20 minutes. He was really drunk and talking in circles and lied about his name so I couldn’t figure out who he was.

He had my first and last name, knew where I currently attend school.

Finally I hung up when he refused to tell me who he was.

It was the weirdest thing.

And it also creeped me the fuck out.

Tell your friends to stop mentioning your name on bars on Wednesday nights when you aren’t there

You need to tell your friends we didn’t fuck so they stop mentioning your name at bars on Wednesday nights three weeks from the last time we interacted with one another. And notice I say interacted and not speak because we didn’t really speak. I wanted to talk, but you refused to grant me that privilege. That right to stare you down and tell you my exact feelings at this

rightfuckingmomentintime

No. You just did what mostly your body told you what to do until I said no. And then you tried to convince me otherwise but I guess you told your friends something else because now they’re bringing your name up at bars and it’s driving me crazy because my mind has been every where but on you.

Until this very goddamn second when you’ve made your appearance known.

So tell your friends to shut the fuck up.

Because you know that nothing really happened.

Not really.

And if something did.

You would have told me about it.

If anything,

you know

meant

something

you would have found a way to contact me and tell me so we could continue on our paths to meaning or whatever.

Not on my route past the foosball table to the bathroom while getting called out asking how intimately I know you and asking why I know you and asking when I am going to see you again and asking to pass a message along.

Let me be picked up by other strangers so their friends can gratefully forget about me next time I am out on a week night.

We will all appreciate it.  

Give me one reason why I should let you take me home while I am drunk and confused

I know that I look good right now. I know that my hair looks perfect and that I’m glowing beneath these fuzzy party lights. I know that I am slurring  my words and I understand that I’m a little tipsy.

I know you think I am cute, but please tell me why I should go home with you?Make an appeal for yourself. I dare you. It shouldn’t be because you like my dress. The mannequin at the store likes my dress, but I didn’t go home with it.

It shouldn’t be because we both know the words to that really stupid song and that we might have had a moment screaming along to it. That happens every weekend. I mean really, it happens every time I’m in the car with my friends. It seems like it is special because people always have heightened emotion when they sing, like that time a few weeks ago we burst out into Tiny Dancer when we were laying on each others stomachs. It felt like it was something memorable, but really it was an illusion. Also it’s a drunken memory and those are the best anyways.

You think you like me because I am talking to you. I’m the only person who has tried to figure out how your mind works in ages and ages and ages and ages. It’s because I like to figure out the nature of people. I don’t want to know why you tick, but why everyone ticks. It’s just because I’m a student of character and I love watching and observing. That’s why I’ve been starring into your eyes. It’s not because I’m in love with your or something stupid like that.

You think you like me because I needed something to hold on to while I was stumbling around so I leaped from the sidewalks into the pocket of your stable hand so I wouldn’t fall down in front of the police. And then you thought that meant something so you bought me a hotdog covered in cheese and chips and other drunk stuff that I don’t even know and you thought you were going to get something out of it more than an unstable hug. I know that.

And now I’m here outside of your apartment, but I challenge you. Why should I go in? I can’t think of a reason. So you told me that I’m beautiful. I can stand on the corner and hear that. Come on, come up with something better.

……

……

Okay. Now I am getting cold and sleepy. Do you have like a couch or something?

On Being The Drunk Girl

You will be stressed/sad/angry/upset. You will decide that the only way to combat these negative emotions will be by getting drunk. You will get dressed and try to look as attractive as possible. In your emotionally compromised state, you will not equate attractive to beautiful,pretty, or cute, but rather with sexy. You will put on too much mascara and eyeliner.

Your girlfriends will come over to pregame. You will do shots of vodka as they cry,”Guys! We look so hot”

You will start to feel the shots. You will put on a too-thin jacket and stumble out the door.You will walk 45 minutes to get to the party. It will feel like five minutes.

You will arrive at the party feeling giddy. You will pound two cups of jungle juice. You will want to dance. You will flirt with strangers. You will speak loudly about these strangers right next to them. You won’t notice or care.

You will drink two more cups of jungle juice. You will get mad at a man for saying something that you believe is offensive. You might hit him. You won’t be sure. 

Your friend will say something that triggers tears. You will exit the party and cry on her shoulders. Your mascara will bleed on to her white shirt. You will stay there for twenty minutes. You will go back into the party and try to prove how happy you are.

You will hit on a man. You will not realize what you’re saying. You will not realize that he is less drunk than you. You will be your own cock block.

Your friends will drag you home although you don’t want to leave.

You will wake up smelling of vodka. You will check your phone and find responses to your drunken text messages. You will vomit.

Something I think I wrote While I was Drunk and Terrified

I wish, wish, wish i could tell you but now is not the proper moment for me to preach the depths of my new-found self-epiphany.

     I am trapped in a kaleidoscopic prison.

     and my perceptions are in

     constant transition

     as soon as I remember

     the difference between

     floor and ceiling and

    calm my tapping feet

     and shifting mind

my world flips around again

and I am left grasping a

twisted saftey rail

drunkenly fumbling for

whatever my hands can

touch

because my limitless

nature of belonging &

ownership has dissolved

and I become so light

that nothing

earthly matters.

If I told you

I might be able to

escape my toes.

On Being A Beard

You will call him to tell  him to stop talking to you. It will be because he has been calling you frequently. It will be because you still have feelings for him and you cannot talk to him without feeling sad afterwards.  You will muster all of the courage you have and dial his number. He will not pick up. You will leave a message and he will call you promptly after class the following day.

When you talk it will be a really pleasant conversation. You will forget that you wanted to tell him to stop talking to you. He will move to end the conversation and then you realize you have to tell him now, or you’ll go crazy. When you tell him that you have something to say, he will cut you off and discuss his own journey. After many heavy breaths and sighs, he will say that he is scared to tell you, but he is pretty sure that he is gay.

As soon as you hear these words, you will feel calm. It will feel like diving into a warm pool of carbonation. You will feel partly deaf and mostly at peace. You will know that there is no chance that you two will ever be together. You are no longer attracted to him at this moment.  It will be like you were a still bubbling pot of water that was immediately doused in chills of cold tap water. You will feel relieved. You will realize that you did absolutely nothing wrong in the relationship.

You will continue to talk to him for another hour. Your phone will start to die because you’ve talked for so long. He will end the conversation because he has to go. Also because he doesn’t want to talk about these previously unexpressed feelings anymore.

You will spend the next six hours in your bed in shock. You will feel incredibly happy at first, but then you will feel upset. You had previously thought that the two of you would be able to get back together after he figured himself out. Now all of those dreams are dashed. You will feel relieved that this hope is gone, but you will also feel incredibly sad. You will wonder how this information will alter your friendship.You will realize that he must have really liked you because he trusted you enough to tell you first. This feeling will go away after three drinks.

You will forget to eat dinner. You will not feel hungry. You are too busy absorbing this new information. You thought that you knew this person incredibly well, now you realize you don’t. You will think of the comment you made earlier in the week, where you ironically wished he was gay so you could get over him.You will hate yourself because of that comment.

You will get a call from a friend asking you to drink with them. You will say that you just got a call from him and that you’ll be there in a bit. You will come to their small apartment two hours later, just when they’re about to leave.  You will go into your friend’s room and try to talk to her about it. You are on the verge of tears at this moment. When you tell her, and finally cry for the first time in the night, she will laugh at you. She will say that she doesn’t believe you. She will say that she can’t believe  what a soap opera your life is.  You will not know how to respond to this, other than with more tears.

You will get ready to go out, except your makeup has dripped off by this point and you don’t really feel like attempting to hit on men, which is the solution your friends are offering.

You will have made a drink that is far too strong. It will be perfect for the night. You will go into the party and refuse to take your coat off. A man will see that you’ve been crying and will try to hit on you. He is just trying to take advantage of a drunken girl. He will give you his number and insist that you call him. You will not want to call him. You think that he is not as attractive as your previous man and you will think that there is no way he will understand what you’re going through.

You will get smashed and cry.

You will go home alone and cry some more.

You will wonder if any of your relationship was true. You will wonder if you disgusted him. You will feel sickened by this. You will wonder if he was genuine at all during your relationship. You will ask yourself if he was lying to you. You will wonder if he liked you at all. You will pick apart these questions and try to analyze. You will be too drunk to do this properly.

You will question your value as a woman. You had been taught that women are often only valued for their sexuality. You will question what you did  that he decided not to value you as a woman. You will question your abilities and lose all of your confidence. You will feel like shit.

When he finally calls you again, and tells you that he fucked a stranger, a woman, you will yell at him. He will not know why you are yelling at him. You want to tell him why can he fuck a stranger but not be with you? But you don’t . You try to be supportive.

You will begin to think that all men are using you. You will hate yourself for this. You will try to trust people again. You will do this through the use of alcohol and honesty. You will drink way too much.

You will think about this revelation far more than he will. You will not trust any man. You will ask each new man you end in bed with if he is gay. Each man will look at you in a weird way and tell you no. You will still wonder if they are lying.

You will hate yourself, but you will begin to dislike gay people, even though you, yourself, really aren’t completely straight. You will feel this for a nanosecond and then you will realize that you hate society more because society has forced these people to stay in the closet. You will feel horrible for thinking like this, especially because you are a loud supporter of gay rights. But still, you will hate gay plot lines in your favorite television shows for the next month. Even more, you will hate the plot lines about closeted gay people. You will feel horrible for not being supportive, but you won’t know what to do.

You will seek advice from anywhere and anyone. No one will know what to say. You will not know what to do. You will become afraid to listen to yourself because you realize that you’ve only hurt yourself with your naive self-trust.

You will want to stop talking to him. You will feel guilty for wanting to be selfish and for not being supportive. You will continue to talk to him. You will hate yourself even more for this. You will wonder how he can have the advantages of seeking emotional comfort in you without being attracted to you. You will be confused. You will hate him for this.

Eventually you will stop thinking about it. You will stop dwelling on it. You will move on. But the paranoia that you feel around men now will remain.

You will hate yourself for this.