I thought I had lost you
In my backyard
next to the mulberry bushes
beyond where I had remembered
the distance of my breath drew.
Let me lay there
in the patch of your drawn shadow
marked by the familiar footprints
of our mapmaking secrets.
I’ve never been good at
Blowing
Up
Balloons.
I get nervous with explosions so close to my ears
that try to remind me of my knitted
lungs each stitch
One product of a breath that was forgotten
While she was being crushed on by the heel
Of something wrapping around her neck.
They always tell me to smile
Because I look sad over my gin and tonics.
They is always anonymous.
I am always nonsense.
My teeth are made of splintered bookshelves.
I will never show them the bubbles erupting in my throat
And the balloons booming in my ears.
one strangled alphabet carved
into the plastered walls
of my one bedroom apartment
from when you threw the alarm clock in
harried frustration.
My hair did not twist around your
red wrists like you tried
tying balloon knots in
my curls.
Do you see this dog resting
on this head?
Let it outside because it
will only leave carpet-stain
damage.
'Enivrez-Vous' Il faut être toujours ivre. Tout est là: c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve. Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu, à votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous. Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, dans la solitude morne de votre chambre, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l'étoile, à l'oiseau, à l'horloge, à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est; et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront: "Il est l'heure de s'enivrer! Pour n'être pas les esclaves martyrisés du Temps, enivrez-vous; enivrez-vous sans cesse! De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise."
The houses in Elk Grove are surrounded
by gates
that no one remembers to lock.
There are no palm trees.
Only leaves made out of concrete
bubbling out of swimming pools.
The neighbor forgot how to breathe
in the solar-heated water of his
in-ground pool.
His bare feet slipped
on the pebbly ground
when his pale mother
washed the dishes.
I told her that she was my awkward soul mate even though I didn’t really mean it.
I was kind of drunk and feeling full of feelings.
I felt so positively towards her.
She made me remember how much fun I had with her when she was great that I forgot how shitty she made me feel on a regular basis.
We embraced one another and pressed foreheads like we were practicing for a photograph.
She wasn’t really my soul mate.
She was never someone I could come crying to with red tears at two in the morning.
She was someone who only hugged me when we were required to in social settings.
Those stilted “hellos” in public or the brief goodbyes after a night of pseudo-intellectual conversation at the bars.
I regretted what I said with my swollen tongue.
I couldn’t help myself.
We were smiling so hard.
We were so happy.
That’s all I could feel.
I asked him if he wanted come over so he did.
I told him I needed him to help me empty out my refrigerator.
It was too full and I had to put my box of wine on top of my closet.
We sat on my bed for a long time.
I asked him if he’d like to take a nap with me but I couldn’t stop talking.
I kept on wanting to tell him that I liked being with him, but I couldn’t.
Then I got up and came in with a bowl full of organic blueberries, organic strawberries, and organic raspberries.
They were all about to go bad.
The organic raspberries were exceptionally mushy.
They fell apart on top of my fingers and made each digit turn an embarrassed shade of red.
I also got the two of us two glass bottles of organic pineapple juice.
He told me that it was like an elementary school after-school snack.
I told him maybe, but my snacks were more expensive.
I fidgeted with the bottle of pineapple juice, tapping it on my palm like I had seen the older kids in middle school do with bottles of Snapple.
He didn’t open up his bottle at all.
He just set it on the ground, next to my bed.
He asked if I would miss him over the summer.
I looked at him.
He kind of avoided my eyes.
I told him that I would miss him like Thursday nights on NBC.
In an inside joke, nostalgic kind of way on a scheduled basis, but not all the time.
He looked hurt.
I tried to smile at him, but I got nervous and ran my tongue over my berry-seeded teeth.
I kissed him on the nose and told him not to ruin this for me.
I grabbed him around his ribs and tried to hold him really tight.
He felt too small.
I lost you in those sidewalks
each crack and each stone
we trampled
on sweaty summer days
*
My thighs were glued together
on your leather car seat
and I hoped you wouldn’t notice
*
Someone glued me into the section
of the library
the “Young Adult” section
because I am not married
and I am still too dependent.
But the inner-life of a 14 year old will win
no awards
and I have stopped worrying about
what the neighbor thinks
years ago.
*
I peeled my skin
so it wouldn’t be left in
your eco-friendly car.
*
I sketched you in an outline
but you fell into those cracks
we joked would break your mother’s back.
Sometimes I feel like my longest physical relationship with anything will be with my vibrator.
Often, I just want a body to be in my bed. Or I will want somebody to be in my bed.
When it gets terrible, I will go through a list in my cellphone and start texting numbers and ask, “Can I please sleep in your bed?”
Occasionally these people think they are getting laid.
Most times though, these people realize I just need someone to cuddle up to.
While I crave this physical attention, I firmly believe in locked doors, privacy and in the importance of lies.
I think that all strong relationships have these as their beginning foundations.
I never want my door to be unlocked.
But, when I am in love with someone, I want my door to be open all the time.
This is exceptionally embarrassing because I am a 21 year old, strong, independent woman, and I hate to admit these things but there was a time where I just could not choke out those three words:
I like you
which is so stupid because I could tell anybody
but you
and now that kind of irony makes me laugh so hard beer floats out of my nose
and now when I like someone I tell them immediately to their face
and I tell them and I kiss them on their mouth
and hard because I don’t want them to leave me but with you I couldn’t do that.
I had to hold those words between my lips like that loud secret
a party popper about to burst.
So instead of telling you directly
I asked you in a
what I thought was a coy text message
which was
“What do you think of me?”
and I thought it was kind of sexy and playful and pretty perfect especially because I couldn’t stop (full stop) thinking about you (period).
You answered
right away
which I took to be a sign that you were infatuated with me
(which- I found out much later - you were)
and your response was the nicest text message I had ever gotten
and it STILL is the nice text message I have ever received.
I didn’t want to get rid of my phone
because it was saved there.
When I felt bad
and knew you stopped caring about me
I saw that message
and realized there was a time when someone
actually felt that way about me
and I gazed
in some kind of stupid fairytale glee
“how the fuck could that have been me, how could I have been that person? was I that happy?”
And then I got depressed so I got a new phone and tried to delete your number- but I saved your text in an e-mail address.
But I could never tell you
and I will never tell you
how much those words mean(t) to me.
As I have been ill,
I have been requiring much more sleep.
I have been feeling much less successful.
I have to murmur a mantra under my breath
“Yes. I am a successful young woman.”
I watchedTiny Furniture twice today.
It made me feel like more of a loser.
Especially because it has forced me to put off studying for the LSAT even more.
It is my fault. I feel like I am swimming through a fog.
I think I am alienating myself from the people I am living with because I am sleeping too much.
I just want to share my bed with a friend.
Is that too much to ask?
I just miss everyone all the time.
It’s lonely to be alive sometimes.
