—bury
willow whipping branches
switch whisking backside
you tell me of my trauma
in yours bottled snorted
broken pacts
hiding in the wood piles
pretty little china doll
the cracks are in the
sidewalk and don’t
come back momma
don’t come back
Chinola passion fruit liquor
Reminds me of a different time.
A simpler time.
A time where I felt more me.
A time where the need to impress was not needed.
A time where friendship was easy.
I say that as two of my friends
Interrupt me.
To start a simple, casual, true conversation.
Then it becomes four people.
Then six.
Then eight.
A new reminder comes.
I am not who I used to be.
I am comfortable with where I am at.
It is has been approximately 5 hours since I started this poem.
The vibe constantly shifting.
Distractions used to kill the time.
The moon looks so alive,
And I look the opposite.
“I am happy with where I am at.”
That’s what I tell myself.
But
I think I’ve finally learned.
I prefer to be alone.
Except for you,
With your sweet baby blues.
Keeping yourself occupied
All while I riddle my mind
Over answers you already know.
Please take me to bed.
I think I’m getting nostalgic,
Lethargic.
I hold out both palms
to the air my lungs
have always rejected.
I feel the wind
play between my fingers
but
no matter how fast I
close my hands I can’t
catch it.
I thought you were
like the wind.
But you let me
breathe you in
and hold your hands
with mine.
So I know you are not
the air my lungs
gasp for
or the wind my hands
grasp for
because you let me
catch you.
where boys change their names
so your friends don’t know
his name is something stupid and
he’s not someone you should grind on
where you’re reminded you
don’t quite fit in the circle
and no matter how hard your hips move
room won’t be made for you
where you think you can
understand why some people
drown out the life in their head
with clubs pounding with bass and tequila
where you stand still for a
very long while
and slowly forgive yourself
for not wanting to dance
If there is one thing I know
There is no one else
Who will race toward
The “yellow lights” with me
Blow a kiss
To the roof of the car
And hope we beat
The red lights
You never cease
To surprise me
In ways that
No one has ever
But you, you continue
To pull out all the stops
And keep surprising me.
So we packed up
Headed south
For a mere 72 hour
Sleeping in the car
Sun kissed, wind burnt
Ocean-side rendezvous
You know everything
My hurt heart
Aching body needs
My soul craves
Before I even say it
You are my life’s
Green light.
Sometimes there will be no one to go with you
And you’ll be on your own,
A bag packed full of spare clothes
Your favorite songs,
And no particular destination
Just hit the road,
Turn the music up
Stop for gas station snacks,
Think, breathe,
And just go where ever the hell you want
Leave your small town in the rear view,
Go experience other people,
And nature,
Find cool places,
And peace,
Take lots of pictures
Find out more about yourself,
And enjoy it
I wish I were angry enough to spit fire
like a dragon curled around
her egg that never hatches.
Dark magic spins webs
like the silkworm spins her
unbreakablew filigree.
Her pubescent body is putrid.
She will transform into
the mother of more putrid pubescents
who weave us together
in knots pulled tighter by our struggle,
and whom we would squash
beneath the heel of our boot
just because.
When was the last time
you broke off a Sassafras leaf
and sucked on the stem?
Today when I put one in my mouth
the taste was oh, so familiar,
but stronger than I remember.
Some people make tea from the roots.
I did it once myself years ago.
Now they say it causes cancer
but I’m pretty confident
sucking this stem
is not going to kill me.
