"I am growing out my hair to teach myself
patience. I am going to cut it to teach
myself loss. On my best days I still don’t
always get out of bed. New York, we have
to stop meeting like this. I would have
texted you sooner but cabs at three a.m.
But boys who don’t mind if I don’t always
smile like I mean it. But the rain and I
don’t always have an umbrella. Everything
is an excuse, so who are we kidding? If you
write me a poem, I’ll probably make out
with you. No, I am not drunk. I just want to
see your naked elbows. I just want to
dye my hair an unacceptable color and
become a totally different person."
i can’t really explain myself-
my head is pounding
I think I’ll soak instead
this achey baked out head
i want anything but to be taken seriously
closets are for clothes, not bros
see ya later, instigator (I’m sorry)
this girl is dum
things she doesn’t know: respect
is a two-way road, to have a friend
you have to be a friend, don’t
blame your coworkers for stealing
your pocket change (especially
over e-mail) and don’t blame
your troubles on your friends
because they’re not going to want to be your friends anymore.
In double helix sheets I find
your musk hidden in milkweed
I remember the heaviness of it all:
your arm, strapped me to the bed
like you were, yesterday, mental ward
nurse found overalls full of fruit
roll-up wrappers and crushed cigarettes.
In my dreams you are camera shy
sliding down steep snow-covered
ravines, white-boy dreads full
of ice-melt, bleach. Eyelashes
slowly parting in the cold.
You had: fake blood real fox tail
I had: a kiss for your inkstained skin
It’s been over a month
of trying to pull you off my sole like forgotten gum
stuck there, in the grooves, but some
of you stuck and I greet this pain that I’ve met before;
I was seventeen once, we all were
It’s come to the point that my desire to sleep with someone is interfering with actually sleeping with someone.
I’ve been sabotaging myself, acting crazy, walking out on people, and being in a generally shitty and intolerant mood.
I’ve been scaring them off.
No ones sending me messages anymore and the pool doesn’t open until 3:30, except on Saturday.
I caught myself thinking about the 13 hour bus ride today. Or was it 15 hours? I wish, I wish, I wish.
I miss new Orleans but I don’t miss the people there that I have messy relationships with. I have to lie to my boyfriend about how I’m not getting laid, because if I tell him I’m not getting laid he’ll think its because I miss him. Which I do, but that’s not why I’m not getting laid. And my friend’s white trash boyfriend is cheating on her and I want to punch him out.
either im th or im gonna have to start making art like this