I think I’m dying
Star struck turning blue
raspberry on my tongue
teal jeans and a white T,
white shoes, white truck.
Turquoise eyes render me
milk fat, turn me into cream.
and blonde again
I think it makes people think that I’m nice
or that I’m Marilyn Monroe
"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