me, the pirate queen

when by the end of the day i feel
stretched out like my holey sweater,
couldn't hold together for the whole
six hours i've been dressed like this,
you want to text me "hey" and i think that
maybe my mistake has been
only underestimating your adoration,
and i don't know if i have more of a
conscience than she suspects or if i am just
not yet well-travelled enough
but i do not want to lead you on,
i only want to enjoy a few hours,
i overestimated your proposals and i
should have maybe
waited a week to spring it on you,
not talked, not thought, taken what i want
and then beg innocent later
when you realized you actually wanted more.

bao (or: treasure)

i sweeten my coffee and stare at the orange skyline,
read shiny magazines and judge myself,
pretend to be above the acidic paint on the stairwells and
appreciate.

remember, we married our fortunes together. and i
want to tell you everything. plan elusive and reduce
my confused state of rejection, i'll take my affection on the
high road and leave you alone.

i've been gambling with clocks, stealing stranger's socks,
i've evolved but i haven't changed and so wasn't i right from the beginning?
it breaks my heart a bit and i'll admit it to you -
you're the only person who could understand
when i reference that aged conversation and propose that sand
beat the rush by shrinking til the waves could do it no harm.

(tell me it's not true if it's not true, but don't lie to save me.)

but oh, but oh, where have you gone?

squashy purple sleeping bags

i feel now like he can't hide anymore,
can't pretend to not be even slightly impressed by me,
slightly awed,
slightly turned on because there is only so much
that you can conceal behind an accent and a robe and
a cynical air and i stopped trying to care
and now the words come effortlessly and we've moved past touch
(something i've been craving just a tad bit too much)
with my feet on his chest and his hands on my breasts and a rhythmic coughing
and clearwater and dawn.

how to handle morgan, among other things

it's a fucking monsoon out there and sometimes it seems like i'm the only one walking through it but tonight we're going out and tonight i'm not going to drown and tonight is a night on the town and tonight's gonna be a good night.

rain falling from the eaves like a waterfall and nobody drew the ace but she pulled up like the queen of diamonds my best friend and we raised our plastic cups to the ceiling fan and the stick-on stars the only ones we've had and it was a good night.

she didn't get a handle that time but it was a good night. go tell the captain i remember it.

vampires is a bit strong but...

veins in arms, earnest eyes,
stroking back your hair, playing, there.

i hadn't realized what i missed until i got it,
stars and the wind through my hair, solitude and sugarland

but luck is the last thing on my mind when i'm visiting,
encouraging strangers with a light touch and quick thinking,
head over heels for blond boys with beers and i'm not even drinking
elliptical sorrow so he's nowhere near,
i'm too far away because this isn't home.
i want the sweat and the signal,
the blood and the bone,
sleep deprivation, bathrooms with locks,
happy smoked hallways and the Jabberwocks.

(i only wish they were prettier)

fall into me

I am Jill's bitten nails,
hammered into gaping holes,
sagging down with a heavy load,
bending under the weight of art for art's sake.

I am Jack's empty wallet,
diamond dogs and lost credit cards,
sunk below light's reach with pirate boots.

but I am not,
and I am your blue-eyed wanderer,
blue-lined warrior, the burn of whiskey in the back of your throat,
the brazier in your belly.
I am an impermeable flannel shirt.
I am a princess poster and your first memory.

worn

cleaning out the closet,
metaphorically and not
wanting to get rid of it,
wanting and not.

internal war:
the cleaning-crazy-remodeling-lady vs.
the collecting-protecting-intuition.

i should be writing a letter.

shells

dirty little redhead boy
(devil spawn, satan's child)
playing in the sand
(mutters curses at me for a while)

we're fine here,
underneath the ping-pong tables
and the blond waiters.

I'm dirty, too, but he's smiling.
Until we get home, and the older one
(he's supposed to be better)
starts shouting, losing his temper,
and I bike home, still dirty,
with the crushed beauty of the shells in my pocket.

everything that changes in a year

the sunshine filled my heart to bursting,
i skipped and sang and tried my hand at transposing,
couldn't edit out my mental voice but walked fast,
not paranoid but cautious,
and i'm glad it was mine before i was yours.

but i miss being in love.

something from graduation era (lost and found)

the thunder exploded my eyes to open
and the glass on the floor, broken
needled its way into my heels, dragging
feels like the right thing to do, sagging
under a heavy load of what-won't-work.
even if i only wanted a skirt.

witchcraft queen

bewitch me, whisper
sweet nothings in my ear,
wide innocent eyes.

tempt me, offer more
with your hands than i can
with my years, i've packed a cougar
and a change of clothes,
nothing more or less.
a little desire
for some fire and some rest.

(Miss Boleyn, i've got so little to lose
i'm not bothering to choose,
but i think i don't regret it.)

insomnia

it creeps back in when you least expect it,
edging around the screen door,
flitting up the stairs, and i'm
just too damn tired to fight it,
my mind still pounding like a battering ram.
"Kill the beast!" legs twitch,
arms shift, and the downpour won't flood the streets
tomorrow, i won't take the heat,
but God willing, i just might get some sleep.

crush

guns erupt with a thwop and a thunk
and a tiny explosion of starch on the green
while boisterous blond memories tap dance
and fraternize across this last week and
this god-awful pain up the side of my skull

easy to say that you love me, kid,
easier still to believe i'd love you back
but he'd never fold an iris into my curls
and you should hold out for some other girl
somebody who isn't running to end up in the gutter.

retrograde

my hands are weathered,
more agile and less learned
but the soap is the same.
a rough antiseptic wreaking havoc on my
unbitten cuticles and lined palms

and she tried to curry favor with jamaica
came out jaundiced, salted, cruel
but lilac proud

i am the cherry taste on your lips
and the years you can't forget

i am your mistake; you are my restraint.
regret me if you choose,
but i will practice you

mysterious

i wanted to return the favor and
so i made an inquiry in your name but
he sort of shot me down with more words than
i've ever heard him use but then
a few hours later i went back to grab my things
saw him sitting on the couch and watched him sing
and baby, i can't tell you any more now
than i thought i could before but i tried,
yeah i tried and i'm sorry that he hurts you.
yeah i'm sorry that he hurts you,
and not just when it hurts me too.

everybody's got a little schizophrenic going,
everyone's a sinner, talking to themselves,
everybody's bound for heaven, less of course they land in hell
and i see your bipolar and understand
and i love you anyway
and he just sees a selfish struggle.

so let's call him a Muggle,
and wash our hands clean of it.

smoke and mirrors

to keep myself from feeling oh so small,
i go and let the curtain fall
over the sad little girl too pathetic to get over it,
too bitter to let you forget it,
too determined to do what they expect
to let the facade crumble down
(though i try to hide it, it's clear,
and you can fill in the next line.)
if you feel the need to interfere,
or be irritated with me, dear,
have some fucking fun.

but i swim in frigid ocean waves if the sky is blue enough and i don't worry about the dangers lurking beneath the surface of your love, or lack thereof.

if you gave me less credit, you'd be less disappointed.

a very long poem about my very long weekend

i drifted that day reveling in sunshine
and turquoise satin, which is almost exactly
what i've wanted for a year now and

what i want more than anything, i can't have.

lady, don't treat me like a child, too soon we'll
exchange on a first-name basis and maybe i'll write a song
for you because i think it might sound nice but please
at least pretend to be as crazed as i am

dear father, all i can really ask is why?

and you are three twins, i know it's what you want and
i get it and i'm glad but i want you and you don't have a clue

and love is real, not fade away! (not fade away)
we're all still here, the same today!
looking for a miracle, dancing in the streets,
sharing bags of cocaine sharing all you've got to eat
children playing in the dirt will never know another way
and thirty years from now my daughter will wonder how they went astray
and it was too small, that part of me that wanted to stay,
i drank it, shimmied in the contact high the haze of illegal blues
got me down deep baby, deep.

forget the mile high club. some day i want to have sex at a concert.

and my shirtsleeves roll up and random gives me hope but
it wasn't too long ago i was crying and so much i can never change

because it will never, ever be the same
and you'll never, ever say my name.

but i want you. i want you so bad.

week six (a haiku)

i dig my fingers in dirt
she digs into you
my gaze betrays my smile

fear

is wondering if the Mexican you so
misguidedly made out with will
find a way to follow you home

is wondering if you'd really mind it too much
if he did

is wondering if he's friends with
the guy in the diner smiling at you

is wondering if you'd kiss him, too.

climax/detroit

i was gone
for good and good and gone
and wrong, so very wrong
and bone-tired.
a thin film of firesmoke
interferes with what you see here
and i can't count the tears
anymore, but they surprised me.
i don't know who or what they're for
because i should have so much
but i drove too fast
i got yelled at
i lost it
i think i lost it

i think i lost it all.

despondent response

mist covers everything and
anything and i'm always shouting
yes at the top of my lungs but i'd like to
be just myself for a few moments
especially now

yesterday i didn't wait in the gray
of the parking lot
under a mardi gras decked tree
ruined by some sort of facade
easily

would you really change the
rain? you think you're so
observant, so poetic, so edgy
not even close, baby, and i am just as
gorgeous as you see

unwelcome

if my shoes slip,
i'll trip.
and i pretend to strip
for strange lips
against mine and this time,
it's fine.
no threats from a previous since lost claim.
you fade
day after day and i
don't want to wait and see
but something
is telling me that you might
need
but i can't tell you if i care
and so i twist my hair
practice backbends, breathe in the salty air
look up instead of towards the ground
and i'd like to lift you, too.

up here, it's sort of quiet.

you'd like it.

temperance

when your red boots hurt your feet
and frosting sounds so sweet
but you're still blinking tears in the sun,
i'll come, buy you new gold wings
and shiny things
(but nothing can compete with your hair)
and our escape tonight made the great escape,
like the wind under superman's cape
(no capes, darling!)
and you're smarter than that.
it will all pass.

eclipse

i want a tiny white crescent tattooed on my palm.
i want to remind myself every single day
that so very much is so very temporary.

i want to remember that i am only mortal,
that no venom will heal my heart if i let it stop beating

the sunny days come faster now,
snowdrops and crocuses poke out of the ground,
and i can sing as loud
as i goddamn please
and the stars hear me
and shine proud.

we none of us can leave this world alive
so i will not try (to die, a lie)
but i will (to live, to give, to love)
become
something for the moon
to be proud of.

carmen lena bridget tibby

our mothers are still breathing
and it's you that i truly cannot breathe without
the only one i know like the back of my hand.

for a while, i think i forgot to be grateful for you
and i am very sorry about that
since, in the end, you knew
and you are everything i should be grateful to

we are only us.
it is so much more than enough.
it is something i can truly, truly trust.

you broke me

please don't forget it
even when i create such a semblance of normal.

i can see land from here
where we're treading water together, sort of
but you can't see the end.
i'd stay and fight the sharks with you
(we're still both bleeding)
but you want me to leave so very badly
couldn't stand if they tore me apart
that you'll drown me to wrestle them alone.
it doesn't matter who gets the better bargain here.

i will chase those flowers downstream to the sea
the further i get, the less i'll look back
maybe you regret that.

the only silver lining i see
is that i can't wait to wash
that metaphorical lipstick stain
from your metaphorical mug.
(in the meantime,
i monopolized pity and their love.
i am still rather sorry about that.)

whether the playlist ended or when i couldn't respond
you felt the silence, what you'd done
i am working on cauterizing this wound

maybe we should become arsonists together.

something i could have written in middle school

this is me
poised ready to jump headfirst into something new
since now, thanks to you
there's nothing to hold me back.
and i can leap without looking first
just like i said i should
in the essay they actually read.

there are strange faces here,
in the rain,
but i know that beer
will kill any lingering pain
and our reunions may be bitter,
but also bittersweet.

well, it still sucks

it's kind of like a black hole, yeah
not in my room but it's still pulling me in
and the real problem is kind of that i can't apologize,
no matter how i try
and it just became so strikingly clear that they lie
when they say "what you don't know can't hurt you"
because that is all that's hurting me,
isn't it?
i played the prophet and freaked myself out but
i have never wished so strongly that i was wrong.

ilr (still)

all of the good washcloths are gone
and i'm breaking bread
with a candle burning at both ends
and whether or not i wear mascara today
isn't going to change anything, anyways.

three words: nauseous, anxious, depressed
three more: fuck my life

i guess there's only so long
you can stretch out along
a sedately flowing stream
and believe in a dream.
(no hopes and nightmares)
how could you possibly, possibly think
you could make me not care?

i want to tell you so much, still
but you wouldn't hear it
or pretend not to so instead
i'm going to wait for the day when i can eat,
not cry, and it is a mean feat.
and maybe by then i can apologize with
a straight face and you will believe me enough
to believe in me again.

snowday in March? are you kidding me?

missing back stage hand whispers font too small
playing hard to get over it and I'm going to pay the 905
i painted it black before I curled up and tried to see past
fingerprints and mirrored glass and tried to breathe through
arteries that turned into veins and forgot to tell me.
and then my eyes dripped only a few tears and left me weak and shaking.
too often this week i was weak and shaking.
no release.

I'm dragging my bootheels, not wandering or wondering or seeking the right lyrics. they're coming to me, perfectly, like may or come what may. and while it's true that i haven't gotten anywhere near what i asked for, gravitation didn't let me down because flying and love complete each other (heartbreaker without a loving maid, strawberry fields without penny lane) in a way and i am not worried about my future, only you, only yours, because i cannot look into it and see myself in any conceivable way because i am terrified, terrified you will leave me this way, without your sweet love. tell me it's not true if it's not true. but don't lie to save me.

door

(this is a really, really old poem i found in a pile of papers while cleaning out my closet. i kind of wanted to trash it, but you should never throw away anything you write, and then i realized it had some slant rhymes and wasn't that terrible. so i figured i'd just post it and then ditch the paper. and now this preamble is longer than the poem.)

open on command
locks mean nothing
to battering rams
of words
sit and stare outside
windows are fake
teasing with truth
(with life)
it is only through doors
that we live

isabella

beautiful girl, i loved you
and the way you almost never spoke a word
but everything you said was lasting poetry
and keeps guarded in a certain corner of my mind

darling boy, i love you too
and the choices you make tonight are not
(not)
that important, i promise
parent/guardian mother i promise too
that i am not
(not)
that far gone my boat is still afloat
in this harbor not
(not)
sailing away yet
but see this escape i found is one-way only i
guess so some things don't matter i
guess? i guess i'm doing some
body wrong i
guess these scars match his bruises i
hope because i wanted to i
guess i started to try i
guess? that the moments i replay day
after day darken not brighten i
guess?

mailboxes

he bought a pair of crisp new jeans
and shaved his face clean
just for the occasion
of going home

where horses still flickered in the fields
where the long road stretched above and beyond
the pounded dirt driveway
not so far from those trails of Vietnam

maybe he was trying to tell us
that we can escape blood rain and explosions
because she still had all her clothes on

but it's easier to believe
he wanted nothing of the kind
since genocide
is still genocide
and nobody can hide

it's maize getem for you

i hope that vanilla scent reminds you,
because you're honey-coated and it lingers.
and i brush my fingers
to my lips and drift

off beyond where i forget to remember
where i wish you could join me
where solipsistic apathy
melts to joyous abandon
and i can't force that anymore
because nothing is moving
(i couldn't force it before,
either, but that was soothing)
and i wonder what we'll be doing
years and years and years
from now

if i'll ever have the courage to speak aloud.

static silence

and the pain slowly cedes to fury
an unnatural throbbing clouded out by almost rage
bloody teeth, bite-your-lip bitter
accident.
driving away from everything i want
and the people who have it
(clearly, geography has failed me)

your futures are cold and certain
etched in stone and twined together
like statues of Siamese kittens
or suits of shining armour standing
hand in metal hand

(amazing grace, how strong the faith
that held a woman free
i once stood tall, but now, i fall
was stone but now i bleed)

to lose jewelry and hope in the same
innocent breath that speaks words of such
unintentional cruelty
unrequited love
ill-advised confessions
exaggerated distress
words which almost make it fair
but they won't change the truth,
or even the dare.

third wheel central, y'all (or, "no air")

well, you know.
when you ain't there
and i can't help but care
and so you understand the gaze
while i remember those days
the unknowing, rowing upstream
no paddle
because everything hinged
on uncertainty and melted clocks and who was the one to take forty knocks down for the count and the bout all over end but dear lord, why?
one if by land,
two if by sea,
three if you're all that will matter to me.
it's nothing less than truth.
while love bleeds and you're begging god, please, down on your knees
pray, people stay, i'm weak, meek, but not broken. unspoken but not loose. this is not a tenuous break but rather, only a hypothetical mistake and i am falling into everything, everything because i want it enough. just a light, feather touch and you are not an angel, but close (enough) because this is that oh-so-elusive third emotion, a wheel in my head turning with the sky (but pounding, pounding, still, pain thrill) and i will.
kiss me, i will wear that dress, woven from stars, we will be who we are. as a vague description of the vagues, pounding like my head! remember? remember the clear, the cold, so cold and it was all, all okay.
but we go numb only briefly, then back to loving so much it hurts me so, and nothing i can do.
rhythm, rock me slowly. come home like the waves.

hi riley

i haven't written lately
because i've had nothing to say
but you wanted me to write a poem
so i wrote one anyway.

twilight - not what I intended to write

I'll mostly be watching you.
Be careful, because you might break.
I promise to protect as I love,
and you promise to keep fighting fate.

If I dazzle you, you dazzle me.
Please, relax your charm.
We're locked in a passion of Shakespearean fools.
I won't let you leave my arms.

You're so willing and I'm so afraid,
fighting my nature as you lie in your grave.
I'm selfish, breathless, thirsty, sick,
and you're trusting, stupid, lovely, bit.

I'm ready, and you're terrified.
(Is this ringing any bells?
When you whispered always,
you didn't say in hell.)

so i was "cleaning my room" and found a bunch of hilarious acrostic poems written by me, annie, and riley in a study hall in tenth grade.

(by me, "wow")
Worldly Eugene had a thing for messing with
Orangutans. one day they came and took him a
Way, nobody was the same.

(by annie, "wow")
Why couldn't they eat fish in red aprons? (the fish.)
Othello probably died.
Withered hamburgers were served and eaten to-day.

(by riley, "wow")
Where oh where is my little monkey gone? this
Obnoxious sister is eating my toe. 1)
Why am I so concerned and 2) "little monkey" is the dirtiest phrase i've ever heard

(by annie, "celebrate")
Cake was
Eaten.
Lots of cake was
Eaten.
Bring more cake
Right now.
As soon as possible,
Take
Ears.

(by me, "partay")
Please
Assume
Responsibility.
Take
Away
Yetis.

(by riley, "cake spoon")
Colin
Annie
Kerri and
Ed
Saw
Purple
Orangutans
On
Norbert.

and that concludes our flashback for the day! I hope you enjoyed it!

on cake and eating it

i think i figured it out. nobody can have it all. to be blunt, it's true. you know how they say, oh, well, that perfect person is probably miserable?
think about it.
you can't look like Prince Eric, have the best friends ever, be wicked talented, enjoy a technical gap year, and feel really connected to all those best friends all the time.
you can't have an amazing boyfriend, be good at math, be cute, have a lead, and get into college.
you can't get into college, be good at math, have an amazing girlfriend, be amazing, and have the most basic part of your self be right.
you can't get into college, be an amazing writer, get 107s, have shiny hair, and express your devotion.

you can have sunshine and rain, pleasure and pain, poetry and photographs. you can cry or laugh.
optimism, like love, is a battlefield, or a shield, and you know that i don't fade (though i love grey). maybe i've been all wrong for years too long and only just now am coming to the conclusion of imperfection?
no, that isn't right. be thankful for what you do have? no, because sometimes it's almost impossible.
i don't know?
how's that for a life philosophy, shrug off possibility, dare to dance with chance, and when he steps on your feet, laugh it off. you know you can't win!
pick and choose, because i'm thinking, sometimes, you gotta lose.
just be ready? i don't know.

blast

the truth is, mimosas smell funny
but i wouldn't have cared.
and those pictures probably look weird,
but it's okay.

so as i set out into the night
still strong and only half-wrong
don't turn away if you should be chasing me,
trying to prove that 86 proof,
silver flutes, playing mute
are all that matter to you.

i know that isn't true.

so smile, kid. i don't mind.