Sep 15

BestFriend

Today you texted me.
I missed you.

Did you miss me as much?
You asked, “what happened to us?”
and I smiled, because you made it sound like
we were boyfriend and girlfriend.
I said something like, “I don’t know. I tried.”
I’m still waiting on a reply.

You were my best friend.
Do you remember the time
we got pringles and twix
and ate and watched movies
and we danced around my room
and talked and talked
and giggled our hearts out
and I felt like I had the bestest friend in the whole world.

We traded our scrunchies:
my pink velvet
for your black matte.

And we met at summer camp!
Of all the places,
summer camp.
We were the perfect best friends there had ever been.
We were invincible.

But I guess things can’t always last forever.

 
Sep 03

carrie and louise, louise and carrie; cont.

Aug 28

carrie and louise, louise and carrie

there are two of them. louise and carrie.
i made them because there are certain things i cannot do.
like rocking an e.t. shirt from the 80s. 

i like to imagine louise as lighthearted and innocent.
she reminds me of lavender.
she is radiant and she always does her very best.
everyone loves her.

carrie, on the other hand, is more of a winter person.
she is the type who enjoys the way the cold air hits your skin,
before taking all of the feeling in your face
and dragging it down to the cold cement 
which leaves you with a rough, recently-slapped look about you.

carrie would try to cast spells.
so would louise.

casting spells is probably the only thing they have in common,
but even then they are completely opposite.

louise would cast a spell to make her flowers grow,
and for her friends to be happier.
Jan 16

the dying connection between us


I’m on one end of the phone,

waiting for you to say something,

anything.
but I have a bad feeling

that you aren’t planning on it,

or even thinking about it.
the last time you did say something

was one or two months ago,

but it feels like it’s been a lifetime.
I remember it because you told me

that my eyelashes were pretty.

it made me blush, a rare emotion on my face.
I miss the way we used to be.

we still share things with each other,

but it isn’t the same.
now you don’t ever get too close to me,

and when you leave me, I’m alone in the dust again,

wondering if you were aware of the silent space between us.
for some reason that I still have yet to figure out,

you started to get nervous

and worried, which made me tense.
I wonder if you know how much you’re hurting me.
Dec 12

she knocked me out

he is like the rise of the sun
on a soon-to-be-hot summer's day.

she is like the bug that won't stop
flying around your ear.

do they work because the bugs
thrive in summer?

he is the cave art painted a long time ago;
mysterious and full of secrets.

she is like the paleolithic era humans
that killed off many animals.

do they work because those humans
painted the cave art?

where do I fit in this
topsy-turvy "connection"?

I know it is somewhere, but I am 
struggling to find out where exactly it is.

and what am I; if he is like a sunrise and cave art,
and she is like a bug and a serial killer?

am I the animal, slowly being
killed off?

or am I something completely different,
the rainstorm that washes everything clean and new?

the rainstorm that makes others cold
and miserable?
Nov 28

interest in the pig snorts



you think my hair is strange,
just because it isn’t straight and regular.
you think my nose is too wide,
and long,
and not proportioned in any direction it goes.
you think my eyes are plain
and not interesting,
not in the slightest.
you think
that my laugh sounds like a pig snorting.
but I think that my hair is good hair.
I think that my nose isn’t too wide or long.
I don’t think my eyes are plain.
they’re not stunning,
but that doesn’t mean they’re ugly.
and I don’t care if I sometimes snort when I laugh,
because at least I’m enjoying myself when I’m laughing.
and you may never take the slightest bit of interest in me,
might always think I’m butt-ugly,
might always think of me as
the girl who has too much confidence.
but I could stop investing my time in you,
faster than a quick snap of the fingers.
and you sure don’t seem
to need me in your life.
Audio download:
12.11.17.PigSnorts.mp3
Nov 11

you destroy my morals

Before you read this, I would like to say that I wrote this during a very fast thought stream and it is very rough and could be a little hard to follow.

Why can't I be myself around you?

Whenever you start talking, my ideas shut down and I get tongue-tied.

You are the cat who has caught my tongue.

I want to tell you that this is what's happening, right now, in this very world!  Stop saying that! We can do anything we want to. You have to stop holding us back.

A couple times I've gotten close to telling you to stop. I interrupted you and said that girls can wear whatever they want. And you said, "Yeah, but..." and continued on. So I shut down. 

And all the other girls think you're so great, but I really don't think that sometimes. What if you hold me back? I can't let that happen. 
Nov 11

surrealism poem #2

If this world
were gone
and done
(no more life-supporting floating sphere)

Then we would have gone
to a coffee shop. No no no no no,
I do not know where we would
find it, but it would be there.

Therefore, we could watch
the light show
snacking on snookies
in the glorious company we give to each other.


 
Nov 11

surrealism poem #1

If you
and I
were the only people left
in this crazy world

Then we
would always stay friends.
We would talk about
normal (but strange) things.

Therefore we would get
to know each other.
And bask in the light
of each other's company.
 
Nov 11

cloudy haze

I don't know who I am.

Right now I'm here, in this
place with four walls,
that are currently enclosing on me.

Just a minute ago I was
with you, on the dance
floor, in a cloudy haze.

And soon this will be over
too, and then I will be
back where I started,

only to grind my brain
with numbers and to force
myself to write a 

structured paragraph.
the definition of a
living nightmare.

I don't know who I am.

I'm not sure if
my name is really mine,
or if the place where I

sleep at night screams
my personality, if I even
have one.

I don't know who I am.



 

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