Man, my memory is really awful
Like
When I lost my keys that day
Or
When I though it was yesterday
And
How I forgot to write for a week
Man, my memory is really awful
Like
When I forgot to check my texts
Or
When I forgot that test was tomorrow
And
How I forgot to remember to care
21.4.09
Monday, April 20, 2009
Not exactly about how
‘sense’ is spelled ‘since’
but more about how
you left your red Mountain Dew
in my car today, and I
almost put it in your mailbox
but I was afraid of the cat that might
think I’m its best friend again
giving me a
guilt trip.
Not quite like how you
ask me weird questions
that I can barely answer, but
more like memories we shared,
enjoying each other like
every day was just another day
when in reality it was a dream,
but I was too afraid to open my eyes
because I knew it would
stop.
Maybe sort of like how
your friends are dramatic,
leading each other down the wrong paths
while we watch, I amazed,
but closer to how I
seem to hang on your every text
because I love it when you talk to me
and yet it all seems to be
inconsistent, unusual, unfair, and unavoidable
at the same time, but irreparable
and spectacular.
Not only about that
one time you dressed up like a hooker,
but that time that we talked for an hour
neither of us wanting to hang up,
and then you texted me your secret
that I wasn’t allowed
to tell, and we still
haven’t told, between smiles and
sex’ms, and occasionally
a discussion on
pre menstrual tennis balls.
Not precisely, but similar to
when you rearrange your room
and I try to help but instead I
epic fail,
yet maybe closer to how
you can control how I feel about
myself just by saying
one comment, one thing,
and completely swaying my
confidence.
Like that one time
that you came to my house
crying, crying like I had never seen
anyone cry before,
unable to let things go
because of the pain,
because of her stabbing slowly into you,
and all I could do to help
was hold you,
but that’s all I really needed
to do.
‘sense’ is spelled ‘since’
but more about how
you left your red Mountain Dew
in my car today, and I
almost put it in your mailbox
but I was afraid of the cat that might
think I’m its best friend again
giving me a
guilt trip.
Not quite like how you
ask me weird questions
that I can barely answer, but
more like memories we shared,
enjoying each other like
every day was just another day
when in reality it was a dream,
but I was too afraid to open my eyes
because I knew it would
stop.
Maybe sort of like how
your friends are dramatic,
leading each other down the wrong paths
while we watch, I amazed,
but closer to how I
seem to hang on your every text
because I love it when you talk to me
and yet it all seems to be
inconsistent, unusual, unfair, and unavoidable
at the same time, but irreparable
and spectacular.
Not only about that
one time you dressed up like a hooker,
but that time that we talked for an hour
neither of us wanting to hang up,
and then you texted me your secret
that I wasn’t allowed
to tell, and we still
haven’t told, between smiles and
sex’ms, and occasionally
a discussion on
pre menstrual tennis balls.
Not precisely, but similar to
when you rearrange your room
and I try to help but instead I
epic fail,
yet maybe closer to how
you can control how I feel about
myself just by saying
one comment, one thing,
and completely swaying my
confidence.
Like that one time
that you came to my house
crying, crying like I had never seen
anyone cry before,
unable to let things go
because of the pain,
because of her stabbing slowly into you,
and all I could do to help
was hold you,
but that’s all I really needed
to do.
13.4.09
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I spent four hours at the airport waiting for someone who I could never greet.
I knew that they wouldn’t – they wore the same face, but they had a new crowd to run with.
I watched them for a while, recalling smiles, memorizing happiness and jokes.
I didn’t think it was fair, to be sitting there, but I guess it doesn’t matter in the end.
I spent thirty minutes on the highway trying not to hit the medians.
As each overpass came, I observed my lane, afraid for the future of me.
It wasn’t hard to drive; the lights were fine, and I could see quite well.
I just felt like I was slowly convincing myself to end, bloodily and quickly, like that.
I spent twenty minutes in my bed controlling my breathing and sound.
With a house so involved and so small and so loving, it was hard to get alone.
When the dark finally came it held no solace, like I had hoped for so long that it would.
Finally, I slept, tired, defeated, and lonely as hell in my room.
I spent five seconds in third hour, begging myself to not cry.
It was harder than thought, and my voice cracked a little, but I thought I did pretty well.
It was mostly when I realized that no one really supported this decision I’d made.
I know it’s my fault, and that I’m the problem, but very quickly I felt like an outcast.
It took just a second in my car for me to ruin my day.
I just can’t process the pain in my body that steals my happy away.
You told me what I already knew, and you blamed me for craving the end.
I didn’t say anything – what could I say? – as I crumpled into my mistake.
I knew that they wouldn’t – they wore the same face, but they had a new crowd to run with.
I watched them for a while, recalling smiles, memorizing happiness and jokes.
I didn’t think it was fair, to be sitting there, but I guess it doesn’t matter in the end.
I spent thirty minutes on the highway trying not to hit the medians.
As each overpass came, I observed my lane, afraid for the future of me.
It wasn’t hard to drive; the lights were fine, and I could see quite well.
I just felt like I was slowly convincing myself to end, bloodily and quickly, like that.
I spent twenty minutes in my bed controlling my breathing and sound.
With a house so involved and so small and so loving, it was hard to get alone.
When the dark finally came it held no solace, like I had hoped for so long that it would.
Finally, I slept, tired, defeated, and lonely as hell in my room.
I spent five seconds in third hour, begging myself to not cry.
It was harder than thought, and my voice cracked a little, but I thought I did pretty well.
It was mostly when I realized that no one really supported this decision I’d made.
I know it’s my fault, and that I’m the problem, but very quickly I felt like an outcast.
It took just a second in my car for me to ruin my day.
I just can’t process the pain in my body that steals my happy away.
You told me what I already knew, and you blamed me for craving the end.
I didn’t say anything – what could I say? – as I crumpled into my mistake.
9.4.09
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Agreeable and kind, always on time
Never prone to excessive frowning
Every reason to like, with a few ‘sad days’
Why not? Friends are a gift
Fluorescent shirts, eloquent speech
Another reason to smile in the morning
Charming and amusing, adorably inquiring
Eccentric, and a singer to boot
Fatigue means nothing – talk for hours
Lanky and laughing and other ‘l’ things
Always a reason to grin; at least smile
Taken from me, but never too far
Tenacious and bold, the person to lean on
Every attention focused, without distraction
Rapturous, but I doubt very serious
Yet I love the attention, and to give it, too
Morosely beautiful, four laughs in a row
Youthful but wise, no gullibility
Barely able to contain a grin
Everlasting and valuable, curious and smiling
Sustaining when sad, uplifting when tired
There’s never a reason not to enjoy
Intensely supreme, always witty
Enough could never be enough - fun
Never prone to excessive frowning
Every reason to like, with a few ‘sad days’
Why not? Friends are a gift
Fluorescent shirts, eloquent speech
Another reason to smile in the morning
Charming and amusing, adorably inquiring
Eccentric, and a singer to boot
Fatigue means nothing – talk for hours
Lanky and laughing and other ‘l’ things
Always a reason to grin; at least smile
Taken from me, but never too far
Tenacious and bold, the person to lean on
Every attention focused, without distraction
Rapturous, but I doubt very serious
Yet I love the attention, and to give it, too
Morosely beautiful, four laughs in a row
Youthful but wise, no gullibility
Barely able to contain a grin
Everlasting and valuable, curious and smiling
Sustaining when sad, uplifting when tired
There’s never a reason not to enjoy
Intensely supreme, always witty
Enough could never be enough - fun
6.4.09
Saturday, April 4, 2009
I think they’re out to kill me
Four times – in a row.
It isn’t necessarily fair to blame them
And I’ll be gone before they know.
I think she wants to punish me
Vengeance isn’t my game
I lie awake for hours
But it never will be the same
I think he’s trying to avoid me
My whining and my sighs
It’s always fun, hanging out
But, lately, it’s hard to meet his eyes
I think he’s very annoyed by me
I probably would be, too
But what would we really make of it
If a stranger was whispering to you?
I think she thinks I’m angry
Hateful, mean, whatever else is said
It’s not really that I hate her
Just can’t control what’s in my head
I think she thinks I’m degenerative
And I think it makes her sad
But I don’t want to look at my worst nightmare
I don’t think that I’ve been bad
I think he knows I’m whispering
He probably thinks I’m longing
Truly I just don’t understand
How quickly she started belonging
Four times – in a row.
It isn’t necessarily fair to blame them
And I’ll be gone before they know.
I think she wants to punish me
Vengeance isn’t my game
I lie awake for hours
But it never will be the same
I think he’s trying to avoid me
My whining and my sighs
It’s always fun, hanging out
But, lately, it’s hard to meet his eyes
I think he’s very annoyed by me
I probably would be, too
But what would we really make of it
If a stranger was whispering to you?
I think she thinks I’m angry
Hateful, mean, whatever else is said
It’s not really that I hate her
Just can’t control what’s in my head
I think she thinks I’m degenerative
And I think it makes her sad
But I don’t want to look at my worst nightmare
I don’t think that I’ve been bad
I think he knows I’m whispering
He probably thinks I’m longing
Truly I just don’t understand
How quickly she started belonging
3.4.09
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Shivering all the time
Directly to my core
Consistently cold within
In a state of freezing
Shuddering constantly
Never realizing the source
Goosebumps lining my skin
Embracing every warmth
Not being metaphorical
Just being rather chilled
Feels like I’m always trembling
Can’t wait to be warm
Directly to my core
Consistently cold within
In a state of freezing
Shuddering constantly
Never realizing the source
Goosebumps lining my skin
Embracing every warmth
Not being metaphorical
Just being rather chilled
Feels like I’m always trembling
Can’t wait to be warm
1.4.09
Monday, March 30, 2009
I kept putting the wrong date on my papers
I guess I forgot what day it was, today
Ever since yesterday, I feel like I’m dreaming
The door isn’t really ripped off its hinges
My mother isn’t really crying, really afraid
My step-dad isn’t really crazy, tearing our
House apart, which isn’t actually torn apart
If the door was where it was, now it would
Seem like it had never really happened
Except for the melted, rubbery tire marks
On our driveway, from where he was angry
And the undercooked chicken he couldn’t finish
Because he was too busy swearing in front
Of my sisters, dropping f-bombs and goddamns
And shits and asses and regrets
And I really wish it hadn’t happened, and
That all those tears weren’t shed, and
That all that emotion wasn’t spent in this home
To tear us apart, bit by bit, so that we
No longer felt like we were at home
And we couldn’t go home because a
Half-abusive stranger was inside
Like refugees, we had to flee
Into a room, a house, a mindset
A fantasy where it was a life to be envied
Instead of a family to pity and empathize
Ever since yesterday, I feel like I’m dreaming
I guess I forgot what day it was, today
I kept putting the wrong date on my papers
When it’s really the day after the first tragedy
Of the end.
I guess I forgot what day it was, today
Ever since yesterday, I feel like I’m dreaming
The door isn’t really ripped off its hinges
My mother isn’t really crying, really afraid
My step-dad isn’t really crazy, tearing our
House apart, which isn’t actually torn apart
If the door was where it was, now it would
Seem like it had never really happened
Except for the melted, rubbery tire marks
On our driveway, from where he was angry
And the undercooked chicken he couldn’t finish
Because he was too busy swearing in front
Of my sisters, dropping f-bombs and goddamns
And shits and asses and regrets
And I really wish it hadn’t happened, and
That all those tears weren’t shed, and
That all that emotion wasn’t spent in this home
To tear us apart, bit by bit, so that we
No longer felt like we were at home
And we couldn’t go home because a
Half-abusive stranger was inside
Like refugees, we had to flee
Into a room, a house, a mindset
A fantasy where it was a life to be envied
Instead of a family to pity and empathize
Ever since yesterday, I feel like I’m dreaming
I guess I forgot what day it was, today
I kept putting the wrong date on my papers
When it’s really the day after the first tragedy
Of the end.
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