waltzing through the forest of juxtapositions

I alternate between writing these super happy nostalgic poems, and psychotic creepy ones.
this first one is going to make you sick but it was fun to write.  Also it is very inaccurate.  I was a tomboy when I was a kid. I got into fights with boys.

 example number 1

Elementary, My Dear

I am reduced
to grade-school levels of
puppy love

check yes or no
crayon hearts on the wall
no one around to
make me scrub them off

give me a dandelion and
I will write about it
in my diary,
hide the key under my mattress

let’s build a blanket fort

let’s climb a tree
while they chant the spelling
that makes us blush
K-I-S-S-I-N-G

let’s drink milkshakes
from the same glass,
then make our parents pay for them
when they tell us we’re
too young to date

compare that with this,
—————–
 example number two

Manners

 

she has a platter
and a glint in her eye
little miss fifties housewife
little miss fanged-doily
her voice is smooth
(try my patience!
or
try my patients!)
just what or who is she
offering you?
The slice is
pepto-bismol pink
you say to yourself,
“this looks ghastly,
but I mustn’t be impolite.”
she is ready
she is smiling
she hands you a fork
——–
I had a good talk with my friend yesterday.  He’s in treatment for depression in Houston, shout-out to someone he met there who supposedly reads my blog: Emily A. L.   emily? emily? are you out there???? thanks for reading 🙂
I was talking to my brother last night and it’s kind of sad when you’re surprised to see someone happy.   I haven’t seen him happy since before I had my mental breakdown.
Sometimes I get these horrible flashbacks of the way his face looked when he was in absolute misery
because of me.
That’s actually the one reason I regret well… what happened last year.  All the hell it put him through.  And my parents, grandparents, and cousins.  I also regret how public, and facebook-documented it all was.