trying desperately to make my apartment look put-together. Stumbling through all my boxes and various treasures that I packed up over two months ago..
You: the room I run to during
highest point during
I frequent after
I am a river slow-winding its way to the
your lips taste of
had to delete these poems. thinking of entering them in a contest
I’m writing cheesy things much too often because I am a teenage-girl in February. Hopeless.
her voice is cream over
coffee, made unbitter
eyes, twin snake-bites
the most unfortunate of
do not touch
do not feed
her teeth are the greediness
of bear traps,
she is lonely enough
to never let go.
Here’s the thing about gossip and why I don’t like it. It’s like I was out dancing in the rain for three hours and you’re telling everyone I broke into the pool to swim when (let’s get real here) I haven’t been near a public swimming facility in years. I’m ashamed that misplaced verbosity can make me feel anything, even anger.
Even if I could separate out the ruthless from the ones who just don’t care, I’d still be left wondering whether there was any fundamental difference between the two.
It’s raining and I wish I was outside wandering the streets of Fargo for an unbiased shoulder to rant to instead of sitting on the kitchen floor trying to write things.
oh mannn tonight killed my writer’s block. good. I don’t care about pain and betrayal if it gives me something to pour into the ink.
(wrote this at 5-6 AM but forgot to post it so posting it now)
I wish that youtube had music with no videos sometimes. That’s the way I like to consume it.
In other news, this is devastatingly relevant.
Oh HEY I got accepted into the Northern Eclecta, which is a journal NDSU puts out every year with creative submissions… I am happy. This next poem isn’t the one that got accepted. I just wrote this today actually.
would you cut out
the rotting parts of your
past as if it were a slightly-too-old
there have been times
when I wished for
still, decay is good for the ink
in a way that easy-to-consume
so I leave myself inelegant I leave myself
another year of tangled half-brilliance
another year of enough imperfection
to blind someone
a limping heart is not necessarily a
it is possible to be greedily
broken. to be fascinated instead of
frightened by all the
dead cats that one’s curiosity has bred
for some, pulse-less tabbies take on new names
with each stage of
the benefits of
something random… I don’t know why, but going to church straight up kills my writers block… I always end up writing something there.
what’s your name?
what do you study?
do you have a list of socially acceptable
hobbies you repeat on days like these
when people want to know who you are?
are you comfortable with who you
have you ever spilled your guts
to someone who gave them away
for free? (because if so, that’s bullshit,
even kidneys go for thousands)
do you believe in God and if so does yours
hate the ones who don’t?
do you listen to your friends when they
tell you who you shouldn’t enjoy the company of?
would you turn me down if I
asked you to dance?
One day my sorority told us to think up some questions to ask the new girls. My index card was too small to fit everything. Also, mine were not the kinds of questions most of them had. I am not in a sorority anymore.