February 2012
31 posts
Anonymous asked: No, you don't. Just via Tumblr and a mutual friend.
Anonymous asked: I know it's hard not to feel like that. Just please try. People suck, I know, but that's just how they are. You realize that everyone is going to bother you someway or another, but the trick is accepting it. I don't know the thoughts going on inside your mind making you feel disgusting, but I hope that one day they'll get better.
Anonymous asked: What's wrong?
today i [h]ate oatmeal, a yo-crunch, and spaghetti and meatballs, i’m a disgusting genderless fuck and i’m not worth the food i eat and i can’t hide between my bones because they’re covered with all this fucking skin
Anonymous asked: You're beautiful.
the middle of september
by the time i realized my dad should’ve died, we were farther uptown than central park.
it didn’t traumatize me. they replaced my stuffed animals. they rebuilt my apartment.
but i think skyscrapers will always be candles and i will always carry matches in my back pocket.
fragments i haven't been able to work into a poem
Lydia don’t look at me so hard.
I don’t get how things work, how gears turn, how people find each other, how the locomotion never stops.
You have to do things. You can’t just be a lump of nothing.
My self-loathing could fill a swimming pool.
where reluctance is eager and horny
No, the reason I can’t focus in Geometry is because I see C and the pomegranate boy just...
the summer she walked to the sun and back
it’s only been eight months but i’m already a little weirder and more antisocial than i was when we used to drink stolen vodka in your dad’s living room
everybody thought i was so cool when i was 13, or at least a little interesting, with a razor edge because i did things like steal vodka and drink it in your dad’s living room
and now the only thing i drink is kahlua and...
Poem for a Hunter
Not really sure what I want to tell you, H. I liked your fuzzy pink hat, your leather vest, your interesting ties. Only time I remember actually making eye contact was the second before you hugged me goodbye. You’re a very good hugger. Most people aren’t. They hold their chests as if they’re ashamed, let their arms flop like spaghetti. But your spine was like a ruler. You pressed your chest...
Beach Poem [II]
I’m going to dye my hair turquoise. I’m going to buy a green sweater every time a guy looks at me sideways [I already have fourteen]. I’m going to acquire a boyfriend who looks like Jamie Bell but prettier. I’m going to have a closet full of lingerie I’m going to have so many important things to say I’m going to grow to be sixteen feet tall.
I’m going to wear the same pair of pants every day ...
1 tag
happened again.
smelled fish while staring at georgia’s back at putney
heard the first bit of symphony no. 94 by haydn while trying to sleep
smelled fish walking home from my wretched history final
now: smelled eggs while standing in a shallow bit of the ocean with elena
in other news, i finally yawned the way esmé does [mouth closed, nostrils fluttering like wings]. i’ve wanted...
Beach Poem [I]
The water here is the color of blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers, the color that clung to my mouth after history class, after 41 minutes of staring at the doorway and hoping to catch a glimpse of your skinny back.
I saw my daughter’s toes curling like her arched spine. I don’t have a daughter, but if I did I would never make her take a history class. I’ve learned less from them than...
i’m not brave
pomegranate art class
i want to jump off the roof of my school
and not because i want to kill myself, but to kiss the air in the only way i know how and feel its icy lips tearing at my skin like piranhas clamoring for a bite
and the flavor of the air stained with gray river water, mist from leaking cracks in the sky washes away breath rushing from open mouths puckered like lies, slack from lack of caring i’ve...
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the year you were blue
the year you were blue, i was barely 13 and everybody says your teenage years are the best and everybody says that everybody’s lying but i’ve yet to see proof of either and
the year you were blue, i was barely 13 but that shouldn’t stop anyone from going out walking around making friends and the year i was barely 13, you had already decided who you were and queer musician writer...
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“There was a moth caught in the soapdish laminated in lye. Will you still...”
– “Gemini (Birthday Song)” by Why?
2 tags
A Poem for Ingrid
“I think everybody’s out there, getting to know each other,” you said chewing on cheese and crackers like it’s that easy
“Okay,” I sort of exhaled sounding high-pitched and nervous
You looked up for the first time and I wonder what you saw cause I’d felt kind of pretty that morning in a striped T-shirt but shorts made my legs look like fins, or something...
3 tags
haven’t had my period in like six weeks and i swear to god if i get it while i’m at the beach next week i will slaughter 100 cute little animals and throw them out to sea
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for dana [IV] or, Gemini
under a cut, not because it’s long, but because it’s weird.
I knew a Gemini once. Something wrong in his veins was killing him from the day he was born, June 12th. Twin brother whose name started with J, Jacob, maybe, or Jonathan, spelled Jonathon? Spelled Jon, spelled John, spelled Johnny, spelled Jim, Jimmy, Josh, Joey, Jared, Jake, Jeremy, Jsomething. Jem? Gemini named Jem.
The...
1 tag
blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms
only thing that blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms are roses in ceramic pots cracked at the bottom where they slipped through our butter-greasy fingers which aren’t clasped anymore like the back strap on my new swimsuit covered in flowers, flowers are the only things that bloom and bloom and bloom and bloom except for blue eyes in russia, we’ve never been to st. petersburg but i...
1 tag
I'm Sorry
The truth, though, is that the last time I held a bunch of roses I threw them in the trash, and most of my bruises are from volleyball, and I really don’t know where the scratches on my body are coming from, and I don’t know what Russia looks like, and I’ve never slept on my fire escape or kissed a nurse, and I don’t know shit about angels, and I sweat even more than I cry,...
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Pretty Words (Nothing)
I’ve been thinking lately. I don’t have anything (important) to say. At least I don’t think so. And if everything’s the same (before and after a poem) then there’s no point, is there? There’s no point if nothing changes. (Did I change you yet?) There’s no point in writing it all down if the memory feels like nothing, (everything feels like nothing), and the worst thing you can do is fit...
2 tags
an explanation
an explanation of this, because it makes no fucking sense.
oh god if you read this you must really love me. here we go.
title: this; or, this
“we played it on the moon in 1969” my music teacher said this once in class, about some song that i now can’t remember the name of.
“he has laura’s voice” the movie brick features nora zehetner as laura dannon, and she...
Last time I'll say it
i have a thing for fish eyes and i don’t know what that means either, it’s just the first thing i thought when i looked across the classroom and saw this Boy [capital B]
eye contact sucks but he wasn’t looking at me, so i could still breathe and then he turned and the words almost split from my lips
the Boy with the weak chin and the frayed brown hair and the neck that makes...
Dear girl on the subway,
dearmeat:
Sorry about shouldering you out of my way when I got on the train. I was the guy in the pinstripe suit on Downtown Crossing. When you’re in a rush you tend to forget your manners. Well, that’s the bullshit I tell myself so I don’t have to deal with people in public. Not that I was in much shape to be dealing with people. I had a glass (two bottles) of chardonnay to get myself to sleep...
Charlie
When I broke my right leg climbing trees, I stayed in the hospital for a week. A nurse named Charlie took care of me. My leg would scream in pain and he would soothe it, touching me with fingers as delicate as bird wings. If it stopped hurting enough so I could sleep, I dreamed of climbing trees with Charlie, holding hands as the wind blew through. He only ever touched my right leg, where the bone...
7 tags
A Poem About Getting Off
The edges of my thighs still feel like razors from clenching the shower head too tight and it’s true I was thinking about you when I came But I was also thinking about pornstars and being tied up and the girl who may or may not be the love of my life Her name is Sherry, by the way, and her hands felt nothing like yours as they gripped my hips and I fought my way through infinity.
What the fuck's an angel?
I am of the deep-seated belief that HUMANS are really angels whose wings have been cut off for daring to have human appetites, you know in terms of food and sex and art, and hatred for others who like food and sex and art.
I am of the deep-seated belief that HUMANS are really quite proud of their bare shoulder blades, the skin puckered where abstinence was forgotten
my uncle just arrived so i went to give him a hug and accidentally knocked over his pizza
then i burst into tears
there is something emotionally wrong with me