(p.s. august forever)
written in august of 2021
august is hot.
august is sticky;
it’s a slow trudge downhill the metaphorical year.
august is sleepy,
like plantation ladies on a wide porch fanning themselves and sipping iced tea.
august is the messy part of exfoliation,
a mess of dead skin and the
longing for a refreshed,
new feeling.
august is not knowing if you’re going to get there,
it’s being lost in a fog, dense and wet and indiscernible—
left and right and forward and back.
august is hard,
the newness of the year is
gone and the excitement for the next hasn’t arrived yet.
august feels inescapable,
a lazy acceptance
of all that is difficult and immutable
and compunctious.
august is that moment
in the bath when
the water gets to you and goes from
comforting to suffocating.
It’s the embodiment of perspiring
disguised as pacifying.
august is languid and dismal and
everything you need but never
what you want.
But mostly, august is over.
lat
My Poetry
i get the itch
when i’m bored
and alone
take my phone out
for fuel
indulge
in other’s work
to feel that tingling
sensation
rising higher
and higher
on my inner totem pole
i use my right hand
in a flurry
a frenzy
a self-indulgent exercise
throw my head back
as i finish
know i’ll be sedated
for a while
(i may as well be masturbating.)
Boys
you spin me around
mouth full of mint
brightly lit
ticklish
blurring lines like
hypocrites
*
you throw back your head
dramatically
I twirl, you grin
ecstatically
my courage is rewarded
impeccably
*
you lay beside me
platonically
arctic monkeys
in your bed
this is me
content
*
you lift up your shirt
a tiny whale
etched on your skin
waves crash behind us
we’re burning through the
summer
*
you called me
little lady
and I melted
in my boots
I used to be so silly
my little fantasy
*
you sit on a playground
holding me to you
nothing fake
between us
but the padding
on my chest
*
your hi-tops and teeth
were a brilliant white
never made me feel
embarrassed
for being
perhaps, too young
*
you bring my shaking body
to you
too many lights
too many bricks
too many bodies
in this space
*
you come to me
in green bubbles
shell rock digs into
my skin
pretending to work
pretending to sin
*
you count
23 faces
decide my words are the only ones
that count
demand I am bigger, while you are so small
I count
*
your cheek rests on leather
four in the morning
glazed over
brown eyes on mine
the drug in your blood
taking its time
*
you did nothing wrong
I climb onto the table
wrap around you as best I can
someone captures the moment
—forgive me, forgive me, forgive me—
of me being the best I can
*
your name was said
the air gone from my chest
my heart ceased to beat
the five seconds
I thought yours had
for good.
double standards
Growing up it was hot pink and lime green; anything from Justice or Limited Too.
Sparkles and Rhinestones—here, try this perfume…it’s called ‘Love Yourself’, but it will make him love you.
There’s dress code at school, but if you want to be noticed you need the skintight khakis from American Eagle, the collared shirts from Aeropostále.
Two hours every morning on your hair, pin straight or scrunched but never natural.
You haven’t hit puberty but put on a bra, wear deodorant, shave the invisible blonde hair on your legs—never let it get past stubble.
Be smart, but not a bookworm.
A ditz but carry a conversation.
Act like you don’t get what he’s implying.
Oh, you knew all along? Now you’re a tease—don’t do that.
Why are all of your friends guys? Don’t do that, don’t be a slut.
It doesn’t matter if the girls are mean, or don’t get your humor.
Why are all of your friends girls? You’re no fun, don’t be a goody-two-shoes.
If you aren’t friendly, you’re a prude.
If you are friendly, you want me.
If you don’t want me, you’re a tease. Why’d you do that? Don’t do that.
Your sleeves are cuffed, are you gay?
You’re wearing plaid, do you like girls?
I can see your nipples through your shirt, are you one of those radical feminist lesbians??
You never wear makeup, so you’re the butch one?
You always wear red lipstick, so you’re the femme one?
I thought she was gay cause she was hanging out with you.
It’s 2016, be whoever you want, wear whatever you want, do whoever you want.
We’re not here to judge. Just don’t stray from the trend.
circa 1212
I think of you when I’m driving.
when I clamber into shopping carts.
when my dreams take me (without consent) to pavilions in the mountains.
when the sun is taking its leave and the sky holds that modest mix of purple and blue you love[d] so much.
when songs come on that make everyone smile and sigh and make me search for the nearest cavern to bury my escaping brain into.
on nights that are too cold for my bare shoulders, and so I become numb. Numb from the cold or from the nerves I don’t know.
But my whole body is shaking as we lay on the concrete and I can’t believe that I exist in this moment, looking up at the stars, and I really should have worn a jacket cause it’s fucking cold but I have a feeling that it could be one hundred degrees and my hands would still be shaking because I know how this early morning ends and I told myself I was ready but now I can’t even feel my fingertips and I want it to be perfect but you and I are far from it. And I can picture those last thirty seconds in my mind as easily as snapping my fingers— the perfume I had on. The boots I was wearing. The look on your face. The feeling somewhere between my heart and stomach when…
I think of you when Florida’s winter finally rolls around and I venture out into the night without a jacket, snapping fingers that have no feeling left in them.
No Right
to feel this way
to waste away the day
to think of you
and sway
to dwell
on the words you might say
to send you away but
to want you to stay
to keep my feelings at bay
to scream on the freeway
to make my words a display
to downplay
all the foul play
to have a field day
to
run
away
to assume we were making any
headway
to wish I could redo
our day
in the café
to ever think that someday
we would both be
okay
the rocky timeline of a __ day relationship
yesterday
my fingers were slick against your wet skin
lips are slimy when it rains
rivulets of oil and sweat pollute our mouths
drink the water swirling on the asphalt
chug it with splendor
nothing tastes better
than the poison of a connection doomed to
plummet.
today
we both sit in boiling water
bubbles rising in my
gut
pop rocks reach
the acid in my stomach
I ricochet from
singing to screaming
I’m over the moon and
floating through the terrifying abyss of
a starless space.
tomorrow you’ll train your eyes on carpet. Why so shameful? I will feel my shoulders shrug in apathy, spit out the rehearsed words of disappointment and inevitability and circumstance. But I’m a July baby, I’ll fool no one. The whispers from the class before will prove that to me. I will stare at the nauseating brick wall and hope the prickling heat that enflames my chest and neck and ears and scalp and face doesn’t show. I will try and disappear into the floor and repress every fragile and hopeful thought I had. It will come back on you twice as hard, and I will leave you sitting in your car regretting every single thing that led you to this point, led you to me and far away from me. I will be stronger because of it and I will learn quickly to never give myself to someone like you.
but that’s tomorrow.
raspberries & sprite
Quiet down your capacity for love,
please.
It’s a beating reminder of
my incongruous mental state
the prospect of your distaste
the feeling of our fingers laced
the second best bed space
it was sweet in its frivolity
and the high from
acting how it pleased me
distracted from the
bitter aftertaste of insincerity.
perhaps jack & coke
is more appropriately penned
for an epic as anticlimactic
as ours.
I say over and over
till I’m blue in the wrist
I swear by
the lack of flowers
this will be the last I write.
Of lowered lids
and cheeky grins
of snarky jeers
and midnight fears
it was intoxicating
or I was inebriated
the empty contempt
held tight to your chest
let my head rest against
block out all the protests
you trace your fingers on my skin
I feel the poison sinking in
my humility got the best of me
and clinging tight to remaining dignity
convincing myself
that being around you
never made me dizzy
It was nice in theory.
Tampa
I assume you exist only to ruin friendships?
I was quenched
you thought you knew best
now I’m on the fence
always wearing a veil
wait for you to derail
fear you may be too frail
simple essences: a boy and a girl.
a flare for the radical
prone to sabbatical
forever impractical
seemingly scary
on the contrary,
perpetually weary
always the feminist
unless your heart’s in the mix
glad it could be fixed
constant resuscitation
bound by limitation
resort to manipulation
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?
I’m in a tailspin
needles under my skin
human pin cushion
nothing but a has-been
she’s singing your name
feel I’m going insane
bile rising with shame
there’s no one to blame
* * *
frozen in these conventional trappings
perpetual unravelling
we're fragments in space
reaching for a made-up place
where the air smells of caramel
I’ll be your Zooey Deschanel
your manic pixie dream girl
paradisical
A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
thirsty
Why am I to shame when you were doing the same?
There she is!
Sitting on a brim
Sticky and sweet like
My voice telling her she
Doesn’t know how to swim.
But she dips her toes in.
Murky yellow lights cut
Through the cotton darkness
The heels of her palms
Sorry sanctuary from the whispers
…
So she cranes her neck
Lets the sounds swirl on her tastebuds
Cold tile underneath their
Fingers, get a grip
Before you spill your secrets and
Stain the grout
Drums beat loud
In her head
Made from lead
They don’t like what’s been said
Her tongue is stuck to her teeth
Throat shriveling underneath
Never do what to me?
Now the voices in her head are far
Too loud
Take a sip, sip, sip
Try and drown them out
This new friend’s setting’s a desert
Not a sorbent spot left throughout
Because he’s sneaking all the water to her
Rocking back and forth with her—
Stop it!
Oh man, she’s losing it now
Chatterboxes,
Gather round
Bleary-eyes
Cracked lips
She’s parched
Though she took a sip
Want that wedge of lime?
That’s a diplomatic fruit right there.
Once the acid stops singing
Pass it down,
So your ears will keep ringing
It wasn’t in spite of him,
Ironic in light of him…
We voices aren’t kind
We’ll leave you with it
Churning in your stomach
But we’re not twisted
Amid the static
We’ll sell it while you
Stumble through the grass
Crack that edge of glass
Now she’s in a swan dive
At least we can say we tried.
What was it you said you’d never do to me?
Honorary.
Matchbox 20
you’re my Matchbox Twenty
because it’s been a Long Day
and it’s 3AM
and i Push you
until you remind me you’re Unwell
and i know you’re thinking,
She’s So Mean
but I’ll Believe You When you can deny
How Far We’ve Come
but If You’re Gone to the Real World
and If I Fall for those Bright Lights
You Won’t Be Mine
and i can Feel the Downfall
You’re So Real but
The Difference between you and i
is that
in These Hard Times
you have All Your Reasons
to just up and Leave
you wonder How Long
you have listen to Our Song on the Radio
and i want time to Stop
cause even though we Argue and you’re Angry
you’re my Crutch
sometimes All I Need
to not feel So Sad, So Lonely
and i’m the Disease on your Cold Soul
i guess we’ve been Black & White People
for far too long
it’s just that I Can’t Let You Go
vertigo
walking around
on solid ground
curling toes
among blades of grass
think I’ll rest for a bit
warm summer air
was stifling up there
inhale a bit of that
earthly smell
handfuls of soil
smeared on skin
dirty looks better
on a woman of sin
tops of trees
bob and sway with
after noon delight
it’s enticing, way up
there. no room for
wrongdoing
no perception of
inadequacy
and for a moment
(just a moment)
there’s a twinge of
regret. lusty for that
lightheaded
weightlessness
velvet embrace
creeping blush like
wildfire
bursting chest
endless repentance
she rubs her wrists in
reminiscence
bound to that
pedestal
captor and captive
the sickness
rolling waves of nausea
madness sets in like
slow drip drops on the
forehead
he screams at her
when he’s with her
he feels like he could die
and that would be
all right
she wants to stay
up there with him
far away
from the hard ground
below
but she knows she
has to go
she’ll hang on her
chains if she must
the birds will come for her
if she causes a scene
she screams
she can’t resist
she can’t go out like this
flightless
growing cold
star of the stage of
doing what she’s told
they’ll peck out her
eyes, her brains
her soul
but instead they go for
her chains
and she is flightless
no more.
Milkshakes at Midnight
there is a rotted spot
on my faux leather seat
left by you.
I remember being so excited
that we
could have moments like these,
special connections (established)
(memories) made on fake ostrich skin;
the energy between us so palpable
I thought they’d feel it in the drive-thru.
but our moments
never lasted too long-
did they?
they weren’t ever good enough
didn’t deserve a solid finish.
we sat in your drive way
taking things too far
letting our voices get the best of us
filters non-existent
we dug into one another
like a tweezer to the eye.
I let you let your emotions
get the best of you,
and you let me retaliate in
kind.
How kind.
I could feel your heart breaking
in the seat next to mine
but I let it go on
let you stain my faux leather seat
let you fill my happy place
with agony
I dug my fingernail
into the cuticle of my thumb
heard you on the verge of tears
asked myself the same questions
(sought out the same answers)
you were demanding of me.
I couldn't kiss you
couldn’t touch you
couldn’t use my words
to comfort you
because I wanted to hold your heart
but I was busy keeping mine together
It didn’t matter if I loved you
If I cried over you
If I’d die for you
I didn’t want to fuck you.
And that was all that mattered to you.
I’ve tried so hard
to forget that night
but not hard enough to
clean up that spot
left on my faux leather seat.
I was too proud
to clean up
another mess you made.
(Next time, you drive.)