Like
(12.11.24)1
Like today I went to the bench.
And there were all the usual trampled cigarette butts but also
this time a broken blue flosser and it felt like some sick euphemism for sharing a teal spirit in the dark. I keep looking behind us because I’m a goody-two-shoes
and your eyes are closed and soul is playing so you’re tapping your foot against the iron arm, twisting your head around in my lap. The wind makes shapes
from your smoke. I try to catch them with my mouth.
Can we talk it out? I have no more metaphors left.
(1.1.24)
Like three nights before,
when you had papers due and I was rereading
Fangirl.
So we sat in the library side by
side quietly and after a while,
without speaking, you reached over and
took my hand and then went back to writing your essay,
now
one-handed. Impaired and grinning about it.
I wrote these poems almost two years ago in my desperate longing for someone I now want nothing to do with!!! But they are sister poems and they were real and true. I love them and they deserve a place on this page, if it is to be a true depiction of my writing. Some of my favorite autobiographical work, poetry or not.