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Literature Text
do you remember:
we were seven years old.
it was the year mom got us
identical haircuts and no one
could tell us apart. i found a
little brown mouse living in
the bushes off by the fence in
our back yard, a mouse with a
twisted leg and tragic eyes and
a smile so wide it made me
smile back. i bundled it up in my
skirt and smuggled it into our
bedroom. i made it a nest out of
feathers and whispered secrets
beneath my bed and fed it bits of
cheese. i named it kiffy and i told
it all the dreams i can no longer
recall, breathing insecurities into
its matted coat when you weren't
home. when you found me holding
it that afternoon, you pinky swore
you wouldn't tell. you did anyway,
and mom poured a tiny saucer of
rat poison while i cried and beat my
fists against her arm. i trusted you
and you killed my confidant.
do you remember:
it was the summer after sixth grade.
we bought our first bikinis at the
store where you bought your prom
dress sophomore year. mine was
pink and too small. yours was zebra
print and fit just fine. we ate so
many popsicles that our mouths
and cheeks were permanently
stained with sticky red. we
played poker on the deck in
the twilight and truth or dare
with our friends out on the beach
late at night when the only
lights came from the fireflies
we caught in jars only to set
free an hour later. then, in july,
i broke my leg falling out of
the tree in the park. you
signed my cast and then you
went to ride your bike with
marcy and swim at eddie's
house. when i needed
you most, you were gone,
long gone.
do you remember:
we were in the same science
class freshman year. the
teacher was balding, with
too-low v-neck sweaters and
untied shoes. his name was
mr. johnson or mr. jackson
or maybe something completely
different. you were always too
busy tracing the scars on your
hands and scribbling notes to the
boy in the back row, the one with
the blonde hair and sunburst eyes,
to pay attention. when we took the
final, you copied my answers word
for word, number for number,
period for period. the teacher told
me afterwards i was going to be
suspended for copying your work.
you never told him he was wrong.
do you remember:
melanie warster's sweet sixteen.
you curled my hair, and i spun
yours up into a golden crown.
you wore white and i wore purple,
and everyone told you you
were gorgeous but no one
told me the same thing. you
left me sitting with patty
francis and went to talk with
your friends. you disappeared
and i wanted to too. but then
aaron asked me if i wanted to
dance, and you came out during
a slow song with your hair
wild and your face haunted
and told me that we had to
go home. you lost your
virginity, and i was left
with chapped lips and
empty hands, all too innocent
in the shadow of your
newfound maturity.
do you remember:
last april, when the cherry
tree in our yard bloomed
for the first time in three
years, when i stole my first
kiss on the front porch
when you were sleeping.
i woke you up to tell you:
that he tasted like oranges.
that he smelled like the sun.
that i was head over heels
in love with him. you hugged
me and breathed against my
neck that you were just so
happy for me. i lay awake
all night, tracing his face
in the cracks across our
ceiling, smiling until it hurt.
two weeks later, i came home
and found him in your bed,
tracing the shape of your
breasts as you bent down
to kiss his stomach. you
told me you were sorry,
but you didn't stop sleeping
with him when i told you
he was mine.
they all told stories about you.
hundreds of stories. about
how you knocked out your
front teeth roller skating
in fifth grade. about how
you used to think that you
could fly. about how you
wrote in great loops across
our bedroom wall late at
night with your nail polish,
every pretty word you knew.
( you wrote poinsettia on
the ceiling, i can still see it
if i look hard enough. )
they talked about how when
you smiled, it was like the
sun blooming over the horizon.
they said you were the most
beautiful person they'd ever
met.
but you weren't perfect,
you know.
you were a compulsive liar.
you always kept the light on
at night, even though i needed
pitch dark to fall asleep. you
chewed your nails until you
bled. you cheated at monopoly,
and you refused to confess. you
borrowed my green sweatpants
and when you gave them back,
there was a hole in the knee.
you listened to country music at
top volume, and you sang off key
into a hairbrush just as loudly.
you put empty milk cartons back
into the fridge and you left your
socks on our bedroom floor.
you told your friends that our dad
was in the war when really he just
wasn't here. you never turned
your homework in on time. you
put ketchup on everything. you
laughed too loud and wore too
much eyeliner and you took what
you wanted, no matter the cost
to anyone else.
you were selfish, you were
messy, you were flawed.
but in the end, i know:
that you were beautiful.
that you were truly, fully
alive like i never could be.
that you were loved.
that you were the only part
of me worth saving.
and i couldn't save you.
we were seven years old.
it was the year mom got us
identical haircuts and no one
could tell us apart. i found a
little brown mouse living in
the bushes off by the fence in
our back yard, a mouse with a
twisted leg and tragic eyes and
a smile so wide it made me
smile back. i bundled it up in my
skirt and smuggled it into our
bedroom. i made it a nest out of
feathers and whispered secrets
beneath my bed and fed it bits of
cheese. i named it kiffy and i told
it all the dreams i can no longer
recall, breathing insecurities into
its matted coat when you weren't
home. when you found me holding
it that afternoon, you pinky swore
you wouldn't tell. you did anyway,
and mom poured a tiny saucer of
rat poison while i cried and beat my
fists against her arm. i trusted you
and you killed my confidant.
do you remember:
it was the summer after sixth grade.
we bought our first bikinis at the
store where you bought your prom
dress sophomore year. mine was
pink and too small. yours was zebra
print and fit just fine. we ate so
many popsicles that our mouths
and cheeks were permanently
stained with sticky red. we
played poker on the deck in
the twilight and truth or dare
with our friends out on the beach
late at night when the only
lights came from the fireflies
we caught in jars only to set
free an hour later. then, in july,
i broke my leg falling out of
the tree in the park. you
signed my cast and then you
went to ride your bike with
marcy and swim at eddie's
house. when i needed
you most, you were gone,
long gone.
do you remember:
we were in the same science
class freshman year. the
teacher was balding, with
too-low v-neck sweaters and
untied shoes. his name was
mr. johnson or mr. jackson
or maybe something completely
different. you were always too
busy tracing the scars on your
hands and scribbling notes to the
boy in the back row, the one with
the blonde hair and sunburst eyes,
to pay attention. when we took the
final, you copied my answers word
for word, number for number,
period for period. the teacher told
me afterwards i was going to be
suspended for copying your work.
you never told him he was wrong.
do you remember:
melanie warster's sweet sixteen.
you curled my hair, and i spun
yours up into a golden crown.
you wore white and i wore purple,
and everyone told you you
were gorgeous but no one
told me the same thing. you
left me sitting with patty
francis and went to talk with
your friends. you disappeared
and i wanted to too. but then
aaron asked me if i wanted to
dance, and you came out during
a slow song with your hair
wild and your face haunted
and told me that we had to
go home. you lost your
virginity, and i was left
with chapped lips and
empty hands, all too innocent
in the shadow of your
newfound maturity.
do you remember:
last april, when the cherry
tree in our yard bloomed
for the first time in three
years, when i stole my first
kiss on the front porch
when you were sleeping.
i woke you up to tell you:
that he tasted like oranges.
that he smelled like the sun.
that i was head over heels
in love with him. you hugged
me and breathed against my
neck that you were just so
happy for me. i lay awake
all night, tracing his face
in the cracks across our
ceiling, smiling until it hurt.
two weeks later, i came home
and found him in your bed,
tracing the shape of your
breasts as you bent down
to kiss his stomach. you
told me you were sorry,
but you didn't stop sleeping
with him when i told you
he was mine.
they all told stories about you.
hundreds of stories. about
how you knocked out your
front teeth roller skating
in fifth grade. about how
you used to think that you
could fly. about how you
wrote in great loops across
our bedroom wall late at
night with your nail polish,
every pretty word you knew.
( you wrote poinsettia on
the ceiling, i can still see it
if i look hard enough. )
they talked about how when
you smiled, it was like the
sun blooming over the horizon.
they said you were the most
beautiful person they'd ever
met.
but you weren't perfect,
you know.
you were a compulsive liar.
you always kept the light on
at night, even though i needed
pitch dark to fall asleep. you
chewed your nails until you
bled. you cheated at monopoly,
and you refused to confess. you
borrowed my green sweatpants
and when you gave them back,
there was a hole in the knee.
you listened to country music at
top volume, and you sang off key
into a hairbrush just as loudly.
you put empty milk cartons back
into the fridge and you left your
socks on our bedroom floor.
you told your friends that our dad
was in the war when really he just
wasn't here. you never turned
your homework in on time. you
put ketchup on everything. you
laughed too loud and wore too
much eyeliner and you took what
you wanted, no matter the cost
to anyone else.
you were selfish, you were
messy, you were flawed.
but in the end, i know:
that you were beautiful.
that you were truly, fully
alive like i never could be.
that you were loved.
that you were the only part
of me worth saving.
and i couldn't save you.
Literature
dont write under the influence
Dr. Asclepius called me;
he told me i'm bipolar
(i still say it's luxuria)
My prescription?
Fucking medicine.
Take two pills:
Doctor's Orders
(as if anyone actually
obeys those, anyway)
Take another pill.
One for each time
you looked at me,
then two more if
i had looked back.
i'll take one more for that time you
branded fake
Literature
like it never happened
Little Lost One,
Tonight you are hiding: in your room, on the stairs, behind the door, inside the closet. Wherever you are, you're pretending you're invisible. Your ear is pressed against the wall and you're listening to him and her and him yelling and her crying and screaming.
Maybe your brother is with you now. Maybe you're trying to protect him like a good big sister. It's a silly game, and I think that you know it. He's in no danger. But still, thank you for trying.
You're worried. I know that right about now you're trying your hardest not to cry, but it's getting difficult.
Go ahead. Let it out. No one can hear you. You're safe.
Ton
Literature
For the Encounters I Never Had
I released my regrets like a million balloons
chasing the sky with their bright round bodies --
wingless martyrs caught each tiny breath of air
and soared,
a moment of epiphany
when your rubbery skin punctures
and the soul escapes.
There is no element light enough to lift me away,
no instrument to sever the strings that earth
my tiny anklets --
I sway with the seasons
as if I am surrounded by an ocean,
unable to tread water fast enough to run,
nor find the reach to break the surface
where those regrets float momentarily,
winking in the sunlight before they coast away,
waiting for my realisation --
they pollute my conscience
Suggested Collections
alternate title: this obituary is not a bed of roses; it's a crown of thorns.
alternate title: i am half.
alternate title: you were.
i lived half my life wishing you would disappear.
now all i want is for you to come back.
alternate title: i am half.
alternate title: you were.
i lived half my life wishing you would disappear.
now all i want is for you to come back.
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Comments12
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Oh. Oh. Oh. Yes.
It's just the perfect combination of reminiscent and spiteful, of beautiful and tragic. I loved every second of this.
It's just the perfect combination of reminiscent and spiteful, of beautiful and tragic. I loved every second of this.