pick your posison
now its fun
looks that steal
made your bed
time to run
tree house party
'the other team'
leave the next
too drunk to call
get your things
time to party
Boop. your mama still don't call
"I'm not feeling this anymore. It was fun but now it's done. Good vibes."
I have 99 problems and they're all my fault
You can't see yourself if you're a clown
maybe she's born with it.
maybe it's PTSD.
i saw the most beautiful human today
in line for coffee and rolls
tall, thin with sun-dipped skin reminscent of 1970s polaroids
in a grey and black checkered button up
chuck taylor high tops
as we inched closer to the counter
i prayed our skin would brush
they ordered before me:
"3 rolls and a vanilla latte with almond milk"
i'm on my knees.
the two of us in a cabin in the woods
or driving in my car with the windows down
with no particular place in mind
i order a large coffee to go
no rolls for me
i don't do the eggs or the dairy
and the vegan scone option is dotted with
not chocolate chips
one of god's many mind fucks.
second only to beautiful women
who love other women
it was mothers day last week.
i don't know how to slow the roll
because the highs are so high
and the lows are so low
and i've fallen in love with the idea of the
self imploding artist
so many times that
maybe its manifestation or
maybe its maybeline
or that my ma told me not to smile with crooked teeth
or that everyone i've ever loved always seems to leave me
when your mama was mad and slapped you across the mouth
and the smile ran away too
you hid in your room drowning your sorrows in the accumulate a booze of a fourteen-year old alchoholic in training because you learned from the best.
how to hide your drinks in a coffee mug.
can you see me now, now that i'm gone?
can you hear me now, now that i'm gone?
did you leave me or did i leave you?
did you cut the cord? or did I see the truth?
you say its me, but its only what i learned from you. same tried shit that you'd always do.
am i becoming the woman you never wanted to see?
Someone less like you and more like me?
when you lay your head down on that pillow, who do you think of, baby?
do you moan my name in the stillness of night?
do you whisper the prayers i've dreamt to know?
i've longed to be the mirror in your hands.
set it free.
can you let the waters of my eyes trickle down your restless mind?
Did you just puke into that soup?
Wine best enjoyed out of floral mugs
for stoop dwelling misfits and latchkey serrenaders
puzzling kleptos who somehow found a way with the weirdos and the broken hearted
the lampshade hearts and the stuff of your nightmares that you secretly wish for in muffled moans at 3 am reaching for 5 sips of flat pamplemouse "La Cwah" because you should always be well hydrated
and no one really knows you until one day you up and leave
the door painting project because everything stopped making sense
and you ran to your car and cried into your tea
because love is all you've ever wanted and your hearts looking rough these days from all the time spent on your sleeve.
but its all or nothing with you and there can't be middle or maybe or okay
love me or leave me
but you won't stay.
Art is all garbage and so are we
but i'll keep creating and your apathy will inspire me
or maybe i'll finally leave you in the past lumped together with the rest
but i LITERALLY JUST CAN'T EVEN
when i waved to you on the street and you turned to hug me and she shot you that look and you kept on your way like i was just another sad soul searching for nothingness in arrogant conversation void of the salty passion you gave me the same.
hardly a glance and years just swept under the rug with a slight of hand
I miss your mom
do you miss the post it notes left at the front door
and messy muffled kisses falling over and down with sweet sighs
because im always late and you're always asleep
and i want to be a night owl but the excitement of a good 8 hours gets in the way and as soon as a movie begins to play i run away into the world of fluttering dreams of what isnt
and i see that you're doing well these days as evident by your fillippant smile riidng top down in a convertible with your aviators and good hair.
I miss your mom.
an elderly man crossing the street in a shirt that says "fetish"
breathe sweet little disaster
the worlds not as bad as you make it out to be
let go and know its mainly in your head
beauty abounds even in dumpster fires
and the new third reich wears red baseball caps
which is a more palatable look
tiny and terrible
you don't see the world like the rest
in circles and triangles and squares, diamonds, roses and rainbows
is it black or white?
no. soft pastels.
for my love:
playing in the dark
drinking champage out the bottle just wanting to be held and reasured at nauseum.
still acting reckless and fourteen.
"you are a splendid butterfly"
that night you played me the beruit record as we laid naked on your floor sharing a blunt and all of our secrets as light snow fell illuminated by the soft orage glow of the street lights and love newly formed.
I bathe in romantisicsed ideals of champagne
and love worth fighting for.
that drives one to drop everything and run
live in a van?
live in a "tiny house"?
take it down to the courthouse
bottles of red wine spilled on wood and books strewn across the floor and paint and paper and canvas and a lava lamp
a story left where bodies once lay
drunk in love
wrapped in sweetness that few have really
in so much as the fact that i THINK i am well adjucted and open,
just as fucked up as the street guy who asked to draw my portrait
and i being the manic creative with the throbbing heart on my sleeve for any sweet fool with a canvas obliged to the A-symmetrical, nearly insulting sketch of a child rat queen consortium of poor choices and schizophrenic day dreams gold spray paint nipple twists my arm and take me back.
do you ever stop and think that this is it?