i don’t want to read big books about little boys (especially 13) -
4 sisters taught me to write my own books
which little boys never do? if your worst fear is Old Navy,
and you can’t find anyting precious,
what do you put around your neck?
i watch sarah’s ankles when she walks - maybe her brain
thinks the boys watch her butt - and i don’t know what
to prove; have i had enough?
i can’t do pictures anymore;
20 slides later i’m wearing pants and playing trombone,
a tricky way to notice if i am from high school
Or even feeling.
when writing’s not doing it anymore, dear Lord
sophomore year when i dropped my phone
down the crack by your bed - the morning alarm
made you growly and made me jump
til my head hurt like high school
writing today because berkeley is far,
and your stories hit home - i know
scary is scary so we’re in the same
boat with a leak; i don’t know
the right way (God knows) just the small way,
because it’s only a year.
"camoflauge is never in," she said,
sipping her starbucks. “but then,
what does mopping really do?”
i have a
million bagels in the freezer
and no pen to write with at all.
It all boiled down to it:
"i like surprises," but not the birthday kind;
the kind like green in the city.
iiiii see you between two people you aren’t;
thankful for being doing hearing
whatever she says i’m proud
hey walk because it’s been a while
i’ll get yelled at again for being bored but
50 days til jobless i want to turn it around,
Not like i expected, nothing that i’ve found
and follow something, days or the gym or
do the receipts or else you won’t be loved but watching them
get called again and lock up money finally
breaks your heart about yourself (i can feed myself
a lot better than you)
love is what my little sister wrote, (not so
little anymore) and her growly voice humming
along the words, shots of love showing slowly
(seamlessly waterfalls) what dried roses do to a
can i help your grumpies?
i always let you be, but yesterday
i squeezed lemons with the cut on my ring finger
nd today i’m wishing i could photograph the view of my nose from my eye,
but then i’d have to poke my eyeball out.
i know you’ll move to brooklyn
this is louder than anything right now