Woodchips scratch the inside of my knees. My hair is covered in dirt. “I love you,” I say. My shoulders are pinned down on an oilcloth motel sheet. Your sweat drips on my face; my eyeliner’s running. ...
How to be Depressed
1. Wear sour-smelling pajamas for at least two days. Don’t take them off. 2.Spend sleepless nights watching reality TV reruns. 3. Ruminate about your pitiful life. 4. Cry. 5. Stare at the TV until you stop thinking about your pitiful life. 6. Feel mildly comforted by your disgusting pajamas. 7. Feel disgusted by your comfort. 8. Cry.
Ballet exercises in the Morning. Studying in the Afternoon. Bottled Water all day. She makes an excuse Not to eat her pasta. “You always were a princess,” Dad says. Nights- writing letters To an older boyfriend. Staring out the window. Hamstring stretches.
Losing My Virginity
Mostly I just lay there And waited for an orgasm To magically descend
Artemis and Actaeon in the Suburbs, aged 12
Skinny-dipping in the pool The boys and waterguns behind the trees. Long hair floats up in the water. The boy comes from behind, Jumps to the fence. Staring. “Actae’s a fag!” She yells. The boys turn the guns on him.
I read late into the Night. I listened to the same songs on repeat. I ate only cucumbers for dinner. I fell in love with my best friend.
The Science of Too Much Late nights are spent wandering the dark rooms of the apartment Cupping a tumbler of bourbon. Step lightly on the floorboards As to not wake your lover. The kitchen table is littered With dirty dishes, food wrappers, poorly done collages. The mornings come blearily with a potfull of coffee And awkward goodbyes. Clothes, makeup, out into the cold For another day. Life is the...
To My Friend I’ll never know What’s in your head. I’ve stopped Chattering to you And I just let Crickets and car engines Fill the air Between us.
New Year’s Day He stared out the window at the snow and snuffed out his cigarette in a too-full ashtray. The pale sun was finally coming up and casting sharp shadows of the pile of dirty dishes against the kitchen table. “I’m alone,” he realized, as he leaned back in the wooden chair.
Five Scenes about You The woman on the train says, “Your hair is the same color.” You grab a strand of mine and compare. We sit on a park bench. It’s early November. Your jeans Make a scratchy sound rubbing against my tights. Your hands are big and never Cold. I hold them up to warm My face when I come inside to see you. I lean against you, my knees Tucked in between my...
(Edited to remove one poem to place in a separate post. I’m not good with tumblr formatting yet.) Untitled A blonde girl runs in the grass Followed by a large black dog. … Teenagers loiter in the parking lot Slapping at mosquitos on their arms. … Cars go...
Open Letter to My Exes Whose Stuff I Still Have
(Bonus post! I’m working on a couple things and I’ll get something posted after the Work of Art finale. In the meantime, this was rejected from McSweeney’s!) Dear Exes, Hi! How are you? No, I mean it! Me? I’m doing okay. I recently moved and am moving AGAIN shortly. Exciting, right? Yeah, but there is a lot of packing and unpacking involved with moving. I have a lot...
(This is most definitely a thrown-together post. The last poem is an attempt to recreate something that got destroyed in the great hard drive crash of July, 2010. I wonder if it would violate the spirit of this project if I were to revise these and post them at a later date. Hmm…) Untitled We are both quiet in bed and our hands constantly move. After, your head is against my chest. ...
James walked out of the office into the heat of a fading August day. He stuffed his last paycheck into the back pocket of his jeans and unlocked his bike from the handicapped sign. Not a hundred yards behind him was 20 acres of fertilized grass dotted with gray granite tombstones. About 3 or 4 dozen of those stones sat on top of graves James had dug. He got on his bike and started to ride...
She was wearing a red bikini that almost matched her stringy hair. She sat down at the edge of the hotel pool and slowly dipped her feet in. Her toenails had purple polish on them. She sighed deeply as she kicked her feet underwater. A chubby child in an inner tube paddled by and nearly brushed her. He sat across the deck in a chair and looked at her. She had done most of the driving here...
Hi there! This blog is my attempt to write a short story or poem every day, no fail.