kitchen sink heart

 

my heart is so full of love and gratitude and sweet potato casserole. for stars and dogs and candles in the bathtub. mornings in this body, whatever size it might be. mothers and coffee and the weapon you don’t need a license to carry. i’m grateful for love and dogs and npr. for iphones and seltzer and walks in the sun. my agent, my editor, my book, my art…

i don’t know if this is a poem but hallelujah virginia woolf, it was a good thanksgiving. i learned that dina washington had to tell my dad, “get off the stage mr. bandstand” because he was “that guy” at fifteen. then a red headed woodpecker gave me new eyes. and i ate a lot and didn’t drink at all and we were a happy, dysfunctional family.

you know we will be dead for an eternity.

life right now is our fifteen minutes of fame.

 

 

there are two types of women in this world

knows her mother / buys Hallmark cards

believes in the enduring power of the human spirit / thinks an apple is dessert

was born with a penis / wasn’t

keeps flowers until they disintegrate / goes to therapy

would not fuck her cousin / first or second?

practiced witch craft until high school / has a good relationship with her father

doesn’t think about her thighs / knows where to get an amputation

can take care of herself / was always a food group for Halloween

knows oysters are best in cold weather months / never ate her boogers

has a sister / doesn’t

knows where the nearest dry cleaner is / hears “steamer” and thinks warm milk with a pump of vanilla

has an herb garden / thinks vegetables are for liars

knows what intersectional feminism is / needs to read Bitch Magazine

reads to live / has a tidy bookshelf with other props on it like small crying elephants

uses a diva cup is / doesn’t think big tampon companies want to destroy her happy place

used to like when chlorine turned her hair green / has a white board calendar

would not propose / sends the bread basket back if it’s not warm enough

knows this list is mostly bullshit / wants to agree on the definition of “BS” before she answers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After World Peace, Mentos

I wish the spiders in my shower were fish

That I was attracted to you

Had a pocket made of skin

The plumbing to handle my shit

Imagine thinking eyelash extensions would help this situation

And everything lived until it didn’t want to and didn’t die loveless in a shopping plaza

I want to know if I want too much

How to keep goodness on my windowsill like a wasp

Self-actualizing emails

An inappropriate friendship with my therapist

Non sexual sleepovers

I want to live in the off season of obsession

Christmas three times a year

My milk teeth back

Maybe the only way to draw Mt. Beautiful is to start at the top with a pencil

I want a sushi grade body

A cheap but quality abortion

Permission not to need any

So what if I’m insatiable?

You think that wasp is gonna live forever?

wildflower squirt gun dead fish summer

this is what i did with mine

  1.  started therapy.
  2.  picked blueberries. when you smoosh two together they look like tiny blue alien titties.
  3.  took myself to the movies.
  4.  went skinny dipping in a lake that was not mine. the moon took selfies.
  5.  drank tea.
  6.  saw a snake. it was not a metaphor.
  7.  heard seals call to each other when I was barefoot in seaweed with my mother.
  8.  suffered many a hangover then suffered no hangovers.
  9.  ate tapas.
  10.  discovered my mortal body at CrossFit. I have never been so glad to quit something.
  11.  bought rollerblades, experienced the 90’s.
  12.  took a poetry workshop with Eileen Myles. now my heart is full of Poe.
  13.  fell in love with nutritional yeast, which is not a nasty in-your-pants-problem, but a vegan alternative to cheese.
  14.  had eczema.
  15.  bought two packs of 27’s, smoked a total of three of them, added them to the dumpster.
  16.  consumed an entire pint of Halo Top ice cream. became an angel two times over.
  17.  watched a little too much Netflix while zipped up in the AC, trying to navigate my quarter life crisis.
  18.  started a book that had to be abandoned. thank you in advance for you condolences.
  19.  sweated out my soul in 95 degree asanas.
  20.  saw the solar eclipse from the high way through the car windshield. it was so totally meta
  21.  read a lot of Ann Patchett
  22.  and Richard Siken.
  23.  and liked myself, with and without a machine.
  24.  but how do you end a list like this? standing on a ledge refusing to jump 20 feet into the blue copper water?
  25.  with a sunset?
  26.  with kombucha?
  27.  with the stars I drew in a notebook falling from the page

Love Letter to Saturday

Maybe I’ll brush my teeth.

Maybe I’ll drink coffee in my dirty kitchen with no underwear on.

(The latter, but it is not a metaphor. It’s just been never since I’ve last washed the floors).

Next, gloat privately about my Scrabble win last night.

Feel overcome with love/gratitude for myself for playing qi and fi on a triple letter score but also, for once, I’m not nursing a hangover.

Bright tales. Bushy eye (brows).

Take a good lentil poop and have enough toilet paper

to cover my ass then pass

the cereal, consume the Internet, write a few lines of bad poetry

in my Moleskine-turned-diary.

It’s such a teenage/stupid thing to do, to keep a private, tedious account of things like “FEEBLER – 24 points, thank you very much”

And my bed is not made. And laying in it keeps it that way.