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