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.

Salve (My Version)

Maybe it’s an ocean swim, summer rain, strong coffee,

to hear my mother’s voice back when she could save me.

Maybe it is love, the filament in every lightening bulb: the juice, the nectar, the buzz.

Every season a peach falls in winter only because it didn’t know it couldn’t, but to tell you the truth my lips are cracked.

I don’t know if you were right or I was wrong, and anyway maybe

it’s not what you give, it’s how you apply it

I’m sorry

Gently now, honey, where the skin is torn.