In Defense of Getting Bored

Scan 129.jpgI’m a bad reader.

Like many other things I’ve accomplished in my life due purely to a desire to prove other people wrong, I learned how to read out of spite. To make a long childhood story short, I skipped the majority of 2nd grade thanks less to a belief in my academic abilities, and more to a surprisingly effective attitude that I would be ok because I had no other choice. Coming out of a Los Angeles hippie commune filled with celebrity children and teachers who believed I would do things when I “was ready”, I found myself in a summer school program designed to keep kids with working mothers occupied, unable to write in print, and unable to read. Continue reading “In Defense of Getting Bored”

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The List

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  1. They think Lee Harvey Oswald was trying to kill Governor Connally instead- did I ever show you the musical about this? It doesn’t have James Franco, though. Sorry.
  2. There’s an Ugly Christmas Sweater with the alphabet lights from Stranger Things; I also started liking it right after that episode. Probably should have mentioned it earlier.
  3. My cousin is a Surprise Republican, which my dad absolutely loves, even though he didn’t vote third party. I have to put a Cessation for Peace on political discussion in this house, however. For all of our sakes.
  4. I started making lists again, not parceling my words this time so much as putting them somewhere, anywhere, besides that little white box and pressing send.
  5. The things I’m trying not to say are building tally marks on the inside of my eyelids
  6. It’s so much worse to remember happiness, than to remember pain

Things I Have Done

img_1749I covered my eyes to see you better,
covered my mouth to
keep a peace-
unrolled understanding like
a carpet on your stones,
kissing corners just to bring in
a little light

I risked my shame for greatness,
hoping you would do the same-
I wrote you in songs, and stories and poems to keep
your sacred silence in tact

Continue reading “Things I Have Done”

Relativity

Time is a rubber band
stretching this way and that-
thin and small, then
thickly unbreakable
wrapping tighter around
my accusatory finger

Alone, and time is slow;
altogether too much of it stretches
ions into tomorrow
when I should, I should, I should
be doing (getting)
better, like it was something
you could catch:
a recipe, a derelict,
making contracts with myself
a lifetime of construction Continue reading “Relativity”

The Best (and Worst)

The best parts about each other
are the things we’re not supposed to be;
soft and squishy skin, hungry at midnight,
sneaking into the second movie and
laughing in Church

The best part is that
crook in your neck I’m sure
you’ve never seen
(your own heartbeat
you’ve never heard)
Leaving the party early, getting drunk
on a Tuesday-
inappropriate jokes and
even worse timing Continue reading “The Best (and Worst)”

Minutes


There are 20 minutes left in this day, and I’m ready not to think anymore.

All I want to do- were I unhampered by all these pressing eyes- is to sit and think, staring at nothing in particular, about your face. I wonder how it’s changed since you’ve been gone? I say that you’ve been gone because you left, even though it was more of a literal inevitability than a gesture of abandonment. It didn’t feel any better.

15 minutes left. Continue reading “Minutes”

Before the Break(up)

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“I’m just tired of living like a fucking nomad.”

I stopped trying to shove yesterday’s jeans into my work purse and exhaled frustration. He had lent me sweatpants again; because I had slept over again, because we saw each other post 9pm again, because it was the only time we could get together and I felt guilty if I only stayed an hour. Again.

“You can keep some stuff here, you know” he said, in the same way he always did.

“I know. But then I wouldn’t have it at home. I just hate carrying everything back and forth all the time, it drives me nuts.”

I just want to go home, hang up my sweater where it won’t get wrinkled, put my underwear in the laundry where it will stay and not revisit the same bra again six hours after I take it off. I just want to go home. Continue reading “Before the Break(up)”