old dogs and other new trick not knowers
unedited run on sentences on having crushes, fantasy, and dying.
like if memories are objects encased in amber or fossils under tons of dirt. like if i dig enough. like if i can break through, then they can become windows that i can drag myself through. they become tangible and within reach and they welcome me with loving arms.
in your eyes i found belief i saw god in a mirrored image. in their sights im made helpless, the butterflies in my stomach.
its in these brief moments with you that i can fathom a life worth living. that i can glimpse a version of myself worth being. i am beholden to you.
through your lens my heart is worn plainly on my sleeve and i am alive. i am bare-chested and actualized. i can picture myself alone, a life without you and i wince.
our only responsibility is to live.
i rubbed snot into my thigh until it was lost in the friction, ground into the pimple pocked flesh.
i became irritatingly aware of how my arms swing when i walk. an uncoordinated and slow, dragging swing. like a chimp, random and childish and violent.
will i ever grow my hair out again? will i ever find relief in this world?
though in retrospect or from a distance it may appear weightless, so insignificant and so tiny. but inside of that moment, it was wholly engulfing, fully life take overing and stuck in the roof of your mouth.
you are an oasis in the sahara of my heart. can we sit here, for a long time?
a boy as a leech.
even through silence held tightly for warmth,
sing to me in soft whispers c'est la vie's.
given enough friction, eventually it will wear through.
i as you we as each other.
my guilt my castration our god complex our rose garden
i show up to class late and i'm greeted warmly.
we go to lunch we complain and we sit quietly.
we order water.
grilled cheese on rye, a patty melt with extra onions.
we wear sunglasses in the car i take out my camera when we stop.
you're having fun i'm bored and i whine about it and you laugh.
i hold the door open for you we look at antiques we feign interest in small talk with strangers.
we laugh about it outside i drop you off at home we go back to our lives.
i stand awkwardly placid and bare.
you looked pretty tonight.
i walk to my car alone my head held high.
i bathe in nostalgia i'm shroud in blank canvas.
my phone charged in the car and i wondered if you texted me.
this morning i washed my face and poured myself a glass of water.
if i drowned in the pool when i was three they would've buried me with my favorite toys.
you scare me so much.
i found salvation in bated breath, i must've whispered a thousand hail mary's before i set myself on fire.
in this moment i'm fully paralyzed. around all of my limbs is knotted a length of scratchy twine. each of the ropes are being held by men far taller than i can fathom, stronger than you could imagine. its gripped vacuum seal tight in their palms and they're pulling as hard as they can.
it hurts me.
my body my disgusting skin all my freckles myself at last entombed in pine dig my hole deep oh lord please.
i blew smoke through my pillow i watched it rise through woven fabric. it's strange how long a scent can linger, its triggered memory a stain on my senses. i turn my back to you i tremble.
could you tell me once i've done enough?
you'll leave here and get a house and a dog.
do you think ducks can tell the difference between types of bread? does one ever go, "oh man i hate sourdough?" she ate an orange as we walked i held the peel tight in my fist.
and i thought if someone ever looked at me like that, i would never let it go.
you’re trying to keep calm but you can't help the physical reactions, you're breathing differently. your body betrays you.
i think about the first time i did whip its.
i was playing scrabble with john and his friends. i was transported back to when i was nineteen and going through this phase where i was going to the cemetery everyday and crying and looking for my nana's headstone. the whole time this is happening in my mind, john’s friend is severely constipated and trying everything he can to shit. laxatives, milk of magnesium. hes sitting there writhing in pain and farting and i'm wondering when he's gonna shit his pants.
The calm before the storm and the silence that follows.
I dont really mind these miscommunications. They're fault proof, incidental. Without blame. They hold the potential to be lost to time.
From this vantage point, the East m12 road sign sits nearly centered in the window of the fire exit door. I stared at it somberly, listening to grandma tell stories about the various health problems of the women in her book club. I’m aware, in a general sense, of this stage in life where dementia and chronic conditions and incontinence is common, happenstance, nonplus.
denise has developed dementia and gets lost in airports.
Winnie’s worn a diaper for as long as grandma has known her. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis after she had her third child. These stories are told from a completely neutral stance: there’s no hushed voice to describe incontinence, there’s no sense of shame, or even sadness. It’s as benign as the color of her glasses, or the brand of toothpaste she buys. Its easy while you’re young, to think that these things would be world shifting. What do you mean she has to wear a diaper? How could you ever live with a diaper? It’s easy while you’re young, to think of illness and death in theoretical terms. These ideas are still vague enough to stop us in our tracks.
Do you think I’ll shed some weight in heaven?
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It comes to me in waves. I close my eyes, i tremble i tremble i tremble. I’m tired of the trembling, of the wincing. I’ve had enough of the rigmarole.
“But can’t you stay a bit longer?”
“No. i must move forward.”
“You never let me in.”
How could i ever reveal myself to you? How could you stand my filth?
If a structure could absorb all that occurs inside of it, the walls would swell with our pain. It comes to me in waves. In brief flashes of light and tv static.
(Heart Shaped Candy Box (True Love) by Andy Warhol, 1984)