There, concrete bridge Throwing up like a landmine Shocked to the brim Might let you in
You—there for “support” Always following me Wherever I turn up Scared for me Budget B-movies Film star queen The things in-between Get me out of this serene dream
Poem: 77 in [continued]
Them, rotten toys Making all of this devouring noise Unedited, spherical bends of water Shriveling cold beats Turn up the heat To do away with, that’s a fact Or a vision—to destroy Our friends we’ll employ If we have any left by then
You, not forgotten in the least Leather jacket, cold-hearted beast Pockets so deep I put my hand inside And I leave it inside It’s comfort I find Ask how many inches tall you are No matter the answer, it’s still up far But with my hand in your pocket, I smile That little girl smile, you know It’s comfort I find, you know
West Dale Palms boulevard Clover avenue I go to the grocery store And I run right into you Ask me how things are back home Do your days ever feel terribly long I say, I have to go Think I know the place where I belong
Hollywood, Los Angeles at dusk Her perfume smelled like camellias that bloom in November They look just like roses, so naturally I’m obsessed Swing the door open to a settled fire, Capture in my hands: tiny, soft embers Collapsing into moonlight, but Cradled like dust I’ll be strong for both of us If I must
Love poem: Grocery store [continued]
You have to feed your nostalgia sometimes It’s really the only way that you’ll survive It’s how you keep the dreams alive It’s the only way they’ll see you on the other side
West Dale Palms boulevard Clover avenue When I go to the grocery store I always look for you
You know, we grew up with nothing I found such obscurities so luxurious My life was so simple Eerily simple Because every wrong turn meant More chaos Bewilderment Not the delicate kind But fine for my patient mind
Driving a lifted pickup truck has changed who I am It made me more myself than I ever knew before. I’ve become real acquainted with different types of screwdrivers. And I remember when my daddy would hot-wire all the cars on the street That didn’t stop him from feeling absolutely everything Cross necklace on my clavicle to remind me of what that means to me
Poem: Sitting by the fire (happy birthday) [continued]
As the sun was setting after I exited the nail salon, I saw four separate chemtrails moving in cable-thin directions, Combusting as a whole constellation. I’m in love with my dark, dark, dark green eyes
Drove down Venice Boulevard, and it reminded me of being thirteen, When everyone my age made fun of me, but my father insisted that I was a queen And that to me held much more meaning
Trying to buy sour patch at the liquor store, but they’d kicked me out cause I didn’t have Proper identification Now I find myself in my new life and I’m feeling so Impatient. Because this life isn’t going as planned and I have to switch gears I’ll tell you all about it, But each passing day I find myself facing new fears. For you And myself, too! Because that’s what I do.
Poem: Sitting by the fire (happy birthday) [continued]
Curled up in a blanket, Watching television and drinking tea While upper-class people go on holiday, I just be where I be.
I’ve got a smile so warm we don’t need a fireplace
& I miss the long summer days Biking throughout our small town My dad beside me, laughing, as I swam against the Current of the waves Making sure I didn’t drown I know it in my being that he is still around Like the lights descending from the helicopter When I’m taking photographs of downtown
Poem: Sitting by the fire (happy birthday) [continued]
I miss quiet times with tea Ukrainian pears that are overwhelmingly sweet And if you get close to me, You’ll have to bear with me Because I see beauty in absolutely everything.
Like a rocket ship constructed out of Legos, I’ll be there if anything were to break The vibrant sunlight hitting my retinas while I’m driving, I’ve fully realized this is my life to make.
I don’t take for granted That people don’t offer second chances But I’m forgiving like an animal that knows you didn’t mean it
Poem: Sitting by the fire (happy birthday) [continued]
And I mean it
I love Absolutely Everything The fiber of my being The freedom inherent in walking Around a small town that was yours and now it’s become
A breeding ground for memories That I will never let go.
Happy birthday, dad You were so warm we didn’t need a Fireplace
Arachnids are crawling all over me. They’re starting to really itch my knees But, honey, the way you throw your head back When you laugh At the way I dance To these songs that I’m showing you right now, in this light, You are sunshine, Pure sunshine.
I’ll learn how to pick a lock just for you If that’s seriously what you want me to do I’ll find an online manual, I don’t even care where I’m afraid of the things I would do for you But I keep it very composed, calm and close And the way you look with your mauve lip gloss Sunshine Bright lights Yellow dahlias So mine
You look way too beautiful to be sleeping in a bed That’s Lying flat on the floor I mean, I’m pretty sure I hate when I find songs that make me perfectly think of you, I end up playing them into the night.
I don’t even know what this fragrance is But, oh my, am I all over you There is rosewater flowing out of the tap And a white pickup truck in my driveway Oh my, what am I to do? Oh my, what am I to do with you? So fragrant, so lush Like fruit How soon can I marry you?
I had a surprisingly good dream for once. Seems like the night terrors are temporarily at bay All it was was that I was having a conversation with someone who was looking straight at me and Laughing In the loveliest of ways. He just wanted to hear what I had to say next Somehow I felt so comfortable sitting there in my seat I kept making jokes I kept stumbling over my words What’s new there? But I was so happy, for once, I think And I woke up, and I told my mother that I had had such a splendid dream But it was only a simple conversation. The kind that the normal people have seen.
I have On repeat Every day, Like a habit Muted faces Mutilation Picket fences Fresh paint Every day Like a perfect habit Dirty pickup truck That I wash every Saturday And I see the plane flying And I don’t wanna be on it Because I’m comfortable being right here Because of your perfume
Intoxicating Trembling Can’t quite describe The ending All that I Remember Is the smell of Your Perfume
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