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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Fresh lint from the dryer My niece is crying Because a boy pulled a baby-pink ribbon straight from her hair & I told her, don’t worry He didn’t take anything real from you The most genuine things are More intangible than they seem
So now I’m at the laundromat Watching my lavender and velvet blanket dry Something too delicate of material to end up in this white, vacant space But I have already been charged For a thousand liar’s crimes Not my own, but it’s easy to take the blame When the minds of the reckoners aren’t something you can change
Love poem: Passenger door // grocery store [continued]
I used to dream about being held By someone so powerful That they could both start and end bar fights for me Think I was in my early twenties So my wildest visions Would make little sense to someone truly thinking of settling down You have to act your age In this kind of upscale town
Then you handed me a receipt Me, counting your naturally full lashes How strong they must be and if only Mine were too To resist my pulling them out When I both do and don’t have free time Which my mother would say is a crime But laugh with me thereafter Because true love doesn’t see you in black or in white Genuine love both does and does not fight
Love poem: Passenger door // grocery store [continued]
Your voice was alarming Because it began softening Every tense fibre locked and chained to itself within my body I warm my shivering shoulders with how hotly My breath is on evenings Like this one, in which I could not care less about who or what surrounds you and me They are just bodies And you are warm nectar That only the most tender of creatures know how to find
I showed up on time Your shift is almost over But I am too shy So, I take my bags Spill a few things, say it’s alright “You don’t have to help me” (Oh man, but I want you to) Pretend I have plans when you ask what I’m doing (I am such a poor liar, the truth practically stained on my teeth)
I want you to go sit in the driver’s seat Open the passenger door for me
