I still look for planes
When I hear them
Instead of sit
So I'm ready
I feel the hair on the back of my neck
But I'm really just standing in line
at the grocery store
the gas station
With a racked gun
Beneath my pillow
I check rear view mirrors
Every time the car stops
My six is vulnerable
because there is no one left to watch it
All still deployed
or going to college
And here I am
Here I am.
Figuring out how to assimilate.
never say forever
you'll never see a photo of me
framed & displayed on a desk
never will someone's bed
feel empty without me
no one will long
for the scent of my perfume
or the suppleness of my skin
you'll never have to save the date
never will you hear them speak of me
with fondness & regret
maybe, at best, contempt
memories of me
like fog & distant dreams
you can ask me about a lover
but no name will fall from my lips
because i'll never
it was brief, passionate, intoxicating, lethal—
a love that was never truly discovered, but proclaimed
i try to forget him—
his crooked nose & gritty smile
smelling of old spice & marlboro menthols
tasting like rum & sugar
i'd trace my fingers along the sinews of his body
try to lose myself in those artic eyes
sometimes he'd look at me, let me sense his pain
but we'd never speak about it
just lust & fawn over one another
talk politics & old stories
drink & smoke & watch stars punch through the sky
until one day
we just didn't
i thought holding on
would be my profound act of defiance
but then logic overcame me
so i released
left behind nothing but cigarette butts
& ashes & empty bottles of sailor jerry
because that's what you do
when you're more of a man
than the man you were with
I used to feel invincible. It wasn't when I was a child. It wasn't when I was a teenager. It was the year I turned 27.
I was impenetrable because I didn't care anymore.
I embraced self-destruction wholeheartedly.
Logic and reason ruled hard, emotions ran harder.
But I made shit happen.
I sit here, two years later, longing for that part of me.
Healed with visible fault lines.
Feeling insecure—not invincible.
Where is that person who protected herself?
Come back to me, woman.
i think a lot about the baby
we could have had
should have had
and it's my fault.
i dream about your hand
on my swollen belly,
your smile as you sense
what we created—
would have created
my body was a battered vessel
my mind too wounded to comprehend
i feel it now.
wishing my womb would have sustained what was ours—
wishing my mind could have overcome itself
i dream about you
i dream about me
i dream about what could have,
my fingertips long
to feel a kick or heartbeat or sigh
that isn't just mine
but what could have been,
should have been
cuts my commute
20 extra minutes to do what i please
26 miles of bridge against my tires
beats creeping up the Highrise
is that rugged view of Downtown
nestled like an egg
in a nest of multi-story buildings
and 100 year old architecture
how sweet it is to be little me
in the Big Easy.
waking up to a different ceiling
there is an absence of familiar sounds
that were once so foreign.
two years ago i heard trains,
a year ago, streetcars
today—my neighbor's wind chimes, passing traffic, and bar flys.
i still think of things
shit I felt and did
but god damn
does that feel so far away
the air is lighter
have i changed?
am I more comfortable?
in a way.
but in the end
all that matters
I bob & weave & trip over boxes--
some waiting to be filled,
some already overflowing.
Anxious desire fuels me
to "just get it over with"--
hurry up & move from home,
When that worn key turns the lock
one last time
I can reset my life,
unlock a new save point,
so I can respawn at a better time
than the one I found a year ago.
There aren't enough hours in the day
or logistics accounted for
to make this transition any quicker,
any less bitter, anymore sweet.
As the air cools & the humidity
draws out & the days shorten,
I sit and imagine what life will be like
on the other side of this--
At night I lay in bed
in a chaotically barren room
& feel pangs of the emptiness
of my past self.
Yet I know my boxes will be filled,
my soul will replenish,
& the past will feel that much further away
once I move on again.
Draped in sun bleached plastic beads
A pathway to my rock
Which is also a rolling stone
The only moss he gathers is mine
And that of his burdens
His old ramshackle apartment
Wedged in an alleyway off of Camp and Magazine
Never to return
For those days we spend intoxicated
Hanging once bright Mardi Gras beads
On a fence with no purpose
Other than to gather and collect