My fatherHe only wears suits.black on white,white on black.He never talks about work.drives home,checks the mail,sits in his overstuffed lazy boy.Conversations are simple:How was school?typical. How was work?predictable. Turn on the news.On Saturdays he mows the lawnif it rains, he mows it next SaturdayOn Sunday he watches football.feet up, remote in hand,all dayperiod.My father drinks coffee black,My father drinks coffee from a gallon mug,My father drinks coffee all day,My father drinks coffee all night.My father's father drinks tea.On their anniversarymy mother gets white roses.On my birthdayI get white lilies.On vacation my father laughs,hugs us, and takes too many pictures.
I Hate My Love LifeI hate my love lifeand there is a highlighter yellowsticker on my stomachreading WARNING: Damaged Goods.I'm not a big fan of marinara.It has garlic in it and tastes chalky.It leaves orange stains on my clotheswith oil circles if I let it fall.I love candleswith wicks that flickerI'm always paranoidthey will set somethingablaze.I don't like chocolate.It makes my tongue achefrom extreme amounts ofconcentrated sugar.I wait for phone callsfrom exotic numbersor ones I have memorized.So I can flip open my celland say things like:Your sure you knowwhat your doing?or I miss youI can't keep track of tissue boxes.There are millions floating aroundmy bedroom waiting for a trash canor a cry baby.I pierced my nose becauseI thought it would protect me,No, I thought it would prove.I don't need anyone!I can make my own decisions!I don't smoke,but I keep thinkingmaybe, I shouldI hear it builds shieldsof black tar
Do you see my necklace?Do you see this necklace around my neck?my mother bought it from a venderoff a white sand beach in key westbecause it was blue like the windand it was tear drop shapedShe danced under moon beamsin bare feet across the wateruntil she thought maybe shewas windShe wore it across freewaysin LA while she breathed in moresmog then 20 packs of nicotineall the while singing along to whateverpopped in her headmy mother should have had me thereat 18 sitting next to her. Hair tanglingin the wind and laughing until I hurt so badI thought I might die too.
Dandelion in the SnowA yellow flowerstanding amongst all the whitewill wither quickly.
My Taste in Men...IIt's ok.I don't really love you.We are 15.You have tight curly hair and a mustache.You ask me to homecoming.I wear a gorgeous sliver dress.We kiss for a couple months.The way you talk is so awkward.You pause and fidget.It's ok.but I don't forgive you.IIIt's summer so we drivewindows open, your rap music blaring.We live for midnight showings in cheapmovie theatres. Where we can sneak in.You scare easily and hide your headin my shoulder What's happening?You should just watch, I am leavingfor college in less than a monthI'll be five hours away. You say youwill visit and call.You meet the guy of your dreams in six monthsWe still talk.IIII ran my hands through mychoppy reddish hair. You ran yourhand roughly up my smooth thigh.Baby I would die without youI could have stopped then.I would have floated home.You had more experienceat things like cooking, mathematicsand where exactly to touch me.I'd let you.I got addicted to you like coffee.
Afraid to Sleep.I make my eyes stay openuntil there are puffy dark rings circlingthem, my eyelids droop and my eyeballsfeel like dry sandpaper.Until my hair aches from being pulledinto a tight ponytail for hours on endUntil my skin has indents mappingall the clothes I've worn.My fingers are divert of white tips.Chewed into small stubs.I refuse to let my body sleep, to thinkit can feel your lips run down my neckand shoulders trailing down.I will taste your breath in my mouthsmell your cologne nestling in my pillowand hear you whisper in my earů."Baby come back to bedů"<i>