Bottle Nosed and Face Down

I wish I had giant eyes

The kind of eyes that are so glassy

And so glossy

that they cannot be real

I wish they would take over my sight

Allowing for hyper sight

Seeing through

Seeing over

Seeing who I am

 

I wish my eyelashes went further than my brow

Catching tears before they descend

Cupping the salty liquid

Returning it

Carving raw designs into my forehead

Telling me who I am

 

I wish the crook of my neck

Was large enough to consume my family

Store them with me

Even when they are long dead

Decomposed

Their bones would become mine

Intertwined

Infinte

Showing me who I am

 

I wish I had a buzz cut

So short

You can see every mark

Every scrape

On my scalp

The kind of hair that makes you question gender

They can decide who I am

Forgotten Balsamic

Hung on a Sunday,

Filing for a loan.

Sewing buttons back on pants,

Still afraid of the family dog.

 

Longing for ice cream on the steps of the general store.

Aesthetically pleasing 99 cent lollipops,

Unfinished hashbrowns.

A lettuce eating competition,

And stakes are high.

FREE SHIT

FREE SCRAP METAL

That kitchen you always dreamed of

The three tiered mesh fruit basket in the centre, drawing energy

I am dipping my slightly charred pancakes into a tea I added too much sugar to

I release three confused tears out of my only working tear duct

Give it three years and your house will have burned

Too bad your husband made it out (don’t worry he died later)

Silently in the night

Three drawers in your refrigerator

Full of food you never got to taste

A baby of three years you never got to taste

Oh, sorry I mean never got to meet

Pining

I miss driving fast

The long summer days have collapsed

We would get high on the ski mountain

Asking Jim to drive again

 

I miss my piece of shit car

That beautiful purple interior

The time spent in the back seats

Steamed windows

Dripping streaks

 

I miss my old friends

Well maybe I just pretend

It was the second guessed perception

That lead to the end

 

But, those days are gone

Repeated and stressed like an old song

With all longing aside

The simple days of that youth are gone

 

Now we sit and drink warm beer

In constant financial fear

Crippling debt is just part of life

Fucking amazing, right?

 

19th birthdays full of pink

Dumping vodka in my rented sink

Looking like trash

With a group of friends to match

 

These days will eventually be gone

After they become repetitive like that old song

Longing aside

Every single shining youthful moment will soon die

Bus Rides

  
Everlasting 

I just want to be high 

I just want to bleed 

I just want to be intoxicated 

Gather myself up after 

Charming 

Fuck this tea drinking 

Cat petting 

Romantic seeking 

Bullshit 

As simple as it seems 

It’s painfully unreal 

Raw

Anxiety filled voices 

The need to impress 

I want to hurt 

Because it is simpler 

Hypocrite 

I feel as ironic as my moody poems 

If they are even that

They are more like selfish rants 

And I’m sorry  

But fuck 

What else am I suppose to do ?