51. i write too many poems about death
i will write down all of the reasons i want to live:
1. i have a mother and a father and a dog
2. i have a brother
3. there is a video game i’m not done playing
4. i have that tv show to watch
5. caroline, courtney, carolyn, and sean
6. sometimes, i think i’ll fall in love
7. i have unfinished drafts
8. i have laundry to do
9. there are so many books i said i would read
10. i should learn to speak japanese
11. and chinese and spanish and ancient greek
12. i’m going to finish my memoir
13. i want to get a tattoo
14. i want to dye my hair pink
15. i misspelled “dye” as “die”
16. I could learn to type faster
17. I could get an mfa
18. or a phd
19. or get certified in stenography and type really fast
20. caroline is going to play that video game with me
21. i’m going to get better at video games
22. my mom beat me at cards last time we played
23. i haven’t learned how to play spades yet
24. or paid off my credit card bill
25. i want to take a picture in my graduation gown
26. i have emails to send and unread texts
27. i need to go to the dmv
28. i’m going to buy new shoes
29. and move back to virginia
30. one day my brother might get married
31. or have children and i have to be the best aunt
32. i think there might be a klondike bar in the freezer
33. if there’s not, i need to buy more
34. sometimes i laugh so hard i cry
35. the saddest thing i’ve ever read has yet to be finished
36. i have so many things to tell sarah
37. i need to see hannah at least once more
38. i want a root beer float and a grilled cheese sandwich
39. i want those two things on separate occasions, so that is two extra days i need to live
40. i’m starting to miss fredericksburg (they have good root beer floats downtown)
41. my pens still have ink and my notebooks have paper
42. i need to burn those notebooks or throw them in the ocean before anyone can read them
43. no one can read my handwriting, not even me
44. i have fanfiction to write and fanfiction to delete before my parents ever see it
45. i think i’ll start collecting stamps or bottlecaps
46. i have to convince myself not to do that (i have too much stuff and i don’t drink beer)
47. i’m going to have a birthday next year and i’ll be 25
48. my mom told me i was the reason she was born
49. i have to find out the reason i was born
50. i was once a child who wanted to grow old
Complex
She can't offer me more then kisses on the floor,
liquor sticking to my jeans and tongue.
I swallow down the feeling thick in my throat at the nauseating flavour of tobacco clinging to my canines,
focused instead on skin beneath my fingertips marred with scars and makeup.
She focuses on me when she talks,
so much so she doesnt know how close the cigarette is to burning her fingers,
but I keep my eyes watching a thick buildup of ash form.
Knowing I waste away much the same beneath her, tempting only on nights like this.
I try not to pay too much attention to fickle fingers fiddling with it,
or I'll never be able to focus again.
She won't ever want me- but it's nice when she drinks enough to think she might.
Life
It begins with a heartbeat.
Not your own.
Someone else's.
And it's not alone.
The first breath,
The feeling of cold,
The feeling of warmth,
The feeling of love.
Bad things happen.
But you can't tell.
You're just a baby.
For now.
Good things happen.
Colors.
Sounds.
Food.
Curiosity killed the cat.
It almost kills you.
Luckily for all of us,
There's usually someone wiser.
Scramble through early years,
Struggle through teen years,
Trudge through the beginnings of adult life,
And slow to a crawl with age.
Everything goes by so quickly in retrospect.
First field trip.
First dance.
First funeral.
Bad things happen.
Heartbreak.
Poverty.
Depression.
Life kills everyone.
It almost kills you.
Luckily, though,
It is not your time.
Mistakes become scars.
Scars become scars.
They don't change.
They're not supposed to.
Wisdom comes with age,
Pain,
Exhaustion,
But ultimately, joy.
It's a normal day.
Except someone almost dies today.
Luckily for them,
You were someone wiser.
Confusion.
Confusion.
Confusion.
Confusion.
Where am I going?
Where are you going?
Where are we going?
And why?
But you won't find out.
Perhaps nobody finds out.
But you won't figure that out either.
Confusion becomes acceptance.
And once everything has been said and done,
Once life has come and gone,
It is time,
To return to a breath.
This is supposed to be a long poem.
But it's about life.
And life,
Is short.
This is supposed to be a good poem.
But it's about life.
And the word good does not quite fit life.
But neither does bad.
This poem was never supposed to end.
At least, not at the start.
But now I realize,
All good things must end.
And so it ends with a heartbeat.
It's your own.
Your last.
But it's not alone.
his body worn out
his insides got tired
we are born to die
death not an end
there's a rainbow
bridge where he'll
be waiting for you
grinning delighted
with all the others
fur beings creatures
we've given love to
shared soul moments
you'll see him again
pet once again now
while he's still warm
he knew always knew
that you loved him
let's dig a hole give
him back to the earth
he won't be chilly
we'll cover him well
snug safe secure with
his favorite blanket
and squeaky toy bone
time cast its spell on you
Please hurry leave me, i can’t breathe
Sittin’ in your sweatshirt, cryin’ in the backseat
I dream of you almost every night
Always real, always right, always alright
If you ever change your mind
For you i’d bleed myself dry
You’re beautiful and i’m insane
But the fighter still remains
Delete the kisses at the end
Then i’ll set fire to our bed
I'll love you till my breathing stops
Always an angel, never a god
but you won't forget me
just another friday night without you
tonight is a rough night
i've read through every text we ever sent
while listening to a song that tears my insides apart
and cried my eyes out
sobbing in my bed
wishing i could go back to those days
when all i had to do was open my phone and you were there
now i avoid it
and you're still on my mind
i know you're the one
whose absence will never stop hurting
making my chest feel like it'll explode
Appalachian Flowers
when industry blossomed
the smoke billowed
from every smokestack.
Workers with black hands
carried their hearts in steel
pails; a half eaten bologna
sandwich cut thick, banana
peel for the compost
and an empty moon pie
wrapper graced the inside.
they come home to their wives
who yell at them to wipe
their boots at the door, kiss
them on the cheek and warn
against touching anything.
warm smells and piping coffee
await their non-discerning
palates as they pray
to God above to bless the meal,
just to wash up, eat, go to bed
early to do it again
the next day, until words are read
about the good man with lungs
full of soot
laid to rest with the stacks
of rubble that used to prosper
on the backs of men,
like the Kentucky homestead
at dusk when the wind rakes the leaves
with such fervency you’d swear
someone used to live here.
the full soundtrack
I could tell you the story of Lazuli by Beach House, and how it saved my life at 19, but I fear that would be cheating. I’ve written it down before, did a speech on it in my communications class, and told it to my therapist.
I could tell you the story of Wonder by Natalie Merchant, how it played on the radio in the hospital parking lot the day before my birth. My parents wanted my gender to be a surprise, but my mom knew when she heard that song that 27 hours later she would have a baby girl.
I could tell you the story of Round Here by Counting Crows, how Prozac worsened my depression when I was 15, how my mom drove me to school, how we sang that one line loudly, how she told me that even if I didn’t believe I could survive one more day, she would believe for me.
I could tell you the story of Maggie May by Rod Stewart, how I listened to it on the way to church, how Thursdays became my favorite day of the week and how Classic Vinyl became my favorite station, how it was Springtime, how I was 17 and happy.
I could tell you the story of Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton, how I baked cookies in my big beautiful kitchen in my childhood home, how I listened to the song while I did the dishes and felt at peace for the first time in years.
I could tell you the story of The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert, how I walked through the neighborhood, past my elementary school and the swimming pool with my hand covering my mouth to hold in my sobs, how I listened to it the day I drove down 21 South, knowing I’d never come back and cook in that kitchen again.
I could tell you the story of Mother by Pink Floyd, how I sat outside the restaurant under the string lights hanging in the trees, listening to a man play a cover of a song I’d never heard before, how I felt okay in my new home state for the first time after three years of constant grief.
But instead I’ll tell you about Take Me Home, Country Roads, how it’s the only John Denver song that doesn’t make me cry, how they played it over the speakers at the end of the Hootie & The Blowfish concert where I wore my mom’s old t-shirt, how everyone walked together to the parking lot and sang a full rendition, how we all continued after we were too far away to hear the song over the speaker. How it was my favorite song of the night.