How grave mounds and sandcastles are the same thing, except in one, we can
Pretend there are windows
How I build sandcastles over things I don't want to see
How that one time when I went to the beach
And I made sandcastles,
I could not make the windows,
Maybe I was making grave mounds.
Pretend there are windows
How I build sandcastles over things I don't want to see
How that one time when I went to the beach
And I made sandcastles,
I could not make the windows,
Maybe I was making grave mounds.
How when I left, the sand clung to my clothes and shoes and skin
Till I could not walk straight
How I sat in the ocean
Seeking release
Except that was more
Dirt.
Till I could not walk straight
How I sat in the ocean
Seeking release
Except that was more
Dirt.
How I am here, but you know I'm not here
How the plastic bags we are carefully wrapping furniture in
Is confusing the furniture, has it become old, or are we moving again?
How I am here, but you know I am not here
And my ears are covered in bubble wrap
And how often I say "I misheard",
And how my friends are asking me to go to an ENT
but how else do you listen over the sound of your own screaming?
How the plastic bags we are carefully wrapping furniture in
Is confusing the furniture, has it become old, or are we moving again?
How I am here, but you know I am not here
And my ears are covered in bubble wrap
And how often I say "I misheard",
And how my friends are asking me to go to an ENT
but how else do you listen over the sound of your own screaming?
How this is trashy poetry, how everything stinks.
How juvenile, how annoying, how often I want to say I hate you
Like I did when I was juvenile, when I was annoying and I thought I had outgrown that
But here I am.
Out.
Grown.
And I really do hate you.
How juvenile, how annoying, how often I want to say I hate you
Like I did when I was juvenile, when I was annoying and I thought I had outgrown that
But here I am.
Out.
Grown.
And I really do hate you.
How sometimes we wrap furniture in plastic so that
When it falls it will fall without a thud, more of a plop,
So that we can feel the weight of pushing a chest of drawers down, then the shoe rack, then finally the study desk
My laptop and books and bra still on it
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Either my hands will tire or the furniture will thud
And it is kind of the same thing.
When it falls it will fall without a thud, more of a plop,
So that we can feel the weight of pushing a chest of drawers down, then the shoe rack, then finally the study desk
My laptop and books and bra still on it
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Either my hands will tire or the furniture will thud
And it is kind of the same thing.
How it is hard to look at lamps without wanting to throw stones at them
How fairy lights are simultaneously the most frivolous and the most stubborn
Lights I have encountered
How feeble they are, how whimsical, how delicate, how pointless
To throw rocks at but here I am
Banging pencil boxes on them anyway:
Fairies, roaches, same thing.
How fairy lights are simultaneously the most frivolous and the most stubborn
Lights I have encountered
How feeble they are, how whimsical, how delicate, how pointless
To throw rocks at but here I am
Banging pencil boxes on them anyway:
Fairies, roaches, same thing.
How oceans were supposed to be blue
And here was the coastline
And here was the sunset
And here was the hanging bridge, that necklace
And here was my mother on a mat with corn on the cob
And here was laughter
And here was a purple dress
And how the ocean was brown
And tasted like crying.
And here was the coastline
And here was the sunset
And here was the hanging bridge, that necklace
And here was my mother on a mat with corn on the cob
And here was laughter
And here was a purple dress
And how the ocean was brown
And tasted like crying.
