[x]

amor de lejos.you used to blow into my ear while i was
trying to fall asleep.

i'd laugh and pull off both of our shirts, kiss
you chest and ears and eyelids until neither
of us could breathe. afterwards you'd sleepily
call me your little snuggle puppy, curve your
body around mine, and just when you'd close
your eyes i'd laugh and blow into your ear.

we never used to have any change because
we'd go downtown and feed the parking meters
by hand, like they were curious metal monsters.
you could never resist helplessness, which is
probably why you love me.

i used to make up songs about your socks.
i used to rub your back in front of your pare

kitestrings.you confessed that when you were little you would pull apart monarch butterflies because they were much too beautiful--
so beautiful that they made you feel uneasy.

(you always did call me the most beautiful thing you'd ever known.)

it's almost december now, and the only reason i wish you were here is so you could make snow angels and i could rip off their wings.

---

you wanted a kite for your birthday, so i got you one that was shaped like a bat and we took it to the beach, watched it crash into the surf over and over until it was bent and broken. i rescued it from the tide and surfaced dripping saltwater -- you told me i looked like t

dahlia girl.i used to let you backhand me across
the face because crying turned you on.

your palm stung and burned my cheeks
bright red, but it was strangely beautiful.
you called me your little dahlia, your little
candleflame, and kissed my jaw where
your fingers left treadmarks.

you said:
"love means making sacrifices."

i said nothing, just wiped away a few
premature tears and traced the fireworks
blooming on my face.

you used to fall asleep in the grass with
me, and we'd wake up with petals stuck
in our eyebrows and grass stains on our
lips. our lazy kisses tasted like rain.

i say:
"love means throwing handfuls of grass at
each ot

stop ruining autumn.listen:

fall makes me think of leaving and of apple cider, though i never liked apple cider.
but i liked the idea of it.

listen:

two years ago i met a boy as fragile as dead leaves, who called me his little spring girl. (i'd always liked autumn the best.) he kissed the two soft dimples on the small of my back and told me helikedme helovedme hewantedme.

and oh, by the way, "everything good must come to an end."

listen:

on our one year anniversary we picked out two pumpkins and i drew elephants on them for us to carve. he cut his out so aggressively that it lost its shape.
lopped off tusks and broken trunks became just a large, jagged

glittering, struggling.i.

"i am going to make every person
around me as happy as i can,"
i bravely declare.

"you should get a job," you offer,
and i draw a heart on a whiskey
bottle and say that making people
happy is my new job.

"you should get a paying job,"
you clarify, and i fill the whiskey
bottle with glitter and kiss you
until it doesn't matter anymore.

you don't need money if you're
dead.

iii.

i tell you that i'm going to leave
because even if it hurts now, it will
eventually make you happy, and
you refuse to speak to me for
the rest of the night.

and here i thought i had
all of the answers.

v.

you joke about going to med scho

Replace myselfI want to open
up this notebook
and turn myself
into something else.

I want to write about
how colourful the leaves
have become and about
how magically that sunset
blossomed yesterday evening.

I want to say
that I'm happy
and write poems
about how great
it feels to be
in love.

I want to scream out
that I'm at least content
with the way I’m living
my life. That I wouldn't
change for anyone
or anything.

I want to write myself lies.
I want to believe them.

paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.

legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.

i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.

-

you drew me a picture of us in the future.
our houses were next door to each other and a white picket fence sep

interstate 81.there's a metal star that is wasting away on a hill overlooking interstate 81. it blends in with the surrounding area; you can't really even see it unless you know it's there.
and no one does.
i like to think that it is a signboard from god, and i make tiny little prayers on it. my religion is in curling wires and burned out light bulbs, and my lord is the same colour as the sky and the treetops. honestly, i believe that rusting metal has as much a chance as anything for inspiring faith.

there's a deer lying broken on the side of the road. it's sprawled in a shallow ditch with its four legs splayed awkwardly, hooves plowing tiny furrows in

telling a sad story backwards-17.

it smells like grief and sterilized metal.

i climb into andrew’s bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he can’t see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.

15.

he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.

"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.

for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful wa

a poem for terrible people.i want to write a poem about primroses
and how i am not a terrible person.

-

i am disordered but not disorderly. i am broken up.
i think nice thoughts like "streetlight" and "linens,"
and is there an instruction guide on happiness?
i could write one for you.

step one, paint your eyes cobalt blue.
step two, hang fireworks from coat hangers.
step three, turn into a dandelion. blow away.

my heart tries to escape from my throat. okay,
i am guilty in ways that you cannot tell anyone,
ever, not even imaginary best friends. or real ones.
or myself. freud says i am an iceberg, but i don't
know if he means i am full of repressed though

cardinals and brown hair.aaron, i want to tell you about the
red-haired boy i saw standing in the rain.

while the other students ran to class, he
paused and stared into the trees and i
paused and stared at him and we might
have smiled.

i want to tell you about the cardinal that
we were pausing for, and how the red of
its wingtip matched the colour of my scarf--

but i know if i pick up the phone and tell you
about my cardinal and my red-haired boy and
my rain, you will sigh and reminisce and tell
me that "isn't that nice," and "yes, it's raining
here too," and, "i always was attracted to
redheads."

and you always were attracted to blondes.
and blue eye

being in love.it's like when you were five, when your pet rabbit died
and you learned that nothing good lasts.

it's like the time you dropped him off at his house to watch tv
before you drove yourself to the emergency room, sobbing.

it's like the first time you saw your kindergarten teacher cry.

it's like ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies, ashes. ashes.

it's like when he went too far, and he said, "is this okay?"
and you said, "no," but it didn't matter.

it's like when he said, "but i want you."

it's like the number seven, or rubies.

it's like when you almost drowned in the pool in north carolina
and when you looked up through the

MirageYou know how you broke me,
but maybe you don't want to know,
or maybe you just don't care,
but I do.

You've been a mirage to me
for these last two years.

A veritable paradise,
always in sight but
perpetually out of reach.

And I know what I've done seems stupid but
when you are dying in the desert
you walk toward anything that looks like water
even though as you get closer and closer
you start to realize that it's probably nothing
you keep fucking walking because
you need it to be something.

And now that I'm finally close enough,
I'm forced to realize you aren't really there.

That you've never really been there.

A Near MissI Almost Kissed You

You were right there
in front of me
looking in my eyes,
lips slightly open like
you may have been
about to say something.

It happened in my head
in a split second
like words do
before you say them.

Usually things like that
happen before you can
realize how dumb they are.

It didn't, though.
Not this time.

It isn't like it would really
be anything new for me.
I've kissed you tons of times
in my dreams. Always with
the same terrible results.

But even my dreams
won't stop me from
nearly kissing you.

serbian mermaid.in five years i want to move to georgia
or serbia or atlantis and start a family,
name my children after odd numbers
and teach them russian lullabies and
the art of manipulating those you love.

in five years i want to marry you, but
i don't know if you like odd numbers,
or even if you like me all that much.
maybe you'd like me if i tell you
that i'm a mermaid, but i'm not
and you can always tell when i am lying.

in five years i want to be seventeen,
but wishes don't work like that.
i tried.

in five years i want to be on a plane
and i want the plane to crash
into the ocean and i want everyone
to be okay except me, but if i w

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compulsive liar.

by ~estallidos, Oct 29, 2008, 6:20:14 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

once i asked you your favourite
colour, and you said, "the brown
of your eyes," so i put in one green
contact and told everyone that i
came out of the womb as a factory
defect, half-priced, damaged goods.

-

sometimes i am from canada and
sometimes i am from england and
sometimes i am from spain.

i've carefully tempered my accents
and plotted out my stories with
yellow and purple coloured pencils
on index cards. my origin changes
like the seasons.

"why do you lie to everyone?" you
ask.

"why not?" i reply.

-

i wear nametags that read "alicia"
and "liana" and "samantha," because
i want to know how it feels to be
someone else for a day.

you make me a nametag with my
real name on it, and i just laugh.

(later i slip it beneath my mattress
and spend the night staring at the ceiling.
see, i've tried myself on one too many
times, and the fit is never right.)

-

you call me your little compulsive
liar, and i guess that is supposed
to be somewhat affectionate.
or something.

-

i spin before the mirror wearing
my mother's wedding dress and
a purple wig, admiring the way
the train billows out behind me
like wings.

"where is the girl i fell in love with?"
you ask quietly, watching me
slow to a halt.

"she's gone," i say decisively,
and closing my eyes i begin to spin
once more.