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Posts Tagged ‘change’

Grad school and relationships

have the same process.

 

You fall in love, even though

you said you wouldn’t

 

when he left you on the stairs

Monday morning,

not even an apology text after.

He didn’t want to give you

a chance,

even after he paid for dinner

and listened to your life story—

 

He pretended he didn’t know

your name.

you became a statistic,

a Facebook friend,

a paper tucked underneath

all the others.

 

You hear about someone

just outside of town.

He is looking for someone—

but you know it can’t be you.

 

No one thinks you have

the right credentials.

You should just find a job

and stay home.

 

You decide to send him a letter

anyways,

 

Almost don’t include the return address.

When rejection is guaranteed

it takes the edge of

the deep-rooted

devastation.

 

He calls you.

Your face buzzes,

a moment packed with

so much—

happy.

Drunk

on the phone’s heat

 

After the first date,

he moves in.

The talk of children—

you lose your appetite

for the left over pizza

in the fridge.

 

You are too tired to make love,

but he doesn’t understand.

he wants to see more of you,

 

He gives you a ring,

and you stay up

flipping through the

wedding magazines,

writing down vendors,

asking your friends what they think.

Their opinions

Their ideas,

Their feedback.

 

You don’t know how you feel

about anything.

 

You don’t remember what it’s like

to have nothing to do,

to have a moment where

you aren’t falling behind.

The date is rolling towards you

like a runaway wheelbarrow.

You don’t know if you should

try to stop it

or run away.

 

But in the middle of the night,

the moon is between

the tree branches

and nothing needs to happen

right now,

 

And you feel him next to you,

stuck in a dream,

But he is suddenly

the most real part

of you.

 

When he turns over in bed—back to you

and you are wide awake,

You trace his spine

with your fingers

and feel his warmth.

It isn’t until then

you realize

you have never loved anything

quite this much.

 

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3AM lights up my corner of the room,
and I blame the coffee I had
too late,
but I know it’s the buzz of my mind—
My obsession
about grad school,
the programs that I could fit
my soul into,
like clowns cramming into
their car.
I close my eyes and
“MFA” on Google’s search
flashes across my blank slate.
I see a wall of red,
like I looked into the sun.
And I feel unreachable.

I am searching for
a better writer inside
myself.
But I am afraid
of what I want the most—
to show you that I am
more than words.

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I saw her dad’s wake in her eyes—
She was holding his cold hand,
wanting to say more.
I am not sure which part of her
knew she was at school,
sitting next to me on the bench.
But she looked at me,
hand tucking her hair
in a safe place behind
her fully pierced ear.
The room cleared
and my mind felt like
her eyes—sheet of glass.
I chose to say
the wrong thing.

I am so sorry for your loss.
It just poured out
like sweat.
My face burned like I just ran
to her, and
she quietly accepted
my mistake.

I held her manuscript,
feeling like it gained ten pounds
since I first sat down with her.
I have some suggestions,
But you don’t have to take them.
She nodded.

There’s some grammar mistakes . . .
There’s a title change . . .
There’s some needed line breaks . . .
And there are some endings
you could shorten.
Some endings
you could change.

She nodded,
And read through
the last poem.
One about her dad.
“I just want him to know,”
she said.
She wanted to say enough.
He knows,
I told her.
You don’t need the rest of
the ending for someone
to know—

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Buried under this snow
is the day I will be leaving
and won’t push open
that heavy door
that those broken steps
lead up to.
I won’t walk
up that ramp,
leading to his office—
walls covered in paintings
like in a living room,
and a cleared off desk.
Typewriter next to him.
I sat in the same chair
every time.

The benches that I found
refuge in will no longer
be my benches,
but they will remember
my warmth,
and the sound of my typing—
those essays and stories
they heard for hours
in a form of Morse Code.

I wonder how long
it will take for my name
to just be a name
and no longer my face
or voice.
My poems might take on
new meanings.
Or I might take on
a new meaning.
But I am not sure that
I want to find one.

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Love Me

I walked across town
to give him a muffin
when he was out sick
from school.
Just one day of not
seeing him
at his locker
made my stomach tighten
in triple knots.
Didn’t eat lunch,
forgot how.

One night we stood close,
my hat on backwards,
jacket zipped high.
He told me I looked like
a boy.
If I was
he would have kissed me.
If I was a chameleon
I would have gotten my wish.

It isn’t something that passes.
It’s something you have to
write down,
but can’t.
When you search songs
you will always find it,
buried, and it hits you
like a bumper car
from every side.
You would rather
be covered in bruises than know
that they will never
be in tune
with you.

We listened to My Chemical Romance
and Mayday Parade
as he wrapped his arms
around my body–
an artificial need
to be close to me.
I fed on the sincerity of his
warmth, and told myself
I would never forget
his smell or what the
date was, or
the color of the couch,
the movie we watched after.

I feel the carvings,
the raw indentations
I left years ago.
Tally marks of how many days
I spent knowing
my best friend would never–

I found that time
is not what heals. It is not
what made me move again,
love again,
smile, feel, re-learn
simple words
actions.
Chew, swallow
breathe,
untie knots.

Something new.
Something new.
Breaks patterns.
Breaks you
out of
being
broken.

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The Sound

There is something

about the word

‘transcending’

that I really like.

It has nothing

to do with the

meaning though.

It’s just the sound

of it.

It is smooth

somehow

even though

it has some

harsh letters.

It’s just one of

those words I

feel like I could say

over and over

and not get sick

of it.

The moon is full

tonight and

its light is

pouring in,

I mean absolutely

pouring in,

as though that

glow is actually

rain.

My whole entire

hallway is

lit up like a stage.

I follow its pathway

to my room

with my softest

2 am volume

steps.

I think about today

and how

I was offered

the job that I thought

I would have to

forget about.

My black cat

is looking outside

into the darkness

smiling.

The only thing

I hear

is her purring.

And now I

feel myself

transcending

transcending

transcending.

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Photo credit: woodtalcandmrj.com

Photo credit: woodtalcandmrj.com

It won’t be the same.

Will it?

Is it possible to

pause where we are?

There is something.

Something

I should get

out of feeling like this.

I know I will never grow

up completely.

Even when I grow

through my writing.

I think that this is

about you fading away.

It is

possible to stop worrying.

It will never really be

time to let go of you.

 

******************

Without you (poem in reverse)

 

Time to let go of you.

It will never really be

possible to stop worrying.

It is

about you fading away.

I think that it is

through my writing.

Even when I grow

up completely

I know I will never grow

out of feeling like this.

I should get

something.

There is something.

Pause where we are?

Is it possible to

will it?

It won’t be the same.

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