I left a mess about

and it follows me in ghostly footprints

all the places that I go.

I left a mess about and

sometimes I try to wipe it up

with those super unabsorbant

memory tricks of mine.

I left a mess about and, you know,

sometimes I wonder if it bounced before

it broke.

Sometimes I wonder if I threw it

into the wall and

sometimes I wonder if it

rolled down the street a bit

before coming to a halt.

I left a mess about and

I swept it under the rug and

and I moved out

’cause some messes

I guess

you can’t clean up.

I can hear his alarm go off at the same time my alarm goes off, mine a loud chant, his a low hum as it rattles against the bedside table.

He gets up -

I get up -

I pee -

he pees.

I can hear it all echoing out

in symphonies of thin walls

and early morning habits.

I imagine the whole complex

like timed mechanical puppets-

the clock hits 5 -

we rotate upwards -

yawn -

pull the covers back -

make the bed -

places to be.

 

Tell me something, tell me something

tell me something.

You twisted around

and you leaned in

and you told me

I

love

you.

 

I said I knew.

And I said I loved you back.

The words had been used before

but felt crisp

and new

full of meaning.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Packed up one against the other

like a printing press

pushing out important news.

I need to tell you,

I’ve felt it for a while,

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you like the rain trickling on the tin roof

Shallow comforted breaths

and the warmth the comes out from inside of me.

Bird with, clipped wings, you are my

one way ticket to some kind of hope

don’t care where we’re flying.

I love you like the chairs on my front porch

I love you like the sound of the crackling thunder and

when my hands start to fall heavy with what I’m reading

I love

the tender way you let me sleep.

There is this guy who hangs out in the neighborhood. He must be homeless and an addict. I recognize his voice, echoing off the walls of the apartment complex. Hey, can I ask you a question? Do you have a quarter? I wonder where he goes when he isn’t in my world. I wonder what his deal is. I think maybe I should ask. I wonder why I haven’t.

Waxing, hair cutting, nail painting, moisturizing, teasing and primping, pinks and reds and whites, lace and leather. Valentine’s Day is bursting with all the right things.

Every now and then I have it all together. And I think, I’m not much worse off than anyone else. At least I like myself. At least I know who I am. I’m getting better all the time. Hope you are too.

I’ve been surfing down the 20 in my leather boots. standing in the aisle, sipping on my coffee. I’ve been over the same bumps, swaying back and forth with the turns the bus makes, zigging and zagging from the east to the west and back again. How you doing miss, how you doing. You first miss. You first. I’ll take your benevolent sexism. But I won’t take your seat. I like the way the bus moves me. I like the way I feel pressing back and forth with the acceleration. I like it when we stop and I am somewhere new. I like that I can go anywhere.

I find myself excited by

the things I wrote in my journal

five, ten, even three

years ago, passed, gone

so when I read the words

they seem like someone else

wrote them, tied them up, periods and commas

sentences stringing along

I flip the pages like I don’t know

what is coming next.

prompt; love to ’13

I wake up.

Cold breath breathing

condensation dripping on my face like

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake

up, again, I’ve run through those motions

over and over and over and over and

I am falling down the rabbit hole of

must be, should be, ought to be

just because its always been.

This is Alice in her best dress pants and

this is Alice with her Adderall.

I woke up with summer suns and

heart broken and

rolling down the grassy green hill

dizzy and smiling and

collecting love along the way.