I wrote an epistle in intro to creative writing today.
you could’ve seen
the poor fruit
drowning the counter after
to make a smoothie,
or the smoke
leaking out the windows when
about that pot of tea.
the dean’s list,
not quite all As:
a few minuses
and a B.
you’re proud of me.
visit again soon.
"That’s what fiction is for. It’s for getting at the truth when the truth isn’t sufficient for the truth."
Tim O’Brien (The Things They Carried)
21 People On What They Would Tell Their 19-Year-Old Selves
Jonathan, 55: There is no such thing as “the only one”. You will meet lots of “the ones”. Only commit when the timing is right for the both of you – that can take years for some, and that’s okay.
Miranda, 24: Drop pre-med.
Isaac, 48: Deodorant does not count as a shower, and that haircut only looked good on Bon Jovi.
Anya, 42: Make the conscious decision to be happy, and then stick with it. Society will do everything in its power to convince you that your personal happiness is dependent on something external – beauty, success, wealth, etc. – it isn’t.
Parker, 55: 60% of the things you think are important now won’t matter a whit to you by the time you reach 50. The trick is to figure out the important 40% and work it.
Megan, 34: He doesn’t love you, and you will be okay.
Peter, 58: Don’t let anything stand in your way of taking part (or all) of your junior year abroad. You’ll never again have quite the same opportunity to experience a foreign land, for an extended period of time, in your youth. It is destined to be one of the most memorable aspects of your life.
Eleanor, 67: Talk less. Listen more.
Donald, 27: There’s a huge difference between who you want to be and who everyone around you wants you to be. Figure out which is which.
Camille, 56: Always remember: when falling off a horse, pull your tongue in.
Jackson, 57: No one knows anything for sure. They’re all just doing the best they can with what they have, just like you.
Vicki, 47: You’ll never have all the answers, so make every question count.
Donald, 38: You don’t have to grow up to be the dad you never had.
Katelyn, 30: Make the most out of college. You will never again be at a place where your only goal is to learn. Learn a lot, learn often, and learn with reckless abandon.
Joshua, 55: Women love to laugh.
Annabelle, 38: Drugs are not beautiful, glamorous or opulent. They are not a remedy, a solution, a cure-all, or a cure-anything.
Colin, 50: You miss so much life when you sleep until 3 PM. Wake up to see sunrises; they are the most stunning of nature’s masterpieces.
Eleanor, 26: Eating two pints of ice cream won’t make you happy. Neither will sprinting 10 miles. Be nice to yourself.
Aaron, 52: Don’t forget to ask that girl in the Oberlin library what kind of perfume she’s wearing. You’ll buy it for her in 20 years.
Scarlett, 54: Don’t be afraid to be yourself. Those that get you will love you, those that don’t, well, their loss. Just remember: Wherever you are, it’s a party.
Zack, 9: I hope you’re awesome. And be nice to girls.
desk stories #4
this is amazing
that’s from one of Andrea Gibson’s poems.
Walking Naked by Alyssa Brugman
Please don’t change the source
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter
women were the ones who started wars
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running
And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.
For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl.
She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.
don’t start to
flirting with me
i will begin to like
and don’t even try
liking me because
trust me i will start
to love you
and im begging you
don’t love me because
all i will ever want is to
only be with you
"I was told
The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7
She picks the colors and the cake first
By the age of 10
She knows time,
She’s already chosen a gown
And a maid of honor
She’s waiting for a man
Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment”
Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely
Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed
Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen
To be honest
I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing
I have no clue what want my wedding will look like
But I imagine
The women who pins my last to hers
Will butterfly down the aisle
Like a 5 foot promise
Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps
And know exactly where our wedding is being held
The woman that I plan to marry
Will have champagne in her walk
And I will get drunk on her footsteps
When the pastor asks
If I take this woman to be my wife
I will say yes before he finishes the sentence
I’ll apologize later for being impolite
But I will also explain him
That our first kiss happened 6 years ago
And I’ve been practicing my “Yes”
For past 2, 165 days
When people ask me about my wedding
I never really know what to say
But when they ask me about my future wife
I always tell them
Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long
She thinks too much
Misses her father
Loves to laugh
And she’s terrible at lying
Because her face never figured out how to do it correctly
I tell them
If my alarm clock sounded like her voice
My snooze button would collect dust
I tell them
If she came in a bottle
I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys
If she was a book
I would memorize her table of contents
I would read her cover-to-cover
Hoping to find typos
Just so we can both have a few things to work on
Because aren’t we all unfinished?
Don’t we all need a little editing?
Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone?
Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense
She doesn’t always make sense
But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most
I don’t know when I will be married
I don’t know where I will be married
But I do know this
Whenever I’m asked about my future wife
I always say
…She’s a lot like you."
Rudy Francisco (via mycollidingworlds)
Oh my god
for poets that can’t stop writing about love
When my grandmother’s mother complained of a toothache,
her own mother strung up a row of incisors from the backyard apple tree
until they swung gently in the wind like the wing bones of a bird
still trying to lift its dead carcass into flight.
For every day the toothache persisted, she ripped down another incisor
until at the end of the month only the string was left
but the sapling’s branches still hunched under the weight of the nonexistent teeth.
The point was that pain always leaves its owner bent out of shape.
When my linguistics professor inquired why I always wrote about love
in some form or another, I brought up the same story
and made some profession about poetry being the language of love
because every word stabs deep into the heart.
But when I returned home from class that day and heard the news
that my grandmother’s husband had died, I thought of those teeth
drifting lazily in the wind so many years ago
and realized that poetry is not about love; it is love.
Because when the poem is read, when the life is over
and burned into ashes in the ground like the incisors,
the shapes of the words continue to float in our minds
without even string to hold them up,
much the same way in which love continues to exist
long after we have stopped falling into it.
I will wake up at three AM
And I will roll over
Into your arms.
You will rub my back
Until I fall back to sleep.
I will wait for that.
A Haiku About Florida
Sunshine state my ass
It never stops raining here
Help, I’m drowning
“In English,” Professor Austin said, “a double negative forms a positive. However, in some languages, such as Russian, a double negative remains a negative. But there isn’t a single language, not one, in which a double positive can express a negative.”
A voice from the back of the room piped up, “Yeah, right.”
I crave you
in the most
for I crave to say
and give you
and to say
that I adore you
when you feel
at your worst.
I crave you
where I just
want to be
next to you
more or less.