Tag Archives: everyday

Poems from My Day (2-9)

Gravitas he lacks it.

1:
I hate that I smile when I’m uncomfortable
I hate that I’ll think I’m stupid and know nothing in 5 years.
Please don’t ever talk to someone, pat them on the head, and think their problems are cute.

2:
I kept telling myself if I get everything done I need to today,
Then I can do nothing and sleep.
Except I got almost everything done,
Felt guilty about not doing more,
And never got the break I was promised.

3:
I hate being dependent on someone.
I feel obliged.
And I’m never sure what they’ll do with that obligation.
Like ask to let something slide,
Or tell me “it’s nothing,”
So we have something to hide together.

4:
I feel like I worked all weekend.
And I didn’t get that day to do nothing.
Maybe I won’t ever get those days anymore.
But knowing that the last time I would have a free day, would be the last day,
Probably would have just added more pressure to have a good time,
Instead of increasing my bliss.
It’s like, the m&m can only be so good,
Even if you save the last one till twenty minutes after you finished the bag.

5:
I have a new worst thing in the world.
It’s when someone does something wrong that effects you,
And gets mad at you for asking them to fix it.
Also known as payroll.

6:
It’s the first time I’m being asked to sign a non-compete clause.
I’m vaguely offended.
But this company has always put business practices before doing the right thing,
Mind you, they tend to screw those up too.
Even if the founder would tell you different.
I’m going to get in trouble for writing that.

7:
I deleted all my books
The ones you made fun of me for,
And now there’s no record I’d read them, or where I stopped reading them, or gave up.
I still want credit for them.
Because I so desperately don’t want everything to be for nothing.

8:
But my handwriting is perfect.
That’s what my Mom told me she thought as soon as she checked into the hospital for stress exhaustion.
She told me this after I told her all my clothes are folded and put away.
And everything is perfect.
But the me is lacking in me.

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Poems from My Day (11-23)

yes it’s eight minute past midnight, but it’s still today to me

1:
I don’t have time for mayo.
I can get mustard on bread fast.
With my piece of cheese and two pieces of watery turkey.
I shove it in the ziplock bag that isn’t ziplock,
The kind you have to fold-over.
I stick it in my purse, because my lunch bag smells from the garlic chicken
Last week.
And I’m embarrassed.
Embarrassed I have to take my lunch.

2:
I have a running list in my head,
Probably mostly forgotten,
Of the things I need to do and remember,
And really not forget,
I try to number them,
And tell myself to remember when I wake up.
These four things.

3:
My roommate hasn’t turned the heat on yet.
I’d like to dream about thoughts, become better, ethical.
But I’m too cold.
I’m sleeping with a scarf on.
I’m going to choke myself to death because I can’t bring myself to turn the heat on.
If I turn it on, maybe she’ll start charging me more for rent.
Then I’ll have to move,
I’ll have to move in the cold.

4:
It must be my fault they leave.
Don’t they know I’d just keep talking?
I push them away on accident.
I want them to fight to stay with me, but
They never do,
Because they’re not sure how I feel,
Because if I show how I feel,
They’ll leave.
And then they’ll know they have the upper-hand too.

5:
He wanted something.
He wanted me to pass on a word for him to the higher-ups,
Who like me, because I’m small.
I thought he was being kind,
Making friends,
Knowing me.
So I passed on his message,
Felt a little sad,
And won’t let him cross over into “people I like” territory.

6:
Out of the three of us, I made the best grades in High School.
They might be smarter, better with sciences, have oozing scores,
But it was me, and only me,
Who got into every school I applied to.
Who didn’t have to take out college loans,
And who’s mother never asked which school would you like to go to,
But took the only option.

7:
Please don’t watch me work.
If you don’t let me goof off for the few seconds I have of my own,
It’ll take longer in the long run.
Please leave me alone.

8:
I don’t want to be a bother.
These people who feel bad for their existence.
Always excusing, never fussing, scared that being loud will make them
Owe someone else.
And that’s the worst. Isn’t it

Poems from My Day (11-21)

It snowed for the first time today. I used to think that made it a magical day.

1:
I’m fifteen again, because I’m talking to my mother.
She says, “don’t be snippy with me just because you’re hungry.”
I wasn’t that hungry.
But no comment can be made against her.
Unless you have empirical, documented evidence.
It’ll still be your fault though,
How dare you bring this up and make her feel bad,
Don’t you know what she’s going through?
I just shut down. Then get yelled at for being quiet.
Why don’t you talk to me anymore?

2:
Let me tell you what complaining does,
You smug bastard.
I’m coping when I complain.
Coping means dealing with it,
To deal with it I have to say it,
To say it, I have to sound whiny sometimes,
There’s no way around it.
I need to say it out loud,
I have to process, grind, smear, and stutter.
If you don’t let me, I’ll push my tongue to the roof of my mouth,
Clench my jaw so my molars stick out,
And not let you in anymore.

3:
I sing sexy songs to myself in the mirror
And pretend to be Shirley Bassey, and have hips,
And a big bowling voice.
Then I remember something he told me once,
I quiet, and check my forehead for new wrinkles,
And tell myself I won’t do that again.

4:
I saw my grandmother today.
My mom wanted to take a picture,
To post online.
I said no.
When I have a definite opinion,
And you don’t respect it.
You lose.

5:
I left my dog with my parents,
I’m allergic.
She looked so happy to see me,
She’s a dog.
She made me feel loved,
She doesn’t know any better.
I had to leave her behind,
I had to go home,
I’m so sorry.

6:
I make all these rules for myself.
If he calls you again at three in the morning, drunk,
Only pick up the phone if you’ve done something that day.
Wait at least two minutes before responding to texts.
Don’t cling.
Don’t complain.
Don’t get your hopes up again.
Expect nothing.
Don’t remember how much you miss him.
Don’t keep staring at his picture.

Poems from My Day (10-29)

Give me a holler, if you’ve got one to share. A poem a mean. Not whatever you were thinking of.

1:
I would like to complain about my work,
But I won’t.
Because they could find me.
And because I’m no longer free to speak my mind.
Or rather.
I’m no longer brave enough to speak my mind.

2:
I’m in the zen state of tired-ness.
When the patterns on quilts become difficult logic puzzles
Requiring all you attention
And the swirls milk makes in the tea
Becomes the most interesting thing in the world.
And I can’t remember my last sentence.
Or if I’m inappropriate.
I want sleep and warm.

3:
I decided after I stopped religion,
I wanted to still be a good person.
So I read some Kant, and a bit of ‘stotle
And I try.
I had to find meaning somewhere with something rather.
But damn, do I miss the simplicity of church.

4:
I don’t like, well, a lot of people.
Women who won’t admit when they’re wrong.
People without senses of humor.
Who are careless with their friends.
Those who expect a certain response
Who punish you when you don’t show it.
And who look a hell of a lot like me.

5:
A woman told me today, you have to be suspicious of people,
You have to be suspicious of people who don’t drink,
And don’t swear.
What kind of place do I live in my head,
Where I can’t stand up and say something,
To something like that?
If it were a joke,
If I were in power,
If I was faster and wittier and smarter and superman.
I should have called it.
What a terrible thing to say.

6:
I talked with my sister a bit about feminism.
Why can’t women get roaring drunk without something being wrong
Why can’t we be confrontational and still delicate
How come we’re not allowed to make a scene
Why do we have to worry about this
What did my mother tell me to make this barrier?
The barrier to not caring about me appearing flowery.
Why do my ducks have to be a row before I’ll call someone on their piggishness?
Maybe we’re just shy north of the Ohio river to get away with it.

7:
I want to tell my friend, out loud, in a public place, with witnesses galore,
That I don’t believe in love and thunderbolts and – I saw her across the rooms,
To tempt fate,
To give me someone to love.

8:
I knocked over a plant with my elbow
Off the windowsill and onto the floor.
And the dirt spilled on the fluffy beige, putzy carpet.
That was two days ago.
I look at the dirt,
I don’t pick it up,
I don’t make plans to pick it up.
I just keep looking at it.

Poems from My Day (10-27)

It’s late October. It’s rainy. I hate the fall.

1:
I drove home from my brother’s birthday party in the rain tonight.
I decided to talk to myself while I drove,
Instead of listening to the white-green light of the radio.
I told myself what I think it means to be from my home.
It felt good to have someone listen.

2:
I purchased a quilt from a woman on Etsy.
In the listing she mentioned that if there were no takers,
She was keeping it for herself.
It compelled me to buy it.
It makes it seem like I’m getting something I shouldn’t have.
A bit dirty, but satisfied.

3:
I made the Jimmy John’s delivery guy laugh.
I got the guy ringing up my candy to smile.
If I met someone on equal ground,
Maybe I’d be strong enough to make them laugh too,
But I pass myself by them cheerily enough,
So they’ll be introduced and not remember me.

4:
The man who lived in here before me,
Loved my roommate.
Maybe it’s good I’m taking his space,
Giving new customs, idiosyncrasies to the way cast iron skillets sit on the shelves.
But, to me, it feels like I still haven’t found a place to cry in peace.

5:
I had my favorite realization again.
I love when it comes along.
It reminds me that my women have steel underneath them.
I thought,
He could leave me, ghost me,
And I’d be fine. I’ll always be fine with or without a man.
Ice cold steel, baby, ain’t nothing like it.
And it’s the fault of my step-father for never seeing it run through his wife.
Stronger, fiercer, and meaner than you’ll ever know,
We’re out waiting you to die.
Then we’ll be just fine.

My Week (7/6)

A few paragraphs on what I can’t get out of my mind in early July.

You don’t want me. You want a woman who’ll tell you you’re the greatest. I won’t lie to you. You want a flouncy, thin beauty with a button nose and that kind of history. You can’t handle my mess. And I can tell you what you can handle, because I’m stronger than you are, and you don’t argue with me. Find someone with lovely eye sparkles who knows how to put on subtle. Talk to her about her blushing secrets and tampons. You can’t brush with complexity. And you still suck at grammar.

We treat these people who care like wild flowers we want to press inside novels with hardback covers we’ll pretend to our friends we’ve read. That’s how rare these strange creatures are in our lives of you can’t shock me anymore. We’ve seen it all. You cannot offend us. We have no scruples. Until you hit a nerve, because they’re so well hidden. You show us a gif of a woman’s legs breaking backwards and that’s it. We lose it. But we’re invisible so it doesn’t matter that we don’t care.

Folk music is about people. There’s isn’t a pop fault veneer. It says this is the way it is. This is the way these people lived. And you’ll love them for it. It says I know the person you’re singing about, I’ve met her, she is me. There’s no glancing over pain. The pain is there with the beauty and the winter and the gloom. They’re always simple songs, it’s like I don’t need mixing to show you how I feel. The songs are clear. They open themselves up with a guitar and a story, and say sit down for a minute, and I’ll tell you about me. These are the people who are barely getting by saying, I’m gonna live with music. And I won’t die with nothing. And that’ll be just the way it is. These are the songs you need not to get through the bad times, but to get through the good.

The switch in my brain just swotched and now I know I’m talking too much.

There’s nothing left of me now. All gone and empty. They took it all. I can feel where the thoughts used to be.

Poems from my Week (5/28)

i am. a penniless, schedule keeper. but i thought i’d tell you about my week

1:
The dentist took my wisdom teeth.
I had to go back to his office.
I had to be polite
To the man who caused my week’s worth of pain.
He should sell himself as a weightloss specialist.

2:
They know who I am as soon to look.
Then I have to be the attitude they’re expecting,
Because they’re waiting for it,
They’re who I’ve always wanted to be.
They’re women who knew what to do with their hair,
Because their mothers told them,
Because their moms knew,
Because their moms cared what their hair looked like,
And not that they were late.

3:
I would much, very much like to know someone who would
Celebrate a very merry unbirthday to me, to you.
I want someone to push me,
Accuse me.
Ask me why didn’t you finish that when you were told.
I put more of you on paper as real.
I’m hoping you’re the one person of whom I can say,
“She knows me, she gets me, she understands.”
You know why I need to pour tea from a watering can and cry.

4:
I want to talk to you, but you’re high.
I can’t even tell the difference anymore.
When did I become a nag?
My mother bugged people like I’m starting to.
He doesn’t love me enough to stop.
I haven’t asked.
I can’t ask.
I can’t complain about something I haven’t spoken of.

5:
You’ll know me, then be bored of me, then leave me.
I am me without you,
I am me without you.
If I see you again,
It’ll all come back,
Like driving past elementary.

6:
The skin cancer man didn’t wear sunscreen,
Until the doctor told him:
Please continue, I have two kids to put through college.
Insult to the way you handle money,
Only to be pull off by a stranger in authority.

7:
Complain about yourself.
It can’t be your fault.
Oh, the most horrible thing happened.

8:
I cussed out the woman who lives in my phone.
She directed me to three closed coffeehouses
Before she found a tea place instead.
I wanted to hold her accountable, and couldn’t,
It’d be better if I could.

9:
Remind me to tell yous –
Are remembered after it’s been lost,
And it’s raining,
And your shoes are squeaking,
And the food is cold.

10:
She called – just to chat.
I talked for an hour.
Thursday night ramblings of weekends and weeks before and things and trees and shrubs.