ODE TO THE 21ST CENTURY TEEN
They romance the devil with labor-made sneakers. They hum songs incoherently written by rich fools. They told each other they would never be like their parents, courting each other atop cars rusting in their graves.
I want the money to destroy me.
I DON'T LIKE WOMEN
I’m generalizing, but quite accurately stating my conclusions.
talk more lose more love more
for a fleeting moment, is to shine. Then, to gracefully fade.
THIS FEELING IN THE PIT OF MY STOMACH.
A peculiar familiar. A familiar peculiar.
YOU HAVE BEEN SERVED
I’d forgive you if you were just the bearer of bad things.It is the fact that you quietly seem to relish - like a greedy mouse who eats all of a found morsel before his brother even reaches the threshold at the edge of the wall. You are a very greedy mouse. I don’t know why I always seem to run to you with every new detail of my life. I’ve grown addicted to your scoffs, your soft...
I don’t remember what I’ve already said before. The sad metaphors I’ve spun all mean the same thing. I need a new way. I need a new way. I’m feeling old and drawn out, ready to rest in something wicker. By a window that needs cleaning. Rocking on a chair that creaks, harshly ruining the dreams of children like an old and senile spinster. The kids will hide behind their...
I FEEL WRONGED AND OWED.
And I’m wrong, I know.
WHEN I WAS BORN,
I was three weeks past my due date. This came at a time when inducing was only used in emergencies. I’m sure my mother appreciated all of the coos of attention, all the same; ‘It looks, like you’re about to pop!’ ‘Tell me about it!’ she’d retort, rolling her eyes in a big exaggerated show. ‘My first was early, and my second was a breeze, but...
didn’t remind me what I’ve done, I wouldn’t know where I’ve been.
I haven’t a large collection of adjectives, so I account with a moderate to hefty use of commas. What I’m connecting I’m not so sure.
I NEVER SAID HAPPY.
I feel that even as a child, I was never very optimistic. A loner, sort of sad. So now I wonder, maybe it is a glitch? Not a personality trait, a sign of a budding, intellectual mind. But actually a neuron incorrectly firing, or not firing at all. Maybe a gland produced too much, or not enough. Either way, the eerie feeling of being conscious of a faulty perspective makes for a shaky reality. Is...
We drown in the toxic waste of buffet dinners and lukewarm matinees. Of long weekends, and days the bank doesn’t open. Of scheduled appointments, and Sunday dinners. Of gas-bar snack-bars. Of engagements and deliberate pregnancies. Of coupon clipping. Of davenports, and duvets. Of calling family, and avoiding them. Of close parking spots, and frozen pies. The first symptom is compliance....
WE ARE SO MANY MINISKIRTS AWAY FROM HOME.