1

in a room of wet paint
clenched teeth
claustrophobia
meaningless conversations
everyone looking at everyone looking at everyone

wet feet
record playing snow

sleeping bag coat
the same people and
i dont even know these people

this group, macroscopic scene

no red lips
:babe

post-relationship:

white: apartment, walls, pool, paint, furniture you didnt own.
coming over to watch dirty movies, and drink liquor before and after bed

in the morning cards strewn across the loaned coffee table
marie calender in the oven, 45 minutes

you didnt grocery shop
you bought cardbord boxes

i could never marry you, anyway,
you can only cook cardboard (boxes)

the only other man who proposed the idea of marriage said, i
“wouldn’t marry him”.
and i wouldnt.
even though he could cook me beet salad and casseroles from scratch

(why would anyone that didnt love someone, propose marrying?)
(post-love on a drive to the mountains)

that was a drive to the mountains
where i created rainbows with my finger tips, onto your face.
you never looked better (with rainbows from my fingertips.

 you’ve never looked better.

poems i forgot (who) about

splinters on the staircase

before or after the hamburger?

pretending to sleep

you let me go at the bus stop

everything falling apart and coming together

the end of many things

of whatever life i have been living

and now i can move on?

and now i can move up?

ny reminds me of how temporary and fleeting life is
hopefully one day i will learn to enjoy it
maybe i am ?

maybe i will
—

fleeting hearts wrong arrows
misread missconnection
spontaneous long haired blue y

——
if you could slick your hair back , forever
and never take off your glasses

set foot outside yourself
3 steps behind yourself
to make sure
it was all ok
that it was going to be ok
with no judgement
and it just is
with no judgement
it just is.

I stopped looking at you, in the eye

Because I just felt sad that you weren’t looking at me

And I just wanted something more than you could give me in a park or a walk or sitting on steps, jokes.

I guess My mind was just a little bit heavier than yours

And I had just been thinking about you so much while I was away because it was better than thinking about death or feeling bad or anything else really

Youre probably not even that great

Its probably fine

I probably just embarrassed myself

And I didn’t want you to hug me as long as you hugged me

But I did want you to come home with me

Because im tired of being lonely in a city with so many people.

Ugh trying to do everything all at once time travel airplane thinking about the past about nothing wishing my brain were else where most days self deprecating self fulfilling self doubt self serve self ish shell fish these things I am doing will one day come together and I can stop thinking in fragments they were together all along everything is all together all the time you are not the only I should be talking to about you but I cant talk to you about it what ever it is

because it never felt that good when we were to get her but at least it was something to feel.

14,000 dollars in Brooklyn

growing all the hairs on my body

14,000.

busy or good or stressed or bad or tired and lonely.

Cold too

already, in October

Meeting more people with your name then I’ve ever met of people with your name

Seasons

Confidence

Confinement

Forgot what home feels like to miss it

Moving for the 3^rd time this year

Living stacked

Skylight

Rooftop

Multiples

roommates

Orange

bike

Day

dream

Hard

work

six

days

less

friends

annoying

cat

belly

food

no

feelings

forgetting

physicals

horizons

mountains

sun

where are those feelings that where for you?

still Searching for them.

no avail

am I too busy

Too bossy

I don’t even like the person I liked

It is how

it is

surprisingly two months

You projected sleepovers in two  months

Right you were

Am i

Noo heat to suck everything out my body

I’m ready

I’m really

I’m ready

Listening to all the blood in your body.
If you plug your ears, while covering your eyes, I think it’s the closest sensation to death.

My life right now is titled: How to Flee the Country in Four Weeks, A Satire. 
Staring me as myself, but not acting like myself. Guest appearances (should be) made by everyone I will miss.

Drinking wine on Monday night.
All the wine in your fridge
All the boxed wine

The potatoes, that are red.
The lentils, that are red.
The everything, that is a fantastic (lucid) rainbow color
You’re hoping that this is it. and forever this is: it.

—

Youre in your oven, not your head this time.
Not in any part of your body.
Okay, you’re not in the oven.
You are just cooking
You are not Sylvia plath
You are not in the oven
You are just roasting red potatoes
You are the oven
And im getting out
And Im getting out
We were the potatoes
And now, im, out.