i have chosen to refuse
to let myself go low
like i used to do

lying on the bottom
of the bath tub
showered by hot water

that’s where
i decided to stand
again

there’s nothing like this
nothing quite as enlivening
and frightening

nothing i have needed
and doubted with
such certainty

i stand upon waters
of great depth
refusing to sink

i might lie down again
but that’s all i swear

Remember that night we carved our names into pumpkins? Yours looked incredible with the candle inside. Mine caved, burned itself away, down to the cement. I guess my name is too long. And you always had steadier hands.

We took a drive that night, shot too fast out of the rutted, pitted streets we knew into the shade of tall, stone buildings we looked up and imagined ourselves on top of. We ran that night, like we wanted to wear the bottoms of our shoes out. We had to catch our breath over and over. Amber’s coat ripped on that fence she tried to climb. Fry caught a falling leaf on fire, playing with his lighter. We stomped it out, laughing uncontrollably, right before that cop came by and told us to go home.

So we went to the river, and watched the shadows darken on the rocks. We got quiet, sitting in the dimming warmth of the sun as it set. Even though we feared quiet, that night we didn’t mind it. It felt like a photograph. Jeff’s braces. Fry’s hair buzzed. Amber’s eyes teary with glee. And you, still talking about the smell of burnt pumpkin.

I was the last one in the bed of the truck, on purpose. I wanted just you and I lying on our backs back there. I wanted to look up when the sun was gone, the stars were dim, and the streetlights shone the same dismal yellow-orange the old wallpaper in your house turned to in the corners. You handed me a bunch of pumpkin seeds. I started wishing I had brought a sweatshirt. I wrapped myself up in some old rug.

Then everyone sang. I took some blurry pictures of the sky. And you fell asleep. We must have driven for hours. I heard three sirens. Then I couldn’t feel my fingertips. When you helped me out of the truck and walked with me to my front door, my teeth were chattering. Still, I was hesitant to admit good night.

The city felt like ours that night, much more than others. And what I knew, looking at you, at Amber, at Jeff, at Fry — what I didn’t want to know but I felt, closing the front door and locking it up — what I realize even more now, knowing where I am, looking ahead — is we’re not getting many more of those.

chaiivee:

i have flaws too, i tell him
i have flaws and you will find them
in the quiet
soft like dark
blue tender bruises
hurtful
for your fingers to find
so when you find them
just have grace okay?
just be kind

shesinacoma:

Nadezda Fava | Doodling near Molveno lake, Summer 2014

shesinacoma:

Nadezda Fava | Doodling near Molveno lake, Summer 2014

(Source: nadezdafavaillustration)

read my poems while i go nap okay

hi

hi

Life is so much noise, he said.
Such a lot of sound.
I think I want to drive to Colorado;
It sounds quiet,
kind of lonely in a nice way.

I want to go somewhere the mountains touch.
Mountains hand in hand you know.
And when the roads get all kicked up with dust
it takes a while for it to settle.
I’ll go and make a postcard of it.

Though if you think you wouldn’t mind
the many slow and silent hours,
under all the engine and the planes overhead,
I really wouldn’t mind.
It’d save me the postage.

And of course I’ll hold your hand
when we get out to the mountains.
We could sit out on the truck,
on the roof,
and it might take a while
but the quiet will grow warm in us.
When we leave
we might even carry it back.

What are you doing?
Trying to write.
What’re you trying to write?
Something really beautiful.
What’s really beautiful?
Not entirely sure. Hoping it comes to me.

NPR I LOVE YOU

i noticed that you noticed me
fleetingly
eyes not daring to catch eyes
too long

that’s fine
i can play the timid game for quite
some time
if i can play the game with you, i

don’t mind.