~
As long as you don't care,
you're okay
'cause it's too terrifying
to be afraid.
3.9.10
Ketamine hugs??
~
It was a
knife in the back,
not a
bullet through the head,
but don't you think
I deserve
a little morphine instead?
It was a
knife in the back,
not a
bullet through the head,
but don't you think
I deserve
a little morphine instead?
Up and Apart.
i.
I was four and you were two. My Ma says she remembers me saying how it was such a bother when we had a playdate because you'd take my animal crackers and mash them between your fingers and your mouth but you'd never eat any of them.
ii.
I was seven and you were five, and my Ma told me to find a rose to give to you so she could take a picture with her new camera. I couldn't find any, so I went to Old Alfred's field and picked a wildflower instead. But it had a bee, and you had allergies, and you stuffed the petals in my mouth after your Pa fixed you up with the Epipen.
iii.
I was twelve and you were ten. You went to a Catholic girls' school and you said if I kissed you on the mouth, you wouldn't tell my Pa about the magazines and the cigarettes you helped me steal; but you didn't tell me you would kiss back.
iv.
I was fifteen and you were thirteen, and even though we were tired from racing home on our bikes, you let me sneak you out into Old Alfred's field and pick you a wildflower (sans bee). You stuffed a kiss in my mouth under Jupiter and you told me you liked me liked me, but I knew better than to let you shove my hand down your shirt.
v.
I was eighteen and you were sixteen. I was still trying to call you even if I was getting ready to move across the country, but your Ma always said you were at some other party, and I was starting to wonder what you were asking in return for secret-keeping and if you knew better than to let boys who said they liked you liked you stuff their kisses and in your mouth and their hands down your shirt.
vi.
I'm twenty-one and you're nineteen, but I've got a girl who loves me, and she lets me kiss her under Jupiter without requesting for a high; she found me a thornless rose, sans bee, but the memory of you stings well enough for both.
I was four and you were two. My Ma says she remembers me saying how it was such a bother when we had a playdate because you'd take my animal crackers and mash them between your fingers and your mouth but you'd never eat any of them.
ii.
I was seven and you were five, and my Ma told me to find a rose to give to you so she could take a picture with her new camera. I couldn't find any, so I went to Old Alfred's field and picked a wildflower instead. But it had a bee, and you had allergies, and you stuffed the petals in my mouth after your Pa fixed you up with the Epipen.
iii.
I was twelve and you were ten. You went to a Catholic girls' school and you said if I kissed you on the mouth, you wouldn't tell my Pa about the magazines and the cigarettes you helped me steal; but you didn't tell me you would kiss back.
iv.
I was fifteen and you were thirteen, and even though we were tired from racing home on our bikes, you let me sneak you out into Old Alfred's field and pick you a wildflower (sans bee). You stuffed a kiss in my mouth under Jupiter and you told me you liked me liked me, but I knew better than to let you shove my hand down your shirt.
v.
I was eighteen and you were sixteen. I was still trying to call you even if I was getting ready to move across the country, but your Ma always said you were at some other party, and I was starting to wonder what you were asking in return for secret-keeping and if you knew better than to let boys who said they liked you liked you stuff their kisses and in your mouth and their hands down your shirt.
vi.
I'm twenty-one and you're nineteen, but I've got a girl who loves me, and she lets me kiss her under Jupiter without requesting for a high; she found me a thornless rose, sans bee, but the memory of you stings well enough for both.
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