text message inbox poem; a lesson in rendez-vous

Question: whats the university downtown nola?

Be there asap - yo got into a fight with a fellow q-er

hey honey lets go to the soldes this weekend!

compte principale épuisé. pensez a appeller le 224 pour recharger.

je suis invite?

try to find a taxi baby

nous sommes a gare montparnasse

i love you too-- ne me trompe pas stp

want to meet at scossa at 6 30 or so? biz

j'arrive ma cherie

soutenir

i finally understand housewives




because i need one

the bright side

it is still blue


hate to say - - i told me so

ow

it hurts:






my heart.



tu dis des mots automatiques pendant que mon coeur brise.

slowmotion

a few weeks in s l o w m o t i o n and
existential crises at
3AM in his bathroom
he doesn’t know how to handle me like this

waiting for the bus
and some guy on a bike says
“you have beautiful blue eyes. are you lost?”
I just look at him
you have no idea....

between the devil and the deep blue sea

dolly parton keeps telling me she'll
always love me
and this cheap bottle of gin means
its exam time.

outside the rain is tapping on the glass roof
and i'm staring at droit fiscal
i know that means tax law
(and thats about all i know)

i didn't count any chickens yet, at least

but failure sounds sweeter in another tongue
and all i want is champagne and kisses
(sometimes people are too accommodating.)

peach and i lived la vie boheme for 48 hours sugary and crisp
i miss her musical voice
back in london, non-school land, lovers bliss

why did i think this was a good idea?
i've got no sense to come in when it hails.
[i'll go back to the firm tomorrow and pretend that it doesn't exist and that i am done with all this nonsense and have a joblife instead of incessant jlobbery-glook.]

if i fail the little white daisies will still be there
and the powder blue sky
B is for bombshell and buttons and ohmeomeohmy
and the champagne and kisses

even though my insides will be mustery mush moosh

slice of the south

a little part of me
is .foreverchanged.
since i found a
magnolia tree
in paris

wuv

if you were a chapter book
and i was a 5th grader


i would write my book report on you
with a shoebox diorama.

april was

april was the fastest time
the 1-2 step
to a 5-9 tempo

i'm crawling into the oasis
to drink every bit of him

one two three four

precipitation anticipation

I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but something about the walk home from Cambronne always reminds me of playing outside in the early summer in Georgia. Maybe it’s the fact that there are a lot of leafy green trees on some of the roads that I take. Maybe it’s the calm feeling I get when I leave Charlie’s apartment and stretch my legs a little, with smoky hair and my ballerina slippers. Maybe it’s the poppies in the park, or the little kids on the swingsets.

Today was not an exception. Sunday afternoon and sunny, slight breeze. And then all of a sudden the sky turned very dark and the breeze became a bit more menacing, several large raindrops fell on my forehead.

All I could think of is that moment when you are on your bike, a mile from home, circling around your little girlfriends, and that feeling arrives. The blue shifts, the wind flips your ponytail, and you know you better step on it, fast, if you want to make it home before the sky opens up and empties itself of all those hot summer raindrops.

The kind that sizzle and pop when they hit the hot hot black pavement, letting off puffs of steam.

men explain things to me

men

explain this

crazy

complicated

mixed up world

that I just can’t seem to wrap my little girl head around.

and the best part is,

I don’t even have to ask!

amazing facts

+The king of hearts is the only king without a moustache on a standard playing card//
+When glass breaks, the cracks move faster than 3,000 miles per hour//
+I'm having trouble being faithful to my new boyfriend//
+Slugs have 4 noses//
+Owls are one of the only birds who can see the color blue//

never knew

miss cecelia rose
misses people
whom
she wishes
she never knew.

he said

you look as delicious
as a pain au chocolat,
fresh out of the oven.

with me
you'll
/ always /
be spoiled.

apéro// apropos

“My cell phone doesn’t work at my house or at the house where I work.”

“You mean, at the office where you work?” he said, peering at me over his beer.

“Oh you are making fun of my french now? Do you want to talk in english? Would that be easier for you?” I said, and gave him a little dirty look.

“No, not english. I am awful at english,” he said.

“Hello, how are you? The cat is on the table. Where is the...”
before I could finish my English lesson, he smothered me in kisses.

rue losserand

wore my new blue shoes
to the dive bar
down the street

and now i'm in love
in so many ways.

its refreshing.

breathe

breathe


breathe






breathe

^manifest destiny^

i could be a french teacher in a southern high school or a divorce laywer in reno

i could be married to one of the trust fund babies that seem to find me, two kids and a penchant for baking pies

i could be slacking off in the suburbs, or sweating it back in new orleans

i could be with the german, or the californian, or the persian or the new yorker,

(but that would be too easy.)
you can’t pick what the heart wants
[and i’ve never felt that more than right now.]

truth is
its
really really really really hard.

but the second i stop challenging myself is the second i give up.

and i don’t give up.

at least,
the me i want to be
doesn’t give up.
the me i want to be,
does not fuck trust fund babies
or live in one language/or love in one country
or continue straight away.

i can’t continue straight away

i. just. can’t. trust. that. damn. map.

sunday mornings and wednesday nights i want it to be easy. those are the times i want to be with you. those are the times i want to understand. just understand. understand everything.

the me i want to be understands.
the me i want to be creates.

\

the me i want to be: she loves the hurt, (it means its not too easy).

april is national poetry month

30 ways to celebrate

i know some poets like to write a poem a day in april. i don't like to force my writing but i will try to write some more little poems than usual this month, or rather, post more little poems that i write that might normally fall into my archives.

my favorite poets are the american beats and the french surrealists, which, at the end of the day, describes me pretty well i think. i am thankful i have these wonderful words in my life

.

je n'ai jamais écrit
croyant le faire
je n'ai jamais aimè
croyant aimer
je n'ai jamais rien fait
qu'attendre
devant la porte
fermée

- Marguerite Duras

reality

everyone thinks i want gq
mr money
ceo
the iv

but i
crush
hard
on
chefs&carpenters
*

/pretend..

hey, do you remember the night we crawled into the coconut shell? and we kissed and kissed and kissed in the coconut milk like two little baby kittens who couldn’t stop rubbing against each other. my body isn’t warm without your body. my fingers only reach out to touch you. my tongue tastes nothing but your sweetness and salt. do you remember when we slept in the sand pail? it rubbed against our skin until we were nothing but vulnerable, nothing but innocent and pink. my body isn’t whole without your body inside of me. my ears hear only your whispers. do you remember when we crawled into the car tire? it deflated all around us and the only air we could breathe was from each others lungs, from each others chests. tummy to tummy. cheek to cheek. feet tangled.

my body aches only for your body and my body only sleeps next to your body.