A TREAT!
I was cleaning out my old email account, and I found this email I emailed to myself from high school. It's a bunch of poems from my junior year of high school. I don't write poems anymore, but it was nice seeing these. I'll put them here for you to read, cause it'll be a TREAT! Two of these poems got me GOOD POEM awards, guess which two!
lawn mower
(formerly 'hedwig party')
"they're the ones that make you,"
he said, while i was sitting next to him
chewing stale ritz crackers.
i thought about her, terrified that neither
of us are lying to each other, but actually
telling the truth. i was tired but i kept remembering
it was morning and i still had no plan.
"if it was winter," i'd be so much more patient
with everything, and i'd say all the perfet things
and there'd be no more flowers to pick.
i coughed and convinced him that the pills
mean nothing and we love each other,
regardless of season.
occaisonally, i would feel bad.
that was a bad mistake, who will
clean up the lawn?
but when it's thought about in depth,
it almost makes perfect sense, to the
point of wanting to do it all over again
but with more yelling and flailing.
it's almost finished anyways,
the last piece being the
smokers with the pyramid ashtray,
on the swings, sick and lethargic,
in the sunny backyard.
sleeping sickness
my favorite lie is here for you
if courage permitted us to scoop back the snow
(my thumb burned so i could tell you this, the snow will cool it)
nothing's there but we can fool ourselves by
wearing bendy glasses made out of soft drips of plasma,
the glass encased in them can help us see
what is normally covered in the soots of the mail
truck that drove away without delivering our message.
we can both claim a therapeutic effect if we didn't
tire ourselves out by racing our trikes constantly.
a stranger would be impressed
and invite us to a barbeque
and expect a real filibuster.
he'd be disappointed,
screw him anyways.
you told me that you can feel the gravel through your toes, you mangle
them like pigs-in-a-blanket, without the batter. which
reminds me, the sleeping sickness is in me, don't touch me!
it's highly contagious like we read in Life magazine
anyways, i figured out your secret yesterday
but i feel like running and my glasses fell off ages ago
you always said, "fast talking will only give us sore tongues.
when people find out they might make lewd comments about us,
won't we be embarassed then?"
fast breakfast
pontius pilate came to breakfast and told us a story.
"when i eat with you, i eat trying to forget. mother's
pancakes help the nostalgia, but the waffles just cloud
my thoughts." we listened in rapt attention, we watched
his graceful Roman hands butter the toast.
"orange juice is good, but only on hot mornings. in winter i
prefer coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, 1/8 cup of milk, never
half and half, the cream makes me gassy. but i guess by then,
its already too late." we felt sorry for him. it was his brithday,
so we sang him his favorite song. "free barrabas,
free barrabas, free barrabas!"
pilate shook his head and his egg yolk leaked over his plate.
Two Handed Lover
I was trying really hard to, but she was asking me all sorts of unsexy questions
like, "Do you like video games?"
Sure I do, but what I'm really interested in is how some people can lead
ordinary lives with no hands, or arms even. Some play the violin with their toes;
others can read Braille with only nubs, or in her case video games (which is often a
cause of parental upset, the reason being graphic depictions of gunshot wounds,
sparks, blood, dead bodies, explosions, even amputations).
When I was young, I read about how amputated limbs were dipped in tar to
stop the bleeding. Sometimes I want to remind her how lucky she is, that she didn't
have to go through such horrible things.
Although it is hard to be in love with an amputee, I remind myself how
wonderful I am, a gentle two handed lover.
freezer cigarettes
im standing on my porch, its 11 40 pm
and my lungs are asking for a break,
and the baseball field is dark
the crickets run around in the pond, their chirping
makes me sick, and i drag again on my camel,
i swear its my last, im turning more and more
into my dad, he smokes too, marlboros, i remember
cartons of them stacked in our freezer, and hes on the
couch and his lungs are dead too, empty black sacks
that could once shout and yell at me and cheer me
on as i run the bases, my legs pumping my heart beating
and my lungs chant with him, run, run, and i do run,
and now im here, standing on my porch, and i see the
smoke float away from me, and i imagine it poisoning
the crickets so their lungs collapse and they cant chirp anymore,
and i can get finally get some peace and quiet
and remember freezer cigarettes in silence.
lawn mower
(formerly 'hedwig party')
"they're the ones that make you,"
he said, while i was sitting next to him
chewing stale ritz crackers.
i thought about her, terrified that neither
of us are lying to each other, but actually
telling the truth. i was tired but i kept remembering
it was morning and i still had no plan.
"if it was winter," i'd be so much more patient
with everything, and i'd say all the perfet things
and there'd be no more flowers to pick.
i coughed and convinced him that the pills
mean nothing and we love each other,
regardless of season.
occaisonally, i would feel bad.
that was a bad mistake, who will
clean up the lawn?
but when it's thought about in depth,
it almost makes perfect sense, to the
point of wanting to do it all over again
but with more yelling and flailing.
it's almost finished anyways,
the last piece being the
smokers with the pyramid ashtray,
on the swings, sick and lethargic,
in the sunny backyard.
sleeping sickness
my favorite lie is here for you
if courage permitted us to scoop back the snow
(my thumb burned so i could tell you this, the snow will cool it)
nothing's there but we can fool ourselves by
wearing bendy glasses made out of soft drips of plasma,
the glass encased in them can help us see
what is normally covered in the soots of the mail
truck that drove away without delivering our message.
we can both claim a therapeutic effect if we didn't
tire ourselves out by racing our trikes constantly.
a stranger would be impressed
and invite us to a barbeque
and expect a real filibuster.
he'd be disappointed,
screw him anyways.
you told me that you can feel the gravel through your toes, you mangle
them like pigs-in-a-blanket, without the batter. which
reminds me, the sleeping sickness is in me, don't touch me!
it's highly contagious like we read in Life magazine
anyways, i figured out your secret yesterday
but i feel like running and my glasses fell off ages ago
you always said, "fast talking will only give us sore tongues.
when people find out they might make lewd comments about us,
won't we be embarassed then?"
fast breakfast
pontius pilate came to breakfast and told us a story.
"when i eat with you, i eat trying to forget. mother's
pancakes help the nostalgia, but the waffles just cloud
my thoughts." we listened in rapt attention, we watched
his graceful Roman hands butter the toast.
"orange juice is good, but only on hot mornings. in winter i
prefer coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, 1/8 cup of milk, never
half and half, the cream makes me gassy. but i guess by then,
its already too late." we felt sorry for him. it was his brithday,
so we sang him his favorite song. "free barrabas,
free barrabas, free barrabas!"
pilate shook his head and his egg yolk leaked over his plate.
Two Handed Lover
I was trying really hard to, but she was asking me all sorts of unsexy questions
like, "Do you like video games?"
Sure I do, but what I'm really interested in is how some people can lead
ordinary lives with no hands, or arms even. Some play the violin with their toes;
others can read Braille with only nubs, or in her case video games (which is often a
cause of parental upset, the reason being graphic depictions of gunshot wounds,
sparks, blood, dead bodies, explosions, even amputations).
When I was young, I read about how amputated limbs were dipped in tar to
stop the bleeding. Sometimes I want to remind her how lucky she is, that she didn't
have to go through such horrible things.
Although it is hard to be in love with an amputee, I remind myself how
wonderful I am, a gentle two handed lover.
freezer cigarettes
im standing on my porch, its 11 40 pm
and my lungs are asking for a break,
and the baseball field is dark
the crickets run around in the pond, their chirping
makes me sick, and i drag again on my camel,
i swear its my last, im turning more and more
into my dad, he smokes too, marlboros, i remember
cartons of them stacked in our freezer, and hes on the
couch and his lungs are dead too, empty black sacks
that could once shout and yell at me and cheer me
on as i run the bases, my legs pumping my heart beating
and my lungs chant with him, run, run, and i do run,
and now im here, standing on my porch, and i see the
smoke float away from me, and i imagine it poisoning
the crickets so their lungs collapse and they cant chirp anymore,
and i can get finally get some peace and quiet
and remember freezer cigarettes in silence.