"Earthquake", Amber Tamblyn
My entire life has been a huge earthquake
I slept through. All I know are the aftershocks.
The sound of glass being swept up
in my lover’s bedroom.
A story I don’t remember telling is the headline
of every newspaper the morning after.
My blackout in big lights.
All I see is the damage I’ve done.
My mother is the news anchor,
never allowing me to escape her natural disaster.
My father is the kindly neighbor
bringing me a candle and asking me about my injuries.
I read a diary full of old
New Year’s resolutions:
1) Ignore the commentary on your comical thighs.
2) Write more than just repeating his favorite song’s lyrics.
3) Report every shooting star to Mindy while out of town.
4) Tell him you love him before he figures out that you don’t.
My friends lie to me like a government.
They say the wreckage isn’t as bad as it seems.
My old flames head up relief efforts,
raising money to help the hurt survive me.
My thoughts are homeless dogs running wild.
I just want to know the truth.
I’d like to take the Richter Scale
out for a romantic lie detector test
and when the mood’s right,
ask what it really thinks of me.
When it doesn’t respond, I’ll tell everyone
to sleep in their cars, to move to Florida
where hurricanes announce themselves
before destroying everything.
I slept through. All I know are the aftershocks.
The sound of glass being swept up
in my lover’s bedroom.
A story I don’t remember telling is the headline
of every newspaper the morning after.
My blackout in big lights.
All I see is the damage I’ve done.
My mother is the news anchor,
never allowing me to escape her natural disaster.
My father is the kindly neighbor
bringing me a candle and asking me about my injuries.
I read a diary full of old
New Year’s resolutions:
1) Ignore the commentary on your comical thighs.
2) Write more than just repeating his favorite song’s lyrics.
3) Report every shooting star to Mindy while out of town.
4) Tell him you love him before he figures out that you don’t.
My friends lie to me like a government.
They say the wreckage isn’t as bad as it seems.
My old flames head up relief efforts,
raising money to help the hurt survive me.
My thoughts are homeless dogs running wild.
I just want to know the truth.
I’d like to take the Richter Scale
out for a romantic lie detector test
and when the mood’s right,
ask what it really thinks of me.
When it doesn’t respond, I’ll tell everyone
to sleep in their cars, to move to Florida
where hurricanes announce themselves
before destroying everything.