I speak to myself with the voice
of a New York street poet
and she’s snarky, honestly.
On Tuesdays I listen to sad songs
to bring tears to my eyes,
or sleep, it usually works.
I keep signs of you
in a box with a silver bullet pen
in case you come back.
I wish I was a coffee
drinker now, then
you’d remember me wrong.
I’m making boots out of
all the places I’ve been with you
but they are stitched with holes.
Did you know, I just float
in the salty seawater because
I’m scared to swim?
Clippings
P.S. On Tuesdays I listen to sad songs to make myself cry.
P.S. Sometimes I just float in the water because I’m scared to swim.
P.S. I keep the signs of you in a box with a silver pen in case you come back.
P.S. I dream so vividly that I wake exhausted because I have already lived a hundred days in my sleep.
P.S. I wish I drank coffee because then you’d remember me wrong.
P.S. Everywhere I look
P.S. When I find
P.S. I’m making boots out of all the places I’ve been with you but they are full of holes.
P.S. I talk to myself with the voice of a New York street poet with a shoe obsession. She’s snarky honestly.
P.S. I use
P.S. At Christmas, let’s pretend we have good plates and that we live together in a beautiful beach house.
P.S. I loved you.
P.S. When the sun comes into this room so hot I close the curtains and pretend it’s Grey Gardens.
P.S. I think about what will happen when you die.
P.S. The sound of the gulls reminds me of home even though I’m not from by the sea.
P.S. I meant to tell you that it’s easy being here on the top floor.
P.S. As I said in my letter
Everywhere I look
I can smell the seaweed
in your hair.
At Christmas, let’s pretend
we have good plates for
a beautiful beach house.
I dream all night just to
wake up tired after I
already lived a hundred days.
At Christmas, let’s pretend
my heart isn’t broken like
the good blue plates.