doubtfulidealist

[doubtfulidealist]

so this is what it feels like to be loved

[doubtfulidealist]

coffee shop diaries, sunday morning.

paper cut on my tongue, letters to the grave. sip caffeine, stretch in place.

do not say it. do not say it.

kitchen counter, thursday night.

cutting board chatter, smoke alarm again. oven mitt, old excuses.

do not say it. do not say it.

spinning fan, saturday evening.

living room velvet couch. think of God, pray for more religion.

do not say it. do not say it.

more cranberry than vodka now. more close contact than normal now.

do not say it. do not say it.

sad song train ride, monday afternoon.

breathe in clementine. overcomplicate my commute for the hell of it.

i do not remember the weekend. i do not hold hands with friends.

[doubtfulidealist]

my headphones died on the bus ride home. i cried to myself of some kind of torture, to sit with naked ears among my neighbors on the three. the old man with the patriot headband and wobbling jaunt must have known my pain and raised me a loud speaker of r&b for the two stops between ocean view and market. he did not keep the silence. i did not keep his gaze. my tote bag blocking the seat beside i stared down at my dirt covered air force ones with the pink check mark i swore made me different from every other girl who looks just like me and wears blue crew necks with blue jeans. i ran my tongue along the edge of my chapped lips and counted the minutes until sunset when i would scurry home two blocks in the almost dark dusk. i did not offer a seat to the standing teenagers with the slicked up hair and i did not meet their gaze. i tugged on the yellow string that means stop and got up without a word. i walked down sampson past the mariachi van and turned right at the corner store where i did not tell kenny i know his name. this is the way home.

[doubtfulidealist]

kicked out of libraries

kicked out of bars

kicked while i’m down

so i don’t go far

kicked to the side streets

kicked to the curb

kicked till i’m shaking

and don’t say a word

[doubtfulidealist]

i keep the stray cats alive

i crossed streets without looking

broke the zipper on my jeans

thought i was a communist

turns out i was just nineteen

loose pills in a junk drawer

took two or three for fun

i fell in love with decent

barely turned twenty one

check left right on a one way

i hesitate to trust

blackbird on the barbed wire

we both learned to adjust

[doubtfulidealist]

ms. honey

sad girl in a candy store

you can gnaw all you want

it doesn't fill the empty

it doesn't kiss the bruise

it doesn't close the void that

growing up is getting used to

you can take the honey

let it be raw

it doesn't sweeten anger

it doesn't make it stick

it doesn't put things back

the way a breakdown doesn't fix

[doubtfulidealist]

he was brilliant, he was kind

he doesn't leave, he says goodbye

he was sorry, nevermind

[doubtfulidealist]

becoming a person a person will love

i'm working on changing, i'm building a wall

adapting my spirit, i'll convince them all

i'm hiding my feelings, agreeing to things

let others control me, i move on a string

compressing my body, i'm thinner than air

i silence my secrets, they don't know i'm there

the jokes aren't landing, they don't understand

i'm baking them chocolate, they eat from my hand

nobody believes me, i know i'm no fun

i'm awful and crazy, i was someone once

annoying and loudmouth, shut up and sit down

i painted my pretty, do they like me now?

romanticize weakness, i'm coming undone

she's quiet and helpful, now isn't this fun?

[doubtfulidealist]

ofrenda

they ask me for a face to put on the altar

to honor the dead, to remember

the only people i've lost are still living

and i have not forgotten that

[doubtfulidealist]

i hit my head on the mailbox

you clipped a mirror driving home

margo says it's okay

if that's true i wouldn't know

it's only anger if it drowns

[doubtfulidealist]

many things, envy most

she is beautiful and that angers me. i want to be loved. the people i love always get in the way. it is easier to write this without speaking. i am afraid of the truth aloud. it is afternoon here and sundays always eat me alive. i want you. we left. i did not say a word for two hours home. she looks pretty when she is sleeping. this morning i woke up late, barefaced and forced to deal with it. i miss you like it is june and i did not know you then. i'm eating week old birthday cake on the futon and making reckless wishes. i'm thinking of going blonde again. i want a tattoo that says i was here and in the bar line you said you want to remember me. on the inside you leaned against the wall next to her and i danced through my anger with a water glass. on the train you sat beside me. it was the only seat left and i felt like the chosen one. you talked about your kids' names. i imagined them mine. you dropped a cup and it shattered on the kitchen floor. i lingered in the living room with no shoes on. i stayed up late hoping you would and she'd stay outside getting high in the backyard. i always make a friend an adversary.

[doubtfulidealist]

a collection of feelings, some of them true

they're sweeping the street and it feels like fall here and i was late for church again this week

my birthday is tomorrow and my roommates are getting high in the backyard and i ate cold spaghetti alone at the kitchen table

in the life i made up i have a swingset and a two door fridge and a best friend who lives in the same time zone as me

twenty two is terrifying and my boss thinks i'm funny and my first date told me he goes to the nude beach on sundays

i went on a hike and my friends compliment my baking and i am always attuned to what i can provide

i'm going to grad school but i didn't apply and i can't decide if connection is worth midwestern winters

somehow everything is poetry and nothing's cohesive and i keep thinking about calling you

[doubtfulidealist]

these days i forgive myself for having a body

i have grown tired of apologizing and it is easier

to ignore imperfections when i cannot change them

these days i eat full meals

i have grown weary of cleaning sink drains and it is quicker

to sleep without the hebdomadal upheaval of things i enjoyed

these days i punch heart holes in word documents

i have grown sick of pinching the skin folds and it is harder

to hurt myself gracefully out in public

these days i drink coffee and sell movie scenes to the passerbys

i have grown older before my own eyes and it is noticeable

to anyone who stops to see me in the back booth spotlight

these days i stay quiet in the bad moments

i have learned to repent yet again and it is holier

to lean into the proof of better things as they come

these days i yearn carelessly and without regret

i have grown bored of moderation and it is stronger

to wince and bear the ache in all its potency

[doubtfulidealist]

i thank the vultures for collecting our dead

[doubtfulidealist]

there's a man at the eiffel tower

down by the vendors, taking

taking, taking

they have watched him

a metal pole, the natural consequence

down by the vendors, beaten

beaten, beaten

the gasping crowd, a guilty conscience

cowered into blood on the pavement

i stare at my white shoes

red traces a sidewalk crease

horror, horror, quickly away

the french police do nothing

an ambulance takes twelve minutes

[doubtfulidealist]

grapevine

you're dead to me, still i see you in dreams

i'd call it a nightmare, but why was it sweet?

our friends say you're not well, i worry you'll drink

i push off the image, you're fighting for sleep

a phone call to tulsa, voicemail for a week

the pattern was changing, that's what you told me

that night in my head, i'm back watching you breath

it's harder to want you, you're too tough to keep

[doubtfulidealist]

not you though

you were a friend

would a friend kill you on accident?

most horrible people do not think of themselves that way

most things are quite easy for me to leave