Best way to procrastinate? Take a guess. Another poem about masturbation. They are pretty fun, not gonna lie.


Lines, lines, lines.
Lines. Cotidal.
Spring tides
Springen
Bulge
Crescere
Water
Rise
Rotate
Amphi
Amphi-
Amphidro – mm… mic.
The flood,
The ebb,
The shift of bed sheets,
Textbook pages
Sifting against the straining thigh
Sounding with the hitching sigh.
There’s an ocean coursing through my veins
I think it’s fair to say I know something
about it.
A breath,
…a-
--ah..
Tides.
Teeth clench over
Quivering lip
Oh let it, oh let it...

The corner of the window,
Caught in the corner of my gaze,
The full, silver eye of the sky
Stares upon me
Through the glass.
Syzygy.
I hold on, half-embarrassed.
You classy voyeur –
Why me?
A tired waif of a woman making love to
Her fingertips, shirt twisted and lifted, hand rolling beneath soft fabric,
With shame now, with intrigue,
I know I’m watched, and
- Oh, perigee,
Oh let it be,
Don’t question it,

Free, free, free

I am no Godiva,
much less a Lady--
I ride through the stars for no one (for now).
At the crest,
I am a Randian heroine.
This is all for me,
Exhibit A,
and B,
and sea.

"oh..."

The ocean sings in the space of a silent room.

It's not a poem, really, just something I wrote because ... I confuse myself, and I'm so sorry I hurt him, and I hope that it's ok that we're friends and this wasn't a bad choice. I don't date for many reasons, and one of this is because I'm so... weirded out by how lost I get when I'm with someone -- lost, that is, in an Alice in Wonderland way, like this:

What am I doing here? Why am I having a tea party with crazy people and enjoying it? Is that mouse singing? I like this - I'm terrified. Don't cry, poor turtle. I want to go home. I want my cat, and my sister, and I'm late for life as it is. Don't hate me because I want some things in my life, at least, to make sense.

Ooii, it's late, so I wrote this. Yeah.



Laughing, dancing by,
Chattering and twittering-
All things past us, all things pass…
You grin and smile in return –
Oh, and your bipolar self
Reaching blindly into a broken world
With blank dreams, boring ideas,
And a bent sense of humor -
Well, sometimes boring ideas,
Sometimes brilliant,
Or are they? Or am I just bored?
Or brainless when it comes
To some ideas?
We’re both mad hatters mainly,
Generally confused,
Generally lost,
Generally –
Oh, just pass the tea, god damnit.
Still, we laugh,
And I talktalktalk
Then you
Talktalktalk
“And I said-“
“And she should-“
And we had
Something.

I’m not sure quite what the ‘something’ was –
it flickers like a foggy recurring dream that I always forget until I have it again- and then only pieces remain, and I’m not sure which parts are made up and which parts are dreamed up and which parts are even pieces of the original and not the new one, and in the dream you tackle me down, but it’s an old dream, and that’s an old us, and this new us –
I wanted this, you wanted that, or did you want me too? Or did I want you, and was I scared, or did I do the right thing because of you and your blank dreams, and your butt glued to the chair, eyes on the screen, and me with my dancing feet and wanderlust, and you with your lust, and us with our madness-

We’re laughing,
And laughing,
And I’ve forgotten by now half of what I said before,
Though you remember everything-
“It was a year ago,
He can’t let go. Or has he?
Or will he never forgive me?
And should I be forgiven?
Father Zossima says-
Father Zossima isn’t here-
He never was.”
He’s laughing and laughing and,
I say,
“I love Steve Conte-”
“No shit! Guess what your ringtone is?”
And,
“Oh god, I love this song!
Hey-
That’s
Morbidly funny.”
“Yeah.”
The song ends, and I’m still humming
To violins,
When you say,
“Goodnight”
And I swivel in my chair –
Humming and smiling
Consciously oblivious
To your hurried leaving,
Because I don’t exactly want to think about why
It’s hurried.
It’s been a year, after all.

And Steve sings
The last verse,
That I had forgotten.


“You in

my life

It all meant so much more

to be.”


I’m no longer laughing.

I should like to say that sometimes I wonder if the reason
Why I always fail when
Turning
Me, myself, and I
Into an “Us”
With you, or the next,
Is because I don’t know if we’re ‘us’ because of
How I’m loved or
Who I’m loved by –
And I confuse myself more when I ask myself if we’re ‘us’ because
I like him
I’m laughing
I need him
Or
I love him?
Or …
Just want to love.

…


"And there’s no reply."

I laughed so hard I was clutching my sides last night.

So on my forums it came to the attention of one of my friends that I had never received a love letter. *Gasp*

He wanted to amend that, right away. Thus began our love letter battle:

Without further ado:

My dearest Haleigh,
You, my love, are the only one who moves me. You wake me in the morning, you kiss me goodnight. You are the light that shines in my path. Your words are beautiful- near as beautiful as your face. Oh, your eyes! Those deep green eyes. I feel as if I could swim away in them. I lose myself whenever I gaze at you. All of the world drifts away. The moon will not shine, the sun will not rise, the clouds will not rain, the earth itself will not move, without you by my side. My love is a river, flowing like my fingers through your hair. If every drop of rain, were an ounce of love I had for you, you would be washed away by an endless flood of affection. When you are cold, I will be your blanket. When you are warm, I am the cool breeze. You are the one and only token of my eye. You alone are the seven wonders of my world: your voice, your laugh, your eyes, your smile, your kiss, your touch, and your love. I am an unstoppable force, and you are an unbreakable wall. You complete me. For what is the rain, without two lovers, lips locked?

Love,
Kevin



This written with as much love as possible to a woman I have never met, seen, or talked to other than on this site.
No I am not stalking her.


My reply:

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT. This is going to be a duel, is it?

(Kevin, I am torn between laughing my ass off and marrying you right away.) What's a love letter without a love response?

*cracks knuckles*


Kevin, dearest of my heart, body, and soul -

I thought, "Could these words be real?" How could I mean so much to such a man? How can you possibly trust me, who wanders into love like a nocturnal creature, blinded and bedazzled, into daylight, unsure of this new, different, brighter, more beautiful world? How is it that you are so poetic, so calm when the love I have for you rages like a tempest within me, a hurricane of emotions I cannot settle for even one moment to return in fairness to you what you have given to me in such eloquence? Is this madness? This glowing warmth that starts in my fingers, tingling in my joints, crawling into my stomach, twisting, tightening, until suddenly, inexplicable and illogically, I'm soaring -

You're my arthritis - no, hear me out. You're my heartburn. You're the lesson that I never learned that nags at me inside my mind - you're the dream I can't grow out of, you're the dream I'm growing into. You're my wings, you're my rock, you shake the logos from my life, and can't you tell?

You're a sickness.

Because around you, without reason, I can't stop this inner shaking, this earthquake that rips the solid foundations of my life, my reason, my philosophies, out from beneath me. I've never felt like the skin may melt right off my bones, and I've never felt like I'm not in control. And if you continue, if you're being true, I might bolt -

What's more terrifying -

I might want to stay here, to give to you, with trembling hands, a hopeful heart - the heart I've never given to anyone before.

Either way,
Either way -

If you could get beneath my skin you'd know how much I shiver and shake, how much I shudder and quake - if you could see through my eyes, you'd have an idea as to what you are, as to what you do to me.

You steal time from me, for every second of the day there is no thought that you are not apart of. And the dreams I once dreamt, all for myself? They're all yours now. And for a person who needs them like I do, well... it just goes to show, doesn't it?

It just goes to show that -
Without cheapening the words,
For we two, I believe, can make them priceless -

I love you,

Haleigh

Sorry to those that I didn't get to see in Myrtle Beach. ;_; I got to spend like, a day there at most, and barely even got to see the beach. I had to wash a shit load of laundry too, so I felt partly confined to my house, which wasn't entirely bad. It was a relaxing... day and a half. I will be making another trip, I just have to carefully ponder the reason.

So I spent all night playing Counterstrike, and I... well, I kind of suck. But. It's fun, at the same time, because when I do have kills, I feel like the shit, and the guys get all excited. I'm going to practice more, because Saturday night CS games sound like a lot of fun! I need a regular thing like this, something I can look forward to after work. And, I get to talk to my brother and the guys back in Augusta - it's neat!

So, two funny work stories.

The chair of the English Department came in tonight with his wife.
Backstory: Desperately in need of a paperclip, and find his to be the only office door open at that moment, I went into his office and asked to borrow a paperclip. I told him I wasn't crazy, just desperate. He chortled to himself, admitted he was crazy too, and gave me a paperclip.

I told that I'd promise I'd return one to him. He told me not to worry, but paperclips are valuable commodities when you're an english major.

I wasn't his waitress tonight, but he was RIGHT by my other table, so I finally got the guts to introduce myself properly to him.

And so I reminded him.

"I'm the girl that borrowed the paperclip that one time? I promised I'd return it. I still mean to keep that promise."

By this time, he and his wife were laughing.

He seemed flabbergasted. "Quite honestly, I had forgotten until you reminded me just now!"

So I grinned and said goodbye, and then Curtis, after I told him the whole story, told me that the professor is actually a very hard-to-please customer, and that he complains about everything. Then Curtis let me have a paperclip to give to him.

When the professor was taking out his cash, I walked over to his table and slid the paperclip at him, and his wife was laughing hysterically, and he even was chortling again. I told him to have a wonderful evening.

AND THAT is how you un-grouch a customer.

Story 2.)

I was about to leave when a couple sat down in my section. The woman asked if she could have the bread before the meal. In a rush, I blurted, "Do you want jelly and whatnots?"

And she laughs and says, "I love whatnots."

And I was like "... I have the worst vocabulary ever."

A few minutes later, I came back with her bread and jellies and, setting the plate down, said: "Here's your bread and a medley of packaged preserves!"

She and her husband ROARED with laughter.

And when they got their food, I came back over to check up on them and inquired: "Are the flavors of your heavy rations dancing vicariously across your oral pallet?"

The husband was red in the face from laughing.

At the end of their meal, I come over, and he then asks:
"Would you happen to have a petit transportable container for edible goods?"

And I was wheeezing.
So I brought it out and said: "Here's your glossy victual receptacle."

We were clapping each other on the back while he left.

And they were VERY nice. :D

The end!

So, day's recap before I hit the sack (at 5:00 am... to wake up in six hours, clean my room, shove my shit into a car, and drive to Myrtle Beach? Holy ceiling cat, I do not prepare for ANYTHING).

A.) Karen's FUCKING ENGAGED. Congrats, my darling! I had always hoped leaving my bra on your pillow would get us somewhere, but ... we can't win them all!

B.) Work was great!

C.) Work was shit.

Let's go back to B. So I get there at two, pumped and ready to make money. I started off on a roll. I mean. Sunday/Church+Cracker Barrel = Tipsomgomgomg.

And, you get those awkward moments when people ask, "So, dear, would like us to add anything into our prayers before we begin?"

And then I have to pull some shit out of my ass like, "... I hope my brother does well this semester!" Or, "I hope my sister does well in her new car!" Or, "My roommate's cat just died, and I wanted to warn god ahead of time that he can only pet Rex for two seconds before he'll chew his arm to pieces- that bit about being immortal doesn't matter."

I do this to be nice. If I were a cooler person who didn't care about tips, I would say, "Pray for my soul, I'm an atheist."

Alas.

So then Frank brings out all these new promo skillets. One is with rice, mushrooms, and grilled chicken smothered in Monterrey jack cheese, and the other one is rice, roast beef, peppers, and broccoli tossed in some kind of delicious asian spice. I love mushrooms and peppers for some weird reason, so I was in Nirvana. Donna was too, and after everyone had had their bit, we dove in for scraps. He even brought out a promo apple pie dessert, drizzled in caramel! Zomg!

In between the Epic Nomming, I was running out food for lazy people, and at one table they asked, "Oh, if it's not too much trouble, can we get some more cornbread?" And I, chipper, replied, "Sure, ya'll, brb."

And I get back, and without realizing that there heads are bowed in devout PRAYER over their FOOD, I go,

"ALRIGHT FOLKS HERE'S YOUR CORNBREAD! :D :D :D :D "

-- the one time NOT to be enthusiastic about your job. So the old man is like, reaching for the plate with his eyes closed, still PRAYING, and I'm trying not to buckle down into helpless tears of laughter. So I quietly move aside some cups and put the plate down before RUNNING THE HELL AWAY. Then Donna, Elizabeth and I were trying not to die laughing in the back.


And then.

It happened.

A.) happened.
1.) So, regular family comes in, right? A picky mother and her two blonde and beautiful teenage kids. They order 2 ribeyes and a large chef salad.

I know, I know, I should have had a hint then, but I ... I prefer to trust people. It's bad. REALLY bad.

So folks, I just want to say something real quick, even if it doesn't (and it probably doesn't, I'm just ranting) apply to you:

Pay for your goddamn food. I don't care if you don't leave a shitty waitress a tip. But pay for your goddamn food, because not paying for it has so many repercussions for that server, it's not. even. funny. And if you leave a good waitress (Me) without paying - FUCKING SHAME ON FUCKED-UP YOU.

Right, but at least I'm not written up OR fired. (Because walk-outs are OUR fault, even though at Cracker Barrel they can WALK OUT THROUGH THE STORE ?!?)

2. So a nice man and his nice, very blind wife come in and he's very chatty and we talk about the economy for .2 seconds before I have to get another table their drinks (I have five at this point). Anyway, so he wanted his soup out before the meal. However, after I get both tables their drinks out and go back to get the soup and the other table's bread -

The table's food is done. It took about 2 minutes because they ordered stew and grilled cheese. So I'm like "Cool! :D" And take it all out, thinking they'd be excited at how fast it took!

The man. Is pissed. He REALLY WANTED his soup out BEFORE the meal. And in my mind I'm going, "Would you like me to go place it in the window again? I don't mind. :D" But I'm a patient human being, so I apologize profusely and ask if he needs anything else. He grouchily says no, so I practically curtsy and then go to the next table and give them their bread.

So I come back to check up on everyone, and the man doesn't like his soup. So he asks to see a manager.

Actually, it was 'menu'. I misunderstood.

But Gregarious Leo Manager Mike/Somewhat Shorter, Well-Groomed Hagrid comes out, booming cheerfully "GOOD AFTERNOON SIR! PROBLEMS WITH THE STEW!? :D :D :D" And it's impossible not to love this man, I swear. Well, my customer gets flustered and is all "NO. No. MENU." And we're all "Eh?" And then I melt into a heap of embarrassment on the floor, and Mike is booming: "LET ME GET THAT SOUP OUT OF THE WAY FOR YOU WHILE HALEIGH FETCHES YOUR MENU! :D :D :D"

So I hurriedly do so, and bring it back, apologizing again, profusely (now horrifically red in the face).

And he goes, "Well, we're on the road, so on a time limit. >/"

Which is why he was... angry... about... his food.. coming out quickly...? And why, next, he orders a ... hamburger steak...?

Well, he wants it rare, but we can't cook it rare, so he's all "FINE. MEDIUM." So I nod, apologize, and run to put the order in.

He. Is. Livid.

I. am. frazzled.


3. That man eventually left- THANK YOU - but was replaced about an hour and a half later by a regular who I had never had before, but whom everyone said was an asshole. So I tread very, very carefully, and his wife said that she was impressed with me when I managed to carry out their drink orders correctly.

And I'm thinking, "what. the fuck. Am I taking my N.E.W.Ts or something? Is this a test?"

Then he orders his eggs "over light". So Donna, who has been there for about ten years, has a huddle with me about "over light eggs" and we decide that just ringing in "sunny side up" will do the job.

NO FOLKS, NO IT DOES NOT. I've learned my lesson there.

But this man only growled and decided they look O.K. enough to eat, even though I practically begged him to let me take them back.


And after hiding from Mike all night after the walk-out incident, he eventually soothed by fears- he wasn't angry at me. He joked around with me and sang that one "Haley's comet" song at me, as he usually does. Frank was still displeased, but then, he's always displeased with me, and I really need to figure out why.

By the end of the night, Donna kept having to set me straight on what side work to do because I was so burnt out from the night. I kept sweeping other people's tables on accident and filling up salt and pepper shakers when they were supposed to be dumped out (Sunday). Finally, she practically pushed me out of the restaurant saying, "go home, sweetheart. Take a bubble bath. Read a romance novel. Eat rocky road and make a cup of tea. UN. WIND."

And I kind of did that.

I know we can't foresee when things go wrong, and maybe I'm just heartless, but I'm really, really upset.

It was my day off, and I could have spent the evening watching movies with Haley before she went to bed (she had to get up early), but I'd promised Dani earlier that I'd get on and RP.

There have been times when I've been late getting on, and I feel awful for those times.

But Haley was so forlorn about it, and I felt like a jerk when she came in and goes, "I thought you were spending time with Dani tonight."

And I was like, "Well, I was going to..."

So Dani didn't get on, and I watched Sinbad by myself, and felt really lonely. Then she gets on at 1:30 and her dog is sick, which is awful, yes. And she gets nervous and fretting and starts talking about the evil vet and how the dog might be really ill and the evil vet is really evil, and while I've never actually had a pet of my own before...

I guess, I just... wanted to say 'it was probably something she ate' or 'she was likely carsick - you took her to Wal-mart with you'. I dunno. I don't know anything about dogs, and I shouldn't presume to.

So I guess I'll go to bed. I'm such a heartless bitch.

I think I'm PMSing.

Roses and Revisions

“I NEED SOMEONE TO HEAR ME.” I screamed this, and yet did not make a sound. But my throat was – perhaps you’ve felt this way –tight and tensed with anticipation,
Dry, as though I were dehydrated.
And maybe I am a bit dehydrated of spirit.
I wanted to scream it, but I didn’t,
So wrote this.

The next day, I went to class and the essay said, ‘C’ and the comments, in a nutshell, said, “Half-assed.”
And I wanted to write back and say, “You’re right. I wrote it in an hour in the class before ours (ours being a 500-level course) on the day it was due- that’s not half-assed, that’s nine-tenths assed.”
Once, and it wasn’t long ago, just a semester, I held A papers in my hands that I’d written in two.
Well, sometimes it works.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
... Yeah, I know.
I went and visited her in her office where many other professors were gathered, and I tilted my chin up, just so, and in a proud voice I cried out:
"I’ve done great things! I’m a great person, though none of you recognize it!
I’ve won ten medals in various sports!
(“She’s small, but she’s fierce!”
The coach of the little league basketball roared to squealing girls.)
I’ve found twenty sand dollars in the ocean using only my toes –
(“Meagan! … Oh dear, did the wave knock the raft over?”)
-and bleached them all and sold them for thirty dollars a piece!
I’ve modeled before,
(The roommate rolled her eyes,
“It’s for a photography course.”)
And have been told my smile is worth a million dollars.
(“Why did you have to have braces twice?”)
Perhaps you’ve heard of my twelve novels,
The compilations of my poetry, in hardback,
And my much-praised short stories?
(“And when they’re written
And published,
People are going to love them.”)
People ask me for my autograph all the time –
(“Haleigh, you forgot to put your name at the top of the test.” )
- Why, strangers recognize me on the street!
(“You were in my calculus class, weren’t you? Did you drop the class?”)
I’ve been a pirate once,
And a drunken blues singer at a bar-
Why, I’ve a voice so sincere,
I’ve brought a grown man to tears.
(“How off-pitch were you?”
“I’ll only allow you to say that because you’re my brother.”)
That’s right!
I’m pretty incredible. I’m really not quite certain why none of you recognize my excellence.”

“So,” said the professor. “What tangible evidence, what proof do you have, to show for all your 'excellence'?
Where are the trophies, the plaques, the articles, the interviews-
Where are the roses?"
I stood still and thought a moment.
And then, with the weight of the world on my shoulders,
I held out my empty hands,
My fingers and palms without a callous –
Young, new, and unbearably
Lacking in the thing
She asked for.
I curled my fingers into
A fist, and looked up at her.
“Maybe I exaggerated.
A little.”

I shook out of my daydream,
Entered the office, and with my
Fists clenched,
I asked her,
“Are we allowed to do revisions?”

ALRIGHT. ALRIGHT.

I'M UNGRATEFUL!

So Haley and I were lying down and chatting over her Ariel pillows and she was being a Capricorn and I was being an Aquarius, and it pains me that the antidote to the disease is at hand - everyone can see it, I can see it - yet I'm not brave enough to take it because of its bitter taste.

The bitter taste of sleep.

I hear stories from Katie and Matt about their passion for their classes- god knows they've worked to get to where they are, and maybe that's what makes their wonder that much greater.

Dad practically tied me to the Ewok and drove me to college himself. I didn't want to go immediately, but I didn't want to be left behind, so I let him.

Now I find I'm even more left behind.

Perhaps it was the immediate bashing freshman year gave me - and there I was, determined to overcome, to prove them all wrong.

Now I'm just proving them right.

I don't want to be here. I'm nothing here, and it's my fault.

The only class that has worked its spell upon me this semester is Medieval Lit, and truth be told, it's one of the few I kept. In that class, I get a whiff of the passion I want so badly to swell within me until I'm brimming with it, utterly contagious. The last time I talked to the Lady she told me that I can't expect people to give me passion, that sometimes I have to create it myself.

I used to be able to do that. I used to glare at people in math classes who said, "Why do we need to know this shit?" Because I would be thinking, "Simply to know - because we can, because we have the ability, because we're blessed (in the most non-religious sense of the word) to be able to."

Now I sit in class and watch the clock and will it to move quickly.
And before class, I watch the clock, and will it move more slowly.
And at night, when I'm dreading tomorrow, I will it to stop entirely.

I had this idea that I was going to save the world, and I can't even save myself from drowning.

I should be grateful to be here.

Why does the very mention of class nauseate me? What the hell am I sick with? Why do I feel burnt out when I've barely begun?

I'm keep begging for time to bow to my wishes, and while I'm on my knees, it's wasting away.

Check-Out.

"I'll take you over here."
Barely sparing her a glance I walked over
To the newly opened register.
Being bisexual isn't always a thing
About image,
Just to let you know.
Sometimes,
The girl is just that
hott.
"I have a lot of ones-
I waitress."
"Oh, I know the feeling."
I glance up now-
Pretty face,
Wild hair,
Dark eyeliner.
Aw, fuck.
"Ever get mistaken for a stripper?"
"I put'm straight before they can guess."
"I don't mind counting.
I'm bored."
So let's talk.
About leopard print underwear
And strippers
And sex-
And your typos
As you try to ring up
That cute pair of heels
That were on sale
With the messed up
Barcode.
"Oh damn, I spelt 'heels' wrong."
"Yeah. 'Hells.' It's too late.
They're cursed now."
You laugh, and your fingers
Stumble,
And I grin, and play with rings.
Had I known before that we'd take this long
Laughing over stupid things,
It would have been even more of a reason
To get the one with the mussed up numbers-
And I would have gotten the shirt
With the missing tag.
Oh, sigh.
Here's what I would say
If I knew we flirting,
And not just being
Girls:
"I'll take you over here.
And over there.
And if you'd prefer to be discreet,
In the dressing room,
Against the mirror -"
Oh what would mother say,
I think,
And take my bag,
And belongings.
"Have a good one, babe."
"You too. Don't get too bored now."
You laugh.

I walk out,
And it's not before I'm sitting,
That I realize

It was just too convenient
That you would be the one
To be checking me out
While I checked
You out.

Epilogue to Propriety Lost:
The First Steps to Recession


Thus began
Outrage from lifeless things.*
“Hey you, how’ve you been?”
The door swings open-
The breath of spring and snow intermingled in a gust-
My mind swings shut.
Bang.
“Fine!”
“Oh miserable of happy!”
As bright and pretty, was my cry,
As a hollowed out cylinder of crystal.
Finefinefinefinefine-
That’s all I really say these days -
Oh, and,
“Yourself?”
“Better!”
You spot one of your kind
And chat it up.
Now’s my chance!
Ordering coffee is
Generally the best part of the day but now I find I’m racing and
Pacing and watching the milk steam with
Screaming in my ears and tears blurring my vision as you ask,
Damn-
“How’s your semester?
How many hours?”
For what can I increase
Or multiply, but curses on my head?
See where ‘hello’ gets you?
You stand before me,
As you did when I was rich
With wonder,
Why do I overlive?
But now you dim in my vision,
Why am I mocked with death?
And I can’t even weep for
What I lost,
Because I never gained it.
…And lengthened out
To deathless pain?

You’re just making idle conversation
Because you feel you should.
How sweet, Teach.
“I
Um,
Oh,
Well-"
Damn.
"Dropped a few classes.
Few hours.”
He had to ask
The question
That would
Kill me.
“Oh?”
His dreadful voice no more
Would thunder in my ears.
“It’s better! I’m good.”
Lieslieslieslieslies.
But you can’t see that.
You just want your damn coffee.
We all just want our damn coffee.
Dude,
What is she doing over there-
Eating the whipped cream off of my mayan mocha?
O were I able
To waste it all myself
And leave ye none!
“You had a rough one
Last year -
How are you?”
Change topic,
You is better than me -
Wait,
Why did I-
“Eh, busy with a conference-“
Why is he
“-I have to get over –“
Talking to me
Like he cared before?
“-this week before –“
When I cared before?
“-Things clear over-“
I grip the cardboard sleeve
And wait for him to finish.

I was five and he was six.

“I hope things go well.
Have a good week.
Take care!”
Fond wish!
I’m very polite, drawing up
An impossibly happy smile
While you take your
Sandwich and Italian roast-
Whatever, you ARE Italian roast -
And walk out the door
Bang -
Bang, that awful sound.
I’m broken now-
And concludes thee miserable
Beyond all past example and future -
So I pick up the pieces,
And I walk out the door
And remember the time –
O conscience -
When I used to be a girl -
Into what abyss of fears-
With dreams, -
And horrors, -
Instead of this woman,-
Hast thou driv’n me -
I have become, -
Out of which I find no way -
And the no one -
From deep to deeper plunged!-

I am becoming.

Bang-bang,
My baby shot me down.

Everything in bold:
Milton's Paradise Lost
The song lyrics italicized:
Nancy Sinatra, "Bang Bang"