just-get-over-it

and oh, darling, how many times must i say this- i am caught in a web of doubt and the spider is reeling me in- how many scars must i show you before you believe i am not perfect? there are dark marks of kisses on my neck and collarbones but somehow it feels that the canvas of my skin is so empty still- late at night i long to paint my limbs with crimson life but i remember your smile and sit on my floor like a child, dry-eyed, stringing shiny beads onto elastic cord and trying not to give in. it is such a story, love, and we are hans christian andersens desperately cobbling together sentences and hoping we make sense. it seems forever and a

Jessie had eyes that sometimes thought they were green and sometimes thought they were brown. That night, they were in one of their depressed moods and had decided to take on the semblance of minty chocolate to make themselves feel better. If they could eat themselves, they would have. Jessie herself, however, was just as intensely, determinedly happy as usual. She skipped on every second step and her smile crackled with energy; since i flatly refused to skip with her, she would skip ahead a few feet and then turn around, pale yellow-white hair flying in the half-light from the streetlamps and storefronts, and wait for me to catch up. Our par

you'll never get your daddy to stay, little boy; beg plead and cry all you want but daddy will still hop in that beater and leave you with a going-away gift of three Legos and your happy dreams in the dust. little boy, learn early on that your momma blames you and when you see those brown bottles out, some broken on the floor, the cloying sharp tang of beer lying in the air like an underaged underdressed girl trying too hard to look sexy, you better go hide in the backyard because momma's angry. little boy, when momma finds a new man and brings him to live with her- well, little boy, poor thing, momma's new man wants to be a good daddy. he