Anonymous's blog

i. I don't love you too. I'm sorry I told you I did. Maybe the most attractive thing about you is only your similiar love for girls.

ii. Your face is pretty but your voice is too little. I wish you wouldn't giggle so much. We may be almost the exact same age, but I feel much too older than you. Your legs are prickly and your lips feel alien. Too different.

iii. I don't actually like the smell of patchouli, not on humans. I like girls to smell like girls.

iv. I'm not physically attracted to you, but that's not the only reason. I was tired of your boredom and your ego. You did ignore me too many times. You had two chances to make my birthday special, but both times you did nothing. In four weeks, you wrote me two letters. We're too distant. I'm pretty sure sex means more than that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this when you asked me, but I couldn't figure out the right words to say. And I still love you.

I heard your breathing;
breath-taking and
breath-letting like an old-
time mediciner harboring the
common-place wives' tales.
You were right by me and
despite our distance
your even breathing was familiar.
The beats an after-thought
like you were born to be
a metronome,
an instant comfort like the
ocean's tides washing away
the tensions I've built up.

I hold my neck too tight
and my shoulders too forward.
I collapse into corners and
fold into tight spaces.
I have no claustrophobia,
no fear of the dark
because just as long as you're
breathing, it doesn't matter that my
legs are numb
and my arms are in the most
twisted of all pretzel positions.
As long as there is nothing
erratic about your oxygen flow in my ear,
I'm doing fine.

1. If you would let me tell you the truth, then I would.

2. Being around her has retaught me how to glow, but it feels as if I'm slowly dying at the same time whenever she's too far away.

3. I still don't know her middle name, but I know that she has warm hands and that her lips would fit perfectly with mine.

4. Those years of acting lessons are paying off.

5. Maybe I'll never stop loving him.

So this is
what it feels like
to be
silenced:

kind of empty.

And it hurts,
too.

I’ve gotten good at sneaking around my house in the dark. Too many late-night computer cravings had left me with a sure path to the kitchen and its ancient overheating laptop. My feet were silent on the stairs, on the carpeted floor. I was a ghost, I was invisible, I was floating two-and-a-half inches in the air with my hands brushing across the dining room wall. I was a puff of breeze, unnoticed.

The door to the deck creaked on its hinges, little staccato warning clicks sharp against my muffled breathing. I opened it slowly with the patience that comes after midnight.

The deck’s wood was splintery and familiar against my bare feet. Wind trickled through tall-reaching silhouettes of trees. I inhaled deeply. The night air tasted like kissing rain.

i.
I was terrified-
of something-
nothing,
getting hurt,
losing
the moment,
not losing it.

ii.
I said
nothing,
because I
thought it was-
for you.

iii.
I over react
alot.
Now I'm wondering
if I was.

iv.
I listened
to
everything.

v.
Everything.

i.
We're not really flirting,
I said (whispered),
and you
agreed,
either missing or
ignoring
my sarcasm.

ii.
I wanted to
teach you
what a good kiss
feels like.
Your lips looked like
petals lifted
from a lupine stalk;

your skin felt like
comfort,
warm,
heavy,
different.

iii.
You were right when you said
that love is
too easily confused
with other
emotions.

iv.
So
maybe I'm just
lying.

We ran down the driveway to the cedar-board house,
me laughing in front, he sprinting behind.
He caught me at the porch, one arm around my waist,
my face against his shoulder. I'm too tall.
His lips touched mine. "I can feel your heart."
He grinned. I could hear it in his voice.
"You need to run more."

You do not kiss a girl and tell her she's fat.

I.
My face is
Tingling
Buzzing like it used to
When we made love
And you held me close
Through the tremors
That wracked my body
And I wrapped my mouth
Around your shoulder
Just to hold on.

II.
We met
The other day.
She sat behind me
And blushed when I said your name.
All the while I thought
Of how you said
I kissed better.

III.
Your mother is dying
And I wonder if you hold her hand
As gently
As you held my mouth with yours.

IV.
You’re a liar
A cheater
A drinker.

Kiss me again?

My sheets smells like you
And I’m breathing it in
Getting high off the thought of you.

You kiss like you want to climb inside
And in turn, I want to unzip you
And make your breath
catch.

Your breath on my neck
Makes me shiver shatter
Until I’m crashing into pieces
And you’re licking every one.

You weren’t part of the plan
Part of my plan for this summer

I'm giving up on plans.

i.
We were sitting facing each other next to the brick school wall, and I fixed my eyes on her as she said, I'm losing patience with life, with school, with Him, with people in general. She was smiling, just barely, but it was there, gripping the sides of her lips like tiny child fingers. Maybe if I hadn't ignored it, let her words trickle out of the tired pores in my skin, I could have figured out that her smile was not merely exasperation. But it was a beautiful smile and I was distracted by it and the way her short, bark-brown hair looked in the wind, curling in wisps away from her face. I'm thinking about that smile now. Small teeth like her small hands and feet, lips with secrets sewn deep inside of them.

ii.

i distinctly remember
how badly i wanted
to blink
and allow water to leak
from the crevices
of my stupid
useless eyes
where it'd been filling
for days, how
easy it would have
been to let the
whole room sink into
iridescence for
justonemoment even
though She would've
slapped me and

She

would've said
you are stupid and
useless.

I laid there and
stared at my
hand until it ceased to
possess any realism.
I couldn't move it, it wasn't
connected to my
brain any longer and all those
perspectives were warped. My
mouth hung open, staring,
breathing, waiting for life to
re-animate my stiff,
lazy limbs. With my
free hand I picked up my
tea and slowly tipped the mug,
wondering how far I could
push it before the
scalding liquid poured out and onto my
arms and legs. Instead of finding
out I put the
mug back down on the
table and walked away, closing my
mouth and clenching my hands into
fists at my sides, willing a straight
line out of my path so as not to fall
over and find myself immobile and
open-mouth staring once again.

Reflection is painful
Distraction is welcome.

Spending my time
On Amtrak.com
Planning out trips
To keep us close
Twenty nine dollars each way
Am I worth your money?

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