idiot heart.

halfway through a bottle of wine, i began to rummage for cigarettes.
the were soggy from my roommate who had left a few hours before.
i don't turn the ac on because the hum of it drowns out my new favorite song.
it reminds me of drunken walks home.
trailing behind a boy i fell in love with three drinks in.
our love is lined with internet interactions and rebounding text messages.

the flowers in the vase were bought by me.

as i up my water intake, i wonder when i'll grow tired of the out.
the scene of being seen.
i walked into a bar last night and i was greeted by cheers of my name.
i wish i made that up.
it's not the beer that gets me drunk, it's the stories of name origins.
the back and forth of hair length.
it is all soaked in shots bought by the bartender that has offered you a job.

tonight is sweaty and the first time i purchased white wine.

do this.
watch that.
smell your own self through second hand t-shirts.

my stomach is bloated from garlic and salt.
after aisles of self-published books i never buy.
i dream of a day that i will sign the dust jacket of my love for someone.
it is coming.
harder than a clip from pornhub i watch between episodes.

pick out the clothes that make you a prettier you.
the ones that turn you into a walking ad, run on the back of the chicago reader.
your teeth will continue to rot but this is the only way to stay cool.
let me open up my chest and give you this.
it's getting too big this bird cage.

in case of emergency, call someone who wants to hear from you.

if i could set this to music, i'd pick a song by woods.
this type of longing and hurt can't be described by me.

i'm not a good enough writer to make you feel the hollow rock quarry that sits in my chest. the dark sky that is made out of sheets of black construction paper with holes where it couldn't withstand the uv rays. try to envision a 12 year old you throwing sticks into my heart while humming the only song your mother would sing while she washed the dishes. as you hold your knees to your chest and place your nose where your legs press together, think about the time your mother took you to the beach. when you lived in the sand castles built by her young hands. do you remember the way she looked in her bathing suit and how you wanted nothing more than to be her or marry someone just like her? the world around you was a one roomed apartment painted green. she never hit you. she would press your wet cheeks into her lap, between school and when the babysitter would show up. no matter how far you yell into me, there will be no echo. it is lined with egg cartons and cotton and deflated balloons.

perhaps i can make you understand by saying this:

my 10 year old sister told me that my mother's boyfriend has changed the phone number to the house and he won't let her give it to her children.

push me into an abyss because i am too broken-hearted to go on.

all my mirrors are two way, and everyone is watching.

i blame my current position in retail for my lack of self-esteem and piles of self-doubting.
i tried on bathing suits today and didn't buy anything because, for the first time since i was in high school, i hate my body.
or at least the way i look in a bathing suit.
i've always been proud of my body.
from my bony shoulder blades to my flat chest.
but now all i see is a stomach that is slowly growing and skin worse than when i was 13.

maybe today was just the wrong day to try on a bathing suit.

even after a night of skinny dipping and positive comments about my rear from numerous friends, i feel gross.
at least from my belly-button to my neck.

i'm never allowed to say these things out loud.
when i do, people tell me i'm crazy and too thin to even know what it's like to hate on the shell you live in.
well ladies, this girl stands in front of the mirror in her underwear, too.
and most of the time, she is frowning.

even if i was having sex right now, i don't think i'd want anyone to see me naked.
last night's hot tub rendezvous was way outside my comfort zone.
i think tonight will be a similar experience.

it lines the walls of a bedroom you forgot you owned.

Jason DeMarte, Prescribed Paradise, 2007


maybe i'll find it at the bottom of this sleeve of stale oreos.
if i just keep eating, it will have to be there.
with fingers and teeth caked with black confection.
cardboard paper cuts in the palm of my right hand.
it's gotta be in there.

i had feathered bangs and food stamps.
my mother stole bread for me, now she forgets my birthday.
twice.
i never saw the end of a belt but she has a grip that would shame a boa constrictor.
someone once said, "tif has a bigger dick than you."

if the sun sets on all of us, what's so romantic about watching it in pairs?
i've never wanted flowers but i'd fuck you for your drugs.
and your books.
and your over sized duffel bag overflowing with ex-lovers.
my shoes smell like the last person that owned them.

i wanna know you long enough to remember your smell.
i want you to leave before you remember mine.
bathe me in clorox while the moon pulls at the tide.
mend my bedsheets with your eyelashes and the tooth you wear around your neck.
i'm inspired by water now.

if it came in a bottle i would take two
every hour
every day
until my liver turned to stone
and my breath went from blue to white.

quartz and cacti.

Claire Morgan

hypothetical conversations
lips pressed to a sun scorched image
there is an outline of you on my palm
that is glued to the back of my neck.

i let you break my heart
to prove i still had one.
it recalls sun spots and wine stained teeth
that pierce peach skin.

phantom insects crawl over a neatly made bed
i sleep on top of lonely sheets
next to an xray of my love
cut in half with quartz and cacti.

i'll find you
in plexiglass and smoke.
my hello will be silent
your goodbye will be deafening.

24 will be a good year.

i don't believe in god.
karma is something that interests me, but i'm not 100% on it.
if i needed proof of either of these things, this weekend's adventures would be that.

every year, i'm blessed to have gay pride fall on my birthday.
this year was my best birthday so far.
no lie.
no contest.
hands fucking down.

saturday i got wasted with great people.
sunday i ran around the streets of chicago in my underwear with a balloon strapped to me.

perhaps the most exhausting weekend of my life.
i passed out at 8pm on sunday night and didn't wake up until 11:30 am.

i love my friends.
i love my city.
i love my life.

i told a friend that i need to get a boyfriend to help me "settle down."
his response?
"do you think a boyfriend could actually do that?"
i hope not.
i guess i just need a guy that can keep up.