picking up every stitch

There are few consistent things in my life:
My lips will be forever stained with paint
From when I wet my brushes with my tongue.
Half empty bottles of orange juice
Will continue to accumulate on the windowsill;
They glow brilliantly in the sun
And I will never be able to bring myself to finish them.
My hair will always be messy,
I will never be able to grow a full beard,
I will continue to smoke
No matter how high the cigarette prices rise.
And I will always sleep with dolls and pretend that they’re human
And try to forget that I’m sleeping alone each night.

I miss human contact.
REAL physical human contact.
Touching
Feeling
Embracing,
Beating hearts
Steady breathing
I miss it.
I want it.

Where is it?






Where are you?




I don’t know.




I made a doll today:
Sewing it together was therapeutic,
Stitch stitch stitch
Repetition
Consistency
Stability
Thank god.


It has a calico torso;
It doesn’t have limbs
Or hair
But it’s happy to see me.
And I will love it just the same



Come, baby doll
Let us sleep
And dream
And pretend we’re human.

steel magnolias

Have you ever just needed to cry?
Weep? Sob your heart out?
Fill an entire room with your salty tears?
Because there’s just so much brewing inside
And you can’t articulate any of it
And you don’t know what else to do
And there isn’t an onion in sight
Only a knife
So you slice your arms open
To see if, just maybe, the physical pain can elicit tears
But it doesn’t work
There are no streams of salt
Just ribbons of blood
So you blot
And clot
And listen to songs from October
And remember,
And hope to god the memories evoked will produce the desired result,
But they don’t:
The couch,
The heartache,
The acoustic twang,
The hopeless and disillusioned lyrics
Just add fuel to the fire
That you desperately want to put out

So you drink
And watch the funeral scene from Steel Magnolias
Four times
And your lids fill,
Tears collect in the corners of your eyes
Hesitating only for a moment
Before sliding down your cheeks
And you finally weep
And you want to hug Sally Field
And thank her
So much
For helping you do what you needed to do



“Men are supposed to be made out of steel or something”



I’m not.

truce

everyone seems to be making amends lately--

breaking bread,

extending olive branches. 

it's refreshing really..

in the spirit of all this resolution, 

I folded paper cranes:

let's do it, let's call it even. 

dodging houses falling from the sky

I keep forgetting about the transience of life.
Every time I go home, I am reminded. 
And it isn’t subtle--
Whether for the good or for the bad,
The changes are earth shattering.
I don’t know why I still get surprised each time the plot thickens, 
Every time I regain my footing
My foundations are quaked more violently than in the previous tremors. 
And it isn’t necessarily getting as old as it is exhausting. 
But still, we march forward bravely
Because stopping isn’t an option,
And as hard as we try to come to terms with each situation—
Make the best of it, 
Consolidate, 
Actively engage in it,
Secretly hoping, that maybe this time 
We can somehow magically sway the results in our favor—
In our hearts, we know
That no amount of manipulation 
Can prevent the world from turning 
No amount of nit picking 
Can prevent the sky from falling 
And no amount of manhandling 
Can prevent a house in Kansas from being uprooted in a tornado
And crashing down on you
Again.
And again.

It’s hard to look up when you know a house will fall on you
(And that then, someone will steal your ruby slippers.
And your toes are bleeding because the slippers didn’t fit
And they weren’t even your slippers in the first place,
And then you remember you haven’t cut your toenails in a while
And it’s all the more mortifying)
It’s hard to do a lot of things: 

1. Like listen to unsettling
And absolutely terrifying
Seven minute long 
Crystal meth induced voicemails from your addicted friend 
Without immediately screaming, 
Locking every door and window, 
Drawing the shades
And praying to god
She forgot how to navigate to your house. 

2. Or cope with the fact that
A dear friend was diagnosed with a terminal illness
And only has a handful of years to live. 





Maybe there is something to be said about spring-cleaning, 
It never made sense to me before, but now I’m beginning to understand, 
We sweep, we dust, we wash
Pile and arrange,
Rearrange
Move furniture;
We clean because it’s one of the only things in life we can control. 
Even though it doesn’t erase any of the history that unraveled in a particular room, 
Or change the circumstances unpooling outside of the home, 
In that brief moment, 
We play god, 
We are in control
Until the next house falls on your head.

And still, 
We clean the wreckage
And life goes on:

Addie and I sat out on her front porch for the first time since last summer, 
It was beautiful, 
The trees were budding, 
Plants were sprouting from the ground
The sky was gray,
The wind was roaring, 
A storm was brewing 
The meth-heads were on the loose, 
But we were content
For we were back on the porch
Sitting on warm wicker thrones
Armed with cigarettes, coffee and gossip
Ready to take on the world. 

Sunday, I saw Dylan
And we feasted on English muffins, dusted in cinnamon
And sipped ginger ale, 
And it was delicious, 
We also enjoyed the weather,
Traded stories, compared notes, caught up
Her lover Michael came over
And I watched them be in love
And it was beautiful
And I craved what they have

I saw Alia and Dana, 
Addie came over
And I brought painkillers, 
So we all took them and floated about, 
And it was lovely.
When I had to go, everyone decided they needed things from the gas station, 
We emerged from the apartment, 
Cackling and squinting and wobbling.
We decided that the neighbors probably thought we were crack heads. 
And that that was perfectly fine. 

Moments like these make life worth living.
Despite the heartache*














*(I feel for you,
Things will get better, 
I promise)

dear march,

I hope that you are well,
And that you are less tragic than last month, 
Though, the ides are fast approaching, 
Tell me, what do you have in store for us?
Twenty-three daggers to the heart?
Twenty-three licks with a belt?
Twenty-three more shocks to the system?
Will you show us no mercy?
Just a little?
Just a teaspoon?

No, that’s not in your nature, is it?
After all, you were named after Mars, 
The god of war, 
You thrive on conflict, 
Malice surges through your veins, 
You’re looking for a battle, 
Blitzkrieg, 
Bloodshed. 
Until you’re standing above the carnage 
Of our mangled and twisted and lifeless bodies
You won’t be satisfied, will you?

But it’s fine, 
I’ll just play dead. 
I am resilient, 
I’ve built a sturdy front porch, 
I’ll ride out your storm, 
And in your wake, 
Despite the destruction,
Despite your tricks,
This winter will melt into spring, 
The tulips will grow, 
And I will bloom. 

Sincerely yours, 

Zach

getting burned casually

Home was good:  

I caught up with friends 

And ran over every single curb in Grandview 

I got a haircut;  

I look like August 

One of my friends also got his hair cut; 

He looks like someone’s prison bitch 

It’s still February 

And now we both have cold heads  

I learned exciting new idioms:  

I learned that it is possible to walk on your lips 

I learned that it is also possible to knit your brow  

I was going through some old art today 

And I found a self-portrait study I drew a week or so before I was admitted to the hospital last year,  

I felt like death at the time 

Hence the arrow piercing my skull 

It’s pretty hilarious  

But ominous and frighteningly foreshadowing at the same time 

Also, I think this is what I might look like when I’m thirty:

I’ve been bleeding a lot lately: 

My fingers bleed because it’s cold 

I cut my nose* shaving today and bled all over the bathroom 

(Everything smells like copper) 

And now I’m bleeding all over my room 

Because I accidentally ripped a scab off my foot;  

I don’t know where the scab came from 

But that means I was bleeding earlier at some point too 

It’s a good thing I don’t have a vagina  

If I did, I’d probably be on my period 

Bleeding.  

*I’m usually graceful 

I’m even a graceful drunk 

When I vomit, it’s poetic 

But I wasn’t graceful today, AND I was sober 

There are three cuts stacked along the bottom of my right nostril 

If this scars, I’m joining the circus  

Friday, I went with Dylan to see her mom at the hospital

She looked like hell, but she was cracking jokes 

What an incredible quality  

To be able to laugh in the face of death 

I wish I were that brave  

It snowed all weekend 

Luckily, it didn’t accumulate 

But the roads were icy 

So I slid around  

Last night was pleasant,  

I went over to Alia’s and met up with Addie and Sam 

We feasted on chocolate and chain-smoked 

Wetting our tongues with piping hot black coffee. 

At one point, Alia was smoking a cigarette 

And the cherry fell out into her lap, 

She nonchalantly picked up the ember with her fingers 

And dropped it in the ash tray, continuing the conversation as if nothing happened, 

I was visibly alarmed 

She replied: “I get burned casually”  

I don’t.  

I flail.  

Then, Alia’s computer wouldn’t boot, 

She fiddled around with it for a bit, and it decided to think about starting up.  

“we shouldn’t watch” she concluded, “a watched pot never boils” 

and that reminded me of something I heard once 

about finding love when you least expect it 

and I wondered if waiting for love is like waiting water to boil or waiting for a frozen computer to boot 

and if thinking about it too much really does magically prevent it from happening 

but I digress  

Alia seemed stressed 

So I lit her a cigarette 

Sam offered to clean her dishes 

And Addie rooted Alia on 

Alia decided we were wonderful guests 

And we decided Alia was a wonderful hostess 

And it was all so wonderful 

And I’m glad 

Because I like it when things are wonderful.  

tables

I think
Today is the first day of spring
I don’t know why,
Things just feel different
But in a good way;
I am content. 

I realize it’s still February
But I’m done with February
I’m boycotting it
Fuck February, 
It’s March, man
& it’s going to be march for the next forty-five days
you down?


Good. 




I woke up really early this morning 
6:50 to be exact, 
From a dream about tables
I can’t remember most of the details
Just this:

“a table 
is only as good 
as the people 
you let sit around it”



which is actually kind of profound
even if it’s really odd. 







after that
I couldn’t fall back asleep, 
So I went out for a cigarette

It was beautiful 
There was no noise
Except for the birds
The sky was blue
There were still traces of sunrise in the clouds
And no one was out. 
I felt like I was the only person alive
It was a beautiful moment
It was private
shared by no one.
And it was mine. 















It’s very likely that I’m still drunk right now. 
But I think I’m going to get ready for the day. 




















“February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.”