Ode to the Beltline

Ode to the Beltline

Once I raced you there. I had only had my car a couple of days, and you were almost ready to leave your bike for a semester at school, and we raced there. It was fifteen minutes or so before I had to be at work, and my hair was up, my collar was popped. The radio was off and the windows were down. I could hear your engine behind me, in front of me, beside me, and I could feel you sneering through the tinted plexi-glass of your “badass” helmet. You won.

Once I decided to always drive all the way down. Decided to drive down past the exit for North Ave Beaches and under the Colchester bridge. I know that it’s out of my way, that in reality it is a waste of gas and a cause for pollution, but I do it every time. I always go all the way down. You told me it was faster once and even though I know that is not true I still believed you. I still go that way. I still take the long way home, no matter how tired I am or where I am coming from or where that little red lever is dancing over that ominous “E” on my dash. I go all the way to that light at the end every time.

Once I rode there with your mom. The first time I was out so late I couldn’t just walk back or call my mom. I rode down with your mom, to the North Ave Beaches exit ramp and we talked about the weather and how quickly fall was coming and how early it was getting dark. She and I were all alone, both covering up our secrets and telling ourselves our reasons at fifty miles an hour. She didn’t want to think that you and I are a different breed of people, she didn’t want to know that even though there are only four miles between your house and mine we live in completely different worlds. She didn’t really want to leave her bold and stylish South End home for another one of those off-white paneled house on the other side of that road.

Once I fell in love with you. Then again, and again and again. And once you became so comfortable, and so exciting all at the same time, that you became my tires kissing the yellow line, at fifty miles an hour. 

She Isn't

She Isn't

She isn’t a beautiful girl, and she knows that. She hasn’t been since that family photo where she’s three; ringlets in her hair, gap in her teeth, and the Tazmanian Devil on a shirt that clearly isn’t hers. She hasn’t grown as much as expected since then. She has gained too much weight since then. Her teeth have gathered some stains, her hair won’t curl like that no matter what she pays, and that blue in her eyes has faded and softened with age. She knows she isn’t a beautiful girl.

She isn’t a brilliant girl, and she knows that. She didn’t manage an 1800 on her SAT. She failed two AP tests. She is lazy about homework and likely to be late. She asks obvious questions. She misspells grammer and defanitely. She was the best at poetry once, for a whole two minutes, but the glory was short lived. She comma splices even after she is taught the rules. She lacks common sense. She didn’t take precal in high school. She barely passed a physics class. Sometimes she says insensitive things, but it’s because she’s stupid, not because she’s cruel. She misuses words, and incorrectly conjugates verbs, when she talks too. She really isn’t brilliant, and she knows that.

She isn’t strong, and she knows that. She falls down and she always needs help up. Sometimes she needs help to carry her own. She drops pitchers of juice on the floor if she carries too many. She can’t ride her bike up that same hill she always forgets to take her E-brake off when she backs down it in her car. She cries when she gets yelled at. She cries when she has to say good-bye. She cries when she sees commercials for the Humane Society. She bruises easy. She calls her mom when she gets lost instead of looking at a map. She goes for ice cream instead of tutoring when she fails a test. She can’t be alone for a day at a time. She cries when she can’t bike all the way up that hill. She is not a strong girl and she knows it.

She isn’t your girl either. Not your girlfriend. Not your best friend. Not your baby. Not your fling. Not your someone special. Not your significant other. Not your other half. Not your mother. Not your little sister. Not your ride home. Not your lab partner. Not your turn around and smile at the girl three rows back and to the left. Not your property in all the ways she wishes to belong to someone. She isn’t your girl, and everyone knows that.

She isn’t beautiful. She isn’t strong or brilliant either. Don’t waste a second trying to fix her; she isn’t yours to change. 

On Being a Good Girl

On Being a Good Girl

I am great at stop sign courtesy

I can brake dance at red lights

Im getting better at backing up,

I can keep a good eye on my rearview.

And I’m pretty good at falling for you.

I do pretty well with poetry.

I am great with extended metaphor.

I am sufficient when it comes to grammar

I may be the only girl you know who can pull off the Dickinson dash

And I’m great at loving the way it feels  when your hand’s on my ass.

I am super at hugs

I am great with introductions

I am professional at making friends

I am stellar at hello

When it comes to you,

I’m great at letting everything go.

I am great at picking mascara

I can pluck my eyebrows in the car

I’m getting better at eyeliner on the top lid,

I can keep it all together with some nice shadow

And I can look real pretty when youre feeling shallow.

I do pretty well with animals.

I am great with kittens and cats

Im sufficient when it comes to dog walking

I may be the only girl you know who’d be happy being a cat lady

And I’d be happier being the lady you made me.

I am super at saying yes

I am great at giving in

I am professional at apologies

And I am stellar at regret.

When it comes to you,

I’m great at being a secret.

I am great at telling lies

I can get out of anything

Im getting better at crying on command

I can keep a good game going

And im great at accepting how good you are at knowing.

I do pretty well with consistency

I’m great with daily sentiment,

Im sufficient when it comes to routine

I may be the only girl you know who cant sleep without “goodnight”

And if you fell asleep before we got there, that’d be okay.

I am super at being your part-time lover.

I am great at giving it all to you.

Im professional at going down to where you want me

Im stellar when I know what you want me to do,

And when ive had so much,

Why the hell do I want more of you?

On Holding On and Letting Go.

You held on to him like your favorite bra. he was second nature like cream in your coffee. You held on to him like the keys to your car. He was your best friend. You held on to him like those jeans that you wish fit. You loved him unconditionally. You held onto him like a signature. you accepted all his shortcomings when they were forthcoming. you held onto him like your engagement ring. 

then you let go of him, gave him to good will. poured him down the sink. threw him out the window. You slid him off your hand, off your heart, and we all heard the metal skip across that wooden table into the trash. 

Seventy Nine days

Seventy nine days  

one hundred ninety eight miles  

separate me from everything that feels good. 

your voice, your lips, your exhale, your smile. 

Will it ever cross your mind  

To call when you have time?

Cause you know if youre lonely that I am too.

And you know i’d go to the farthest lengths

To make small talk with you.

Will you ever think 

to send me a draft of those words of yours?

cause you know how they make me feel. 

give me some of that music in your soul 

and i'll pay you in a million magics you never thought were real. 

will i hear from you in seventy nine days?

will you make it a point to show up in that cocky grin 

tell me you'll be there baby,  

Im ready to let you in. 

Stuck and Skin

Stuck and Skin

I don’t want to be attached to you

I don’t want to let you in

But I want your thoughts and your honesty

And I need your muscle and I need your skin.

I don’t want to like you

That was never part of the plan

But I like everything that makes you you,

And I like that youre learning who I am.

I don’t want to think youre funny

I don’t want to smile when I think of you

But I associate you with all  good humor

And smile when I’m reminded of you.

I don’t want to miss you

Cause that means you got inside

I don’t want you to know how much I care,

Because that just means I lied.

I don’t want to think of you

No matter what station’s on the radio

I don’t want to hear you singing,

 Every lyric I’ll ever know.

I don’t want to miss you

So much it keeps me up at night,

And keeps me cuddled to my pillows in the morning,

Pretending they’re you and holding them tight.

I don’t want to want you

To be the only name on my phone

And I should start feeling guilty,

About how I cant leave you alone.

I don’t want every backseat

To smell like you just after a shower

I don’t want to see you in my rear view,

It gives you too much power.

I don’t want to be so fond

Of you holding my wrist

But I would trade any man’s hand in mine,

For your unaffectionate bliss.

I don’t want to be attached to you

But ive already let you in.

You’ve touched and you’ve teased your way,

Deep underneath my skin. 

Sam's Peace

Blue eyes and brown hair

Pink lips and freckled skin

Coke bottle hips and extra white teeth

She’s naturally beautiful.  

thin black lines accentuate her eyes

and butterflies envy her mascaraed lashes.

Her nails are secretly weak but polished over

And her waves in ways no spray gel can tame.

She works hard to be beautiful.

She is a mathmetician.

And a modest poet.

She is a workaholic,

But she is always early for dinner.

Her time is balanced as her checkbook

And she’s organized her way to beautiful.

*******

She is my best friend.

She is my steak and potato

My ice cream breaks on a diet.

She is my glitter, glam and gloss,

My shoes socks and sweater.

She’s the knowledge that comfort’s beautiful.

She keeps my secrets so I don’t lose them

She keeps me honest about my lies.

She glues me together when I tear apart

And helps me plaster on what makes me pretty.

She keeps me beautiful.

She keeps me beautiful

And that keeps her beautiful.

And therein is the peace,

known only to best friends.

And she taught me that its beautiful.