just a little touch

they say waking up
with a bruise means
a dead person touched you.

well, i hope heaven
sent me an angel.
and the aching-red
means even in after
life, those dear
have not forgotten..
        come down
                come back
leave impressions
on skin
that leave impressions
on waking eyes.

dear hands that score skin
tallying away the lines
that continue to divide

when i sleep
        come down
                come back
let us remember
that mortal and you
contact may ache and red
but so gentle the embrace
        come down
                come back
now unmarked skin will leave me lonely

liberal arts college. we don't need a starbucks. we got a swing

[ring ring] hello. i'm in class, i'll call you back

i feel bad for people that sit next to me in class.
this stumbling, constantly fumbling fool.
no desk can ever quiet contain
me. my folder. my two notebooks. whatever overpriced book required. my phone. three pens at least.
it's always

→ take out folder and open it (like a base)

→ then both notebooks (they should be open as well, one on top of the other)
[one notebook for notes; the other for the chatter in my head]

→ then look for a pen (MAKE AS MUCH NOISE AS NEEDED)
[roll is being taken by now]

→ find pen! (oh, there was a pen in my notebook)
[class lecture begins....]

→ pull out phone to function as paperweight

→ take dedicated notes........SOMETHING RANDOM....other notebook
[45 minutes later...blah blah blah]

→ check phone & one notebook falls

[someone else pulls it up..not to be helpful i serve as a perfect excuse to distract from lecture]

class ends. i'm a mess. stuff is everywhere. time to put it all away again. sheesh.

things i want to do tomorrow but probably won't

1. tomorrow, i want to walk into roy cullen and hear "bottle pop" by the pussycat dolls come on and successfully perform a choreographed dances with strangers.
2. i want to say something profound in class.
3. in the 15 minutes between my two classes i want to write down everything i've been meaning to write for the past year.
4. i want to stand up in my creative writing class and confess my love for the only white guy in the corner, the other asian (not the one with the mohawk) and my teacher
5. i want t osay something in class.
6. wake up on time and find the "perfect parking spot"
7. tomorrow night, i hope i remember all my lines and deliver the best performance of my life, i want to make the audience cry like on the first night of my performances.
8. oh, and also want to be hungry for breakfast. and someone will have made me grits and i'll meet joshua bennett even though he's in london, but that doesn't matter cause things can happen. and they can happen to me

if only..

who in the hell knows

it's the 3rd
and the taste of vomit has
carried over from the day before.
images of whataburger. watermelon. water and bile
in the sink. in the toliet. in the bathtub.in a shoe box.

and all i really want is a hoodie.
and not feel as if my insides feel like i'm a misfire
and want to make a run for it.
i want me, inside. thinner but that sickly.

picture me in death's corner.
mixing stomach acid and tears
as if to create a gumbo of yesterday seemed so much brighter.
pushing, in a world where wishing means nothing.

those days when fairly tales pages are stuck together
and tile floors chill bones
a hoodie would be helpful

my creative writing teacher remarked i have odd punctuation.

uhh oh,

i have an obsessive pull towards
stripes
nothing we should be too worried about, just yet
i mean stripes are nice people.
they don't vote in major elections
..and them can make you look
like a bubble bee or an inmate
but they are essentially harmless, right?
i hope.