I am in Paris and You Are Moving to California
Summer beer tastes like water
and I forget to drink water
and forget I am in France.
I wrote melancholy post cards about the weather
while I was realizing alone.
My two feet stepped on as many cobble stones
as us two who are not to
I think that when I was 3 I cut my knee on a loose brick playing tag.
Last week I fell on the pavement at night in Barcelona
and I miss people who never existed and am afraid for things that haven’t happened yet.
I hope I learned something about the weather and running on pavement.
I am lost in Paris
I am lost in Paris and in people.
I love the metro like numbers the same everywhere
well not in Rome
but actually the metro stops at Rome before the place where I stay Courcelle, so even Rome.
And the German could read the Roman numerals on the statue of Ramon from 1130.
I smile a lot because it makes me small
and is also like the metro
Je ne parle pas le francais
que c’est genant!
Mais je peux metro
so I also have a little liberte
smiling, that’s fraternite
and to smile on the metro is egalite.
I’m in love with homesick crowds and dizzying quiet.
It was raining when I got to Paris
I lost so much along the way
cell phone service,
my favorite sweatshirt,
It was raining looking for a boulangerie I never found
and I quickly bought
two ice creams when the rain cleared.
I evaporated slowly along the Seine
and I put out my socks to dry
and my feet to unprune.
When I bought beer for Nicolas
to walk home along the pont,
the clouds evaporated and I
fell in love with the view.
I fell in love like ok paella between not sleeping and sunrise in the sea.
Quiet language for days that felt like weeks because we started drinking beer at 10am.
He said “please?” when my English was too quiet,
I wondered if I could give him
and the city
more than English definitions and
a kiss on the cheek at Plaça Catalunya.
I gave him
a red sox pencil as a token of my home.
He thanked me as if I had given him myself
as the sun turned the rocks under the Mediterranean waves pale pink
and I whispered that I couldn’t swim and he held my fear gently.
The bark of palm trees burns even faster
from their glow our eyes shared
a flicker of surprise-
In the Mediterranean sea?
On an abandoned roof terrace?
With the sunrise, palm trees, and always fountains?
Not us, I would never love you at home
but you were a perfect week
and when I got to Paris it was raining.
I’ve been traveling the world for the past several weeks and to follow will be a series of poems I wrote while abroad and photos I took to accompany them. I’m eager to trade stories, so please message if you’re curious!
I hate Vanessa’s texts and hair
in my mouth on you guys’ couch
that is mine, all
haven’t slept with you
so I make tomato cages all day in
the four walled garden, hiding
from my roommate’s roommate,
where I ate jam on a hot dog bun and felt
but we have two kinds of jam I
am trying to save from her
and hot dog buns, his, I
shouldn’t be eating.
I eat loneliness,
shut up, I hate
a lot but mostly
your girlfriend and my roommate’s roommate
and trucks at 2am
and me, I’m
spending money on my
making wrong, my
no good deed, my
we played bullshit on your patio last night
ability to lie.
I hated a 7 year old’s direction like I hate Vanessa-
what were my school years for?
I bear my belly.
Once you get this you have to say 5 nice things about yourself publicly and then send this to 10 of your favorite followers. Thinking good thoughts about yourself is hard but it will make you feel better so give it a go, for the sake of spreading positivity! ∘˚˳° ⊂(´･◡･⊂ )
Bridget sent this to me awhile ago, but I’ve been not writing lately so… Anyway I took this as a prompt…
I ask questions about how hurricanes are the same as butterfly wings in my life and what red pens actually say.
I am not afraid of biking to unknown addresses late at night.
I have a knack for putting my love in boxes to mail to my mom and my sister and roommate and childhood friend.
Untangling what is my happy is like learning languages or doing a handstand.
Like the above, “I need” grew into fierceness that quietly goes into battle.
The tent of my bed at twenty-something
on an Ikea day of the week that I can’t remember
I ask what my thighs would look like in a smaller model.
I’ve postered the walls and canopied the bed as if I’ll stay here,
I’m always the lonely one I remember at dinner and over cheese,
whenever I say “best friend,”
I keep nothing’s company,
I disappear to make room
I eat bags of carrots, fill the recycling bin with diet coke cans, run out of coffee,
I buy light beer, or think about it with disgust.
How can I make more room?
I pause to count my crunches,
I readjust my anxiety in the shower and my waistband in my chair.
Some nights I celebrate and others I think of “death” without thinking.
Without anyone to write to, I court emptiness in my poems.
Love is for people who need
like my best friends who need
everything but me.
I’m not like that, I don’t cry
If it was dark, the seeing was more candle-
I would use ‘transient,’ but my roommate would say that I’m an SAT word.
Being happy is like white paint on my hand
I’m so scared! I hate Google!
I hate therapy! I hate email!
Candle is like carrying fragiley a full glass
Sunshine is like
new sheets and painting.
I’m waiting for my eyes
to adjust to the light.