for L

i cried 7.3 times last week.
7.3.
if this isn’t what love looks like, i don’t know what is.

i think it means a lot that i can safely say that
i love you more
than
i love my babies.

i love you more than ashley, emily, genesis and yosmary put together.
i love you more than turkey sausage,
and grits,
and bacon biscuits.

i love you more than my parents’ pool on a hot july day in south florida.

i love you more than rainstorms.

i love you more than my kitchenaid mixer. now that is saying something. 

i love you like WHOA.

i am walking away from so many thingspeopleplaces that i love.
i am not looking back.
i am growing a spine, a backbone, a resolve, a will, all to be better to myself so i can be better to you.
i learning to push my boundaries.
i am becoming a better friend.
i am working on my stubborn-bossiness.
i am combing my hair.
i am writing poetry.
i am RUNNING, goddamnit.

you are special, LD. and LD doesn’t stand for R.

there are 44 days between you and me and combination.
start the countdown. 

my baby wrote this for me

a poem for me about not being alone,  by her

once upon a time
this amazingly hot girl
wrote this really awesome poem for me
back when she was pretending to write a poem a day (NOTE: actual ratio of poems to days that month—> 1 poem per 5 days)
where i was likened to a lighthouse of some sort
(except in the beginning of the poem i feel like i was being likened to more of a water type thing)
and she like
totally said all these pretty things about me
i felt really good about myself

and then

once upon a time
this amazingly hot girl
wrote this email to me
where she was all
"bitch you be taking too long so now i’m sleeping before we’ve had a chance to talk and oh btw my week has sucked and also i don’t wanna talk to you tomorrow"
and then i felt bad
and asked my teacher friends for suggestions on things i should send her via the US Postal Service
but i didn’t like any of their suggestions
(i pretended i did though)

and then

i thought about how shitty it must be
to be in her situation
and how hard it must be
to leave peoplethingsplaces
and to watch award winning movies by yourself that resonate deeply with your current situation
but you have no one to debrief with
and i wanted to tell the amazingly hot girl
that i still wanna be the person she gets all metaphorical about in poems
even though i’ve been sucking at it lately
and could be doing a better job
so i’m going to try to do better
i wish i had bought plane tickets to new york instead of mexico

also, i hope the amazingly hot girl
knows i love her
and that i think about her all the time
and that i miss her
and that technically she isn’t walking into the void alone cuz she has me
and that she has permission to call me in the middle of the night
and that i love her enough to write shitty italicized poems in emails.

santigold

I didn’t sleep last night.

t-pain isn’t helping.

 
Santigold just pushes me in

Side myself.

 
To love is to hurt is to cry is to

Begrudge is to miss is to sulk.

 
I sulk because I love you and she fucked it all up.

 
I worked hard on it and it was right and she threw my surprise away.

Showing my heart is important to me. Disappointment stings.

It was my chance to show how important you are to me, and it’s

gone.

Santigold just pushes me in

Side myself.

"big mouth"

finding-gymspiration:

Excited to get to them then!

mantra!

finding-gymspiration:

Excited to get to them then!

mantra!

(via chaiandablanket)

day 5

There are so few things more nerveracking

Than being judged.
 
 

A sharp pain blossoms

In my heel,

My toes crush against the top of the rigid patent leather-

 
 

These shoes are just two days old.

 
 

The dress well-fitted,

The blazer slightly too small,

The incan scarf bright, speaking of my

Globally aware leanings.

 
 

As we stomp over the gravel

And sit in the sunshine,

Discussing novels we love and

Lessons we teach,

 
 

I can’t stop wondering how much

You’ll pay me;

 
 

How much money this performance is worth.

day 4

The cries of babies are strangely comforting.

They suggest that maybe

This desire to be airborne

Is something natural that is simply to be endured.

 
 

Trusting that the laws of physics will hold true,

That we will stay in the air,

That we will land safely,

And the worst of our concerns

 
 

Is a little ear pain.

day 3

poem!! you need so much work!! 
 

there is nothing 

easy

about this.



there is no telling.

i pack my hopes and dreams,

my makeup,

my boots, my pearl studs,

and hope for the best.


there is no definition.

to return empty-handed seems unlikely,

but really,

what does ‘likely’ mean?


there are no promises.

there are no previews.

there are no safety nets.


i’ve never been so grown up.

a guest poem about mandarin oranges

mandarin orange
how i love thee
you make me feel
like a giant
when i hold you
(cuz you’re small and stuff)

mandarin orange
did you know?
you’re pretty tasty
kinda like how other foods are tasty
i feel like you are
superior to other citrus fruits
fuck you kumquats
et al


mandarin orange
i wanna eat hella of you
but i’m too lazy to peel you after a while
you’re worth 0 points on Weight Watchers
at least
so i’ve been
told.  

this is a shitty teacher poem

day 2 of napowrimo 2012 finds our resident poet tired, drunk and behind on grading. as a result, this is what i have to offer:

calling

when i ask you to shut your mouth,

i feel like my mother.
 

not my mother on a good day.

you know those days,

when you have this feeling you’ll remember this day,

this moment,

forever?

when there’s a glossy shine, a special quality, to everything that takes place?
 

this is not one of those days.

this day is lackluster, run of the mill.

this day is sweaty and greasy and weary.

this is the monday before spring break and you are michael johnson and this is eighth period and ms. o is the one to break, to bother, in this moment.
this is my life.


this is the moment that comes to mind when people offer a syrupy comment about how awesome it is that i’m a teacher:

"high school english? really? that’s amazing!”


yeah, bitches. isn’t it? begging a 15 year old to give a shit about an essay and his own development on a beautiful april afternoon when all i want is to have a margarita by the river and feel that delicious, delicious buzz? 




amazing.

eat it up.