There’s no empathy.
“Everything will be okay”
Up until it’s not.
literature
Fair
The sounds of a carnival: bells whistling from the booths of games,
kernels popping and music blaring
the familiar do doot do do do do doot do of a carousel
along with mother’s screaming young names
as if the magic of a playground would release the casted spell
on the childrens’ smiles.
The excitement of a carnival: cotton candy cavities on a stick
and young love brewing on a ferris wheels’ basket
and sought-after gorilla toys
three times the size of a 7 year-old
with nothing else inside our eyes but pure joy.
Maybe it’s the flashing lights, or the smell of carnival food,
but we all felt good. Lifted. Innocent.
The nostalgia of a carnival: remember when our best friends only wanted to compete for the first water-popped balloon
instead of competing for cherries-popped and used condoms
and the dizzy feeling came from the loops of the roller coaster
instead of the anguish from loopholes in the form of beers on coasters
and how carnival games were the lowest form of a scam
with the attendants being the only ones that ever cheated, lied, and stole from you.
I will never get over the aesthetic pleasures of a carnival.
It’s hectic and wild and exhilarating and beautiful, and beautiful, and beautiful.
Like life.
But life is not a carnival; life is not a fair.
Life is not fair.
Forever Ago
What would I do without you?
Who would be the poison to my wine?
The shape of your face is a silver plate, as we walked the streets that night.
What would I do without you.
What does it take to know your love
and all the stories underneath your scars?
What are we missing
or
are we just wishing on the time we can’t afford?
For a while, you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours.
How do you always look your best
and
why are you smiling when I’m a wreck?
Half of my heart craves to hear your thoughts
and
the other half wants less.
Will you let me sleep with you?
Feel your face as couples do.
I promise that I won’t take a bite of your tongue unless you want me to.
Will you let me
love you?
Bulletproof
Once upon a time
I believed
I was bulletproof.
The day I twisted my ankle
tripping on a soccer ball
during practice
when no offense was threatening me
was the day I realized
I wasn’t.
One time
I believed
books could never make me feel.
The day I read Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried”
and experienced war through words
and cried overdue tears
that never dropped when my eight grade teacher,
a Vietnam veteran, died,
I realized
books can tear you apart.
Once,
I believed
I could never get heart broken.
The day I felt painful emptiness
because I graduated
without him admitting that he loved me,
I realized I could.
Once upon a time…
I believed, I believed
I would never let “love” or irrational thinking make me stupid.
Never again would I want what’s impossible.
Here I am;
still wanting someone impossible
and still believing
I’m bulletproof.
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