My fingers are stained orange,
Smelling of citrus, they peeled
Your tangerines. I give you
The olives I’ve discarded.
You put your ice cubes in my cup,
doing us both a favor.
You trust me
When I go 20 over
On the highway
And you don’t mind
The music blasting
Through the speakers
Bass boosting through our bloodstreams
Shaking up our insides.
You say it’s funny
How much attention I pay
To songs and their tunes
The subtle hint of a harmonica
And how I know all of the lyrics
And sing so passionately over them ,
Way off-tune, you let me
Serenade you.
You let me
Braid your hair and
Paint your nails. I
Buy your favorite candy and
You feed me it when
My head is on your lap and
Your hands are in my hair.
My heart
Is in my throat
And it is my favorite taste.
About the Creator
daphne gray
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
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venting at 6 something pm
Everything is awful. Scratch that. Everything feels awful. I sit on a random curb, by some beer store that’s —for some reason— closed on Super Bowl day. My plans got canceled so I’ve opted for painting my nails alone in my room. Maybe I’ll call my mom. I don’t feel like talking to people, or eating, but that’s another story. Nothing in the world belongs to me. I Irish-Goodbyed yet another party last night. I was anxious —really, I was crossed— anc I didn’t know 75% of the people there. Usually, for a party, that’s normal. But this wasn’t a usual party and I know I disappointed my friends who'd asked me to sleep over. They always ask me to sleep over; do or don't, I disappoint them, but that's another story. This cigarette is not doing me any good, but I guess that’s not not-normal! I’m listening to my good playlist, but still, I don’t feel anything but awful. I want to sprawl my each and every limb out on the ground beneath me but I’m in far too public of a place for that. I need to do laundry when I get home. I have to submit a paper. I have to use the bathroom. I have to do a lot, clearly. I’m glad my plans were cancelled. My mom would be disappointed in me, in all the avoidance I’ve partaken in this weekend, and how that is all I want to do for the next week, or God knows how long. I am getting cold out here; I’m five minutes from home and I have no desire to get up and put my legs to work. I have to call my Godmother. My to-do list now overwhelms me, on top of all that of which I already feel. Is it too much to ask for time to stop? Just for a little? Really, I’d like it to stop for longer than that, but realistically I know none of that is possible. I’m biting on my hair now; my feet are sore, my back aches. I reek of a kitchen ambiance that I desperately want to get rid of, but still, I have no desire to get up and put my legs to work. I want to be saved, from what and by whom I couldn’t tell you. The moon shines pretty tonight, it’s a shame that I can’t worship her like I otherwise would. I don’t have it in me, but then again, what do I have in me tonight? There are no longer thoughts in my mind, only discomfort in my heart and some in my chest, both of which I’m unsure of how to rid myself of. Maybe I should get up, maybe I should just go. But I don’t want to. Maybe I should fight against that temptation, the one to do nothing. Would it help me feel something? Something good and pretty? I feel doomed. That’s better than feeling nothing! That’s better than feeling nothing? God, I want too much, and yet nothing at all.
By daphne gray2 years ago in Poets
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love this