“when you turn thirteen and want to paint your nails black
I’ll rummage through an old drawer and give you my own polish.
when you look at me and say, “momma, I’m lost.”
I’ll turn you towards the mirror
and say, “run darlin’, don’t ever let them find you.” when the first day of high school comes
and you hurry to get out of the car with nerves in hand I’ll tell you,
“don’t run, walk slow. you’ll make it through.”
when you go on your first date I’ll remember my first date.
I’ll remember the look on my own mother’s face when he didn’t open my car door
and baby, if he doesn’t open the car door remember your momma saying, “he doesn’t get to open anything else either.” one day that boy will break your heart
and when you lock yourself in your room I’ll buy you a journal, a brand new pen, a 2 liter of strawberry soda
and a potted violet with a note saying something like, “white oleanders are poisonous and so is heartache.
violets symbolize something that I’ve since forgotten and strawberry soda drowns the salt in your tears.” one day you’ll pack your things,
I’ll write you letters and send you candles in the mail.
you’ll marry young or maybe old.
you’ll have a daughter of your own and watch the sun rise in her eyes.
just remember to never look up what violets symbolize
and when she looks at you with tears in her eyes
saying, “momma, I’m lost.”
turn her towards the mirror
and say, “run darlin’, don’t ever let them find you.””
— and when they say you’re too much soul for one person, remember the white oleanders.-dah (via whisperingbones)
“You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool. Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,
leave the image of him kissing another woman
in the toilet. In the morning, her name will be
in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach:
You are the best friend again. He invites
you over for dinner, say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner; everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight. Someone told you once, a soul mate is not the person who makes you the happiest, but the one who makes you feel the most. Who conducts your heart to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.
It has always been him. In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
Try to think of pilot lights or olive oil,
not everything you have ever loved about him,
or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible
and so close. You will find her bobby pins
lying innocently on his bathroom sink.
Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs
of spiders, splinters of her undressing
in his bed. Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them
home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice. At home, you will picture her across town
pressing her fingers into his back
like wet cement. You will wonder
if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms
in the same house. Did he fall for her features
like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,
does she taste like new paint? You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like you are always
ticking inside of me and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly. Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be,
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.”
— Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via sugarshockpony)
