#WaybackWednesday — “Stop.”

An old warning to myself to steer clear of toxic friendships and relationships. I’ll never be a poet but very occasionally I write poems.

Original post was a Facebook note on April 10th 2013, and it was also published on the Boylan Blog while I was interning for the English department at Brooklyn College.

 

Stop.

 

“Hey, you — You actually left your house to see me!”

“Just needed to get some air; don’t feel special.”

“Don’t worry, you are very good at making me not feel special.”

“Oooh, burn!”

 

I laugh. You smile.

We talk

fast

easy

back and forth

familiar rhythm

I’m sure we look adorable

we always look adorable

bickering

that old married couple vibe

we give off

as a pair of 20-somethings

striding through the park

No one would ever guess

that you’re killing me

and I’m killing you

 

I match you insult for insult

smile for smile

and you do the same

stuck in this loop

eviscerating each other

with our laughing smiles

our barbed jokes

I hit every one of your weak spots

You hit every one of mine

 

And still, we laugh

and still, we smile

because it’s all we know

because we’re both too proud to say

Stop.

I care.

You matter.

That hurts.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

 

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#ThrowbackThursday — “Marked”

I remember that I wrote this when I was in a dark place, and I haven’t looked at it since because I tend to feel dismissive of anything I write that for whatever reason I feel is too emo, and this definitely felt that way at the time. But then I read it over this morning, and hey, I like it. So here you go.

Original post is from April 3rd 2013.

*   *   *

 

Not sure what to call this – “flash fiction” or “vignette.” Whatever, it’s super short and fictional.

Marked

I’ve grown a bit reckless with my life recently.

Not in ways that would catch anyone’s attention or get me carted off. Just the steady increase in crossing the street against the red light, dashing across where there’s no crosswalk, not taking any particular care to avoid foods I’m mildly allergic to. Etcetera.

I know, stop the presses; we’ve got a wild one on our hands.

It’s not the acts themselves that I suspect would get me put in a straightjacket — it’s my reason for them. That reason being that I feel like I’m going to die.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 17 years on this planet, it’s that people get very weird very fast when you bring up death, apropos of nothing.

I still don’t know why. Death doesn’t scare me. It’s just there. Always has been. Everyone dies, and I’ve always felt like I’m going to die young. I’ve never been afraid of it. I’ve never even been curious, never asked how I know it or why I know it or when or where or how it’s going to happen or how young is young, exactly?

I figure this is the closest I’ll get to understanding how people feel when they believe in God or Jesus. How you can know there’s no proof you can point to, nothing tangible to back up your thinking, but nonetheless you just know it and feel it in your bones, in your blood, unshakable as any fact.

Fact: I’m not long for this world.

Sometimes I forget. It doesn’t define your life, you know, knowing you’re going to die. It’s just a fact of my existence. Sometimes you forget you have ten fingers, or at least don’t think about it until some little kid asks you or you need to count out some change on your fingers. That’s how it is with me and my imminent death. It’s not nearly as dramatic as it sounds.

And then there are times like now, when I feel it so strongly that I’m surprised I ever forgot. But as you could see from what I said up there, I don’t exactly live dangerously. I’m hardly ever suicidal. Can’t say never, but most of the time it’s like, “Why bother killing yourself when you’re already marked for death?” Might as well just let it come.

 

 

 

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Like my thinky thoughts? You can commission more of them via my GoFundMe campaign — http://www.gofundme.com/sm-automotive — or subscribe on the sidebar, and thanks for reading! You can also buy me tools from this Wishlist but really I just like money.