diptix by Alexandra Naughton
Peanut Gallery Press, 2014
Getting myself off thinking about you dreaming about me.
I’m thinking a lot about being a girl on the internet.
Counting time with black kohl.
Paying attention to stuff like the moon.
Eating too much skin = skinny. Shirking too much flesh = fleshy.
I want to think about my body in architectural terms.
Having thoughts, ideas, and writing them down. Recording them because they sound good in my head or I want to remember them. Poems are not constructions but reflections. I have a thought, idea, and I write it down. I show it to you and call it a poem.
I don’t like poetry that comes with an explanation.
I’m crying when I smell you.
Money doesn’t make you successful.
I want a meal that isn’t mealy.
And when we go out together we weave disaster into our frayed locks.
Liking the way you look at me.
I want to know what it means when you text me flattery.
Listening to a song that makes me think about you and texting you that I am listening to it so maybe you will listen to it too.
I ask you questions I don’t want to know the answers to because I think I know the answers and having you confirm doesn’t benefit either of us.
This is me harnessing my sexuality for a lukewarmlucrative literary career.
My peripherals are bleeding.
Everything feels like a ghost.
Girl in Catholic school uniform kneels at the train station holding an iPad.
This is the thirst day of my life.
If we break up my ex won’t evict me.
Sleeping with you is like being Nirvana.
I’m not on one. I’m on everything.
Choosing only loose pebbles to write words in.
Picking my fights like I know how to lose them.
You only knew me when I didn’t know what I was.
It’s like we go through the motions of hanging out together. We make a plan, we go there, but all we want to do the whole time is just go back home so we can get back to ignoring each other.
It’s like bringing sand to your butthole.
Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary Virgin Mary.
And thick folds of flesh like a spiral ham.
Quitting the cavalry of the unclean.
Quoting The Cure, or Jean Rhys, or Jean Grae.
Who wants to know what game we’re playing.
Like watching yourself do something you know you’re not supposed to do.