"Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by."
— Dorianne Laux
- 2 days ago
- 3 days ago
"Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this."
- 6 days ago
"How are you?
don’t tell me that you’re doing good
or that you are fine,
you and I both know that you are so far from both of those things,
when was the last time you thought about death?
When was the last time you cried and what finally made the tears fall after all that time?
what is your story of loss?
What words break you?
What words put you back together?
When was the first time you understood the depth of the word “goodbye?”
When was the first time the only thing you could do was lay on the floor and cry because nothing else in the world made sense but brokenness?
When was the last time you really and truly laughed?
Can you remember that far back?
What was on your mind when you got those scars on your leg?
What lies have you believed lately?
When was the first time you understood what “I love you” meant?
Who made you so broken?
Have you even tried to put yourself back together?
do you love yourself?
how much of your skin can you find constellations in?
have you ever tried to understand your eyes?
have you pressed your fingertips to your own lips hoping nothing else mattered in the world if your lips were your own?
have you ever made yourself believe the lie that you aren’t worth it?
how is the weather in your heart?
is it a hurricane or a tsunami?
is there fog surrounding your soul?
have you ever loved another more than you loved to breathe?
when was the last time you really and truly believed that your life was worth living?"
— I’ve never really been good at small talk
- 1 week ago