9.8.11

Guest Room

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evan keeps wondering how, wants to know the so-called secret. try to remember what you’ve done to get this far. oh yes. day in day out, smile like people are looking. even when you’re alone. if you lift the corners of your mouth fast enough, you push back saltwater and involuntary gasps.

you hate sweet things, but that’s okay. pour sugar into someone else’s mouth. bake. pretend that the hurt filters through your fingers into the flour. think one happy thought for each eggshell you break. sing to your soon to be cake while it  tans in the oven. scratch out names in leftover frosting. wipe clean.

go for a walk when everything’s quiet (but not too quiet) and bring along the soundtrack to your life. wait for the moment when the music swells and drips down to the feathered edges of your hair, then run. run! don’t ever stop, not even when your shoes fly off and a woman with a dog shouts at you to please come back, you left something behind.

write letters to people you’ve never met, on the back of jumble sale flyers. leave them at the first doorstep you see when you get off the bus. write letters to people you used to love. use them to papier-mâché a box, then paint over the whole thing in your favourite colour. this box; put letters into it. letters that you’ve written to people you love now. promise yourself that you’ll send them someday.

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guestroom-pola

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evan, do you understand?

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5.8.11

Hello, I’m In Delaware

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hello,i'mindelaware-pola

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this is the three years ahead you thought it’d be, you see yourself 
rushing through unfamiliar songs hoping
this one is gonna be the one
sad sad song to make you cry
because surely someone out there knew, felt
the same pain you did
wrote it down in minims and bars and glass tipped words
you want the release without the blood but there it is
you’re biting down hard on your lip (and your fingers
and the scream you must always keep swallowed)
there’s the hook, there’s the turn, there’s the note
that’ll take you far away from yourself
on the 102 bus in repeat

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2.8.11

Beth/Rest

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breath fogged up in these branches 
like smoke
like the smoke in your lungs that you crave so much
you might never know this but
i heard what you said when you thought i was sleeping
and oh wow you’re right, i am weak
i’m egg shells and paper folds
i can wear skulls on my fingers
you still see a heart on a sleeve
but it doesn’t beat for you
not the way you want it to

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beth.rest-pola

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