experiementation in self-portraiture, pt. 3

A portrait of me in my natural environment, wearing my school clothing.

Taken w/Photobooth

June 2009

I’d fallen in love with the smooth part of her midriff

between her belly button and the waistband of her shorts;

her bare shoulders and muscular back,
tan and spotted with acne scars.

One evening she stood in the threshold of the bathroom,

both arms extended to block my way. My eyes darted

from midriff to shoulder to lips.

I only wanted her to love me,

but I looked in her eyes and said,

“I only want to brush my teeth.”

For Two Recovering Tongue Sluts

When you’re smoking on the balcony at night,

longing for her feline tongue on your fingers,

keep the top of the parking garage in sight.

Forego the codeine and forego the knife,

even if the scent of his chlorine skin lingers.

Keep the top of the parking garage in sight.

This is the realest moment of your life–

denying yourself daydreams of touching her

when you’re smoking on the balcony at night.

Imagine the books, the screenplay you’ll write

about the damned lust, the heavy teenage drinkers.

Keep the top of the parking garage in sight.

Keep reminding yourself the end is not nigh–

even if your once-bright future with her looks dimmer

when you’re smoking on the balcony at night.

As you blow smoke into the grey-orange light,

don’t forget he was always a horrific singer.

When you’re smoking on the balcony at night,

keep the top of the parking garage in sight.

Morning

In the morning I’ll wake up when my phone buzzes at 8:33.

In the morning I’ll lay in bed until 8:37.

In the morning I’ll change my shirt four times.

In the morning I’ll stumble into the living room.

In the morning I’ll look for a pack of cigarettes she didn’t buy.

The next morning I’ll wake up and pick out a shirt.

The next morning I’ll walk out of my room.

The next morning I’ll see a pack of American Spirits on the table.

The next morning I’ll take one out, put it behind my ear, close the box.

The next morning I’ll fish a dollar from my pocket and roll it up.

The next morning I’ll put the dollar where the cigarette was.

In the morning I’ll wake up and smoke her cigarette on the way to class.

In the morning, between drags, I’ll wonder if I should have left a note.