If one day I’m caught waltzing
to bed with drunken imaginings
of the gates of Heaven, gilded in
virtuous hues of golden rays,
allow me to stumble over the reindeer
slippers I purposely left out in the open.
I’ll know then that the prophecy
that I laid out for my future was a mistake.
That I deserve to know what it feels like
to taste the carpet fibers of unvacuumed
dirt and stray strands of fur.
I should have vacuumed my room.
Every ounce of modesty I wore
seemed skimpy with a skintight feel.
As I lie there,
maybe I’ll dream.
Maybe I’ll dream that the saliva
dampening my right cheek happens
to be the black raspberry milkshake kisses
when steak n shake was our thing.
Or maybe I’ll conjure up the memories
of an odor I know too well.
Mary Jane could attract dung beetles
with her god awful corpse flower stench,
She reminds me of days within the week
that begin with stratus clouds discriminating
me for my negative thoughts
on her light drizzle.
I can feel you in my veins.
And I am sorry you know what it
is like to pummel your fists further
into a dead-beat-ing heart.
Your bittersweet smoke utters
effects of antisocial behavior.
My dearest friends must have
inhaled your short-term memory
loss because I am deserted out
at sea fishing for their numbers
huddled together inside a bottle
while my boat of photobooth
and Mary Jane,
you’re looking more pale than my
dearest friends repeating their lies
back to me as we descend to shipwrecks.
I would compare you to pure snow
but you’re much sweeter than that.
You’re that first powdered sugar sensation
with french toast on the rarity that is an early
I watch you peak at nightfall.
When you’re cozying up to the
tip of that needle just beneath
the belt fastened around one’s arm.
how do you do it?
The euphoric lethargy is an intensity
and the itching of my forearm is
driving me insane.
Where were you when I was
just itching for solace?
When I pleaded to my umber-colored
teddy bear to talk back?
When I buried my face into the plush
animal and apologized for only
acknowledging it when it was
convenient for me?
Oh, China White why couldn’t you
be there when I fought myself for
the cellulite on my thighs and every
night I hastily twisted the switch on
to shed light on the seemingly bad omen
nightmares of my slumber?
if you’re going to make me suffer,
why not from excoriation of my skin
rather than mental breakdowns?
Help me, China White.
I wondered when you’d come
I use a crisp dollar bill
with Bible verses written
across each edge,
You tickle my nose like these
unvacuumed carpet fibers.
if it wasn’t for you,
I don’t think I’d ever feel this good.
The thumping in my chest tells me
Thumper isn’t waiting for Spring
and I feel as though I could spring into
action at any given time.
The hummingbirds in my ears send me
buzzing on about the birds and the bees
and how my grandfather remarried only
to shun the death of his ex wife as she
blind to her last moments
and blind to her three sons crying “mama, I’m so sorry.”
you rush straight into me.
Gushing over me like waterfalls and gusts of
winds, then straight through me like an arrowhead just stuck an apple to an oak tree.
I ramble on about how it feels to gasp for air.
We all know the feeling.
But do you know the lump containing your
love the size of the hand you hold?
Do you know the petrified thoughts beating
faster than my sister’s heart on caffeine pills?
Could you tell me if you would recognize me
while I float above the lonesome teenaged girl
peeling back her layers of muscle just to reveal
her inner strength?
Because I can’t find her.
Or maybe I just don’t like what I see and
that is why I am floating on social security
and not prepared for reality checks.