gold and glimmer

I wrote this inspired by the song “Stolen” by Dashboard Confessional, which as a dramatic middle-schooler I didn’t realize was the epitome of teenage angst music, but still gives me shivers down my spine when I listen to it now. Back then, I liked a boy more purely and deeply than I’ve cared for a guy since, which is simply the nature of teenage love (apparently, science says we feel stronger emotions then). I still find myself idealizing that eventual romance; one in which every moment feels as pristine and clear as those did. Very little confusion clouded the relationship, and although my feelings were certainly difficult for me to process, I realize looking back that the adult world of love is much more complicated.
First love is my favorite concept to write about, haha. 

i’ll fall asleep at sunset
to the sound of little waves
against the black rocks,
my head resting on your back
warm and damp with
a day’s work, or travel
–whatever suits you
in soft white linen,
would you be my gold and
glimmer? the best thing
that has ever happened
since when i was young,
the colors didn’t fade
when all our hearts were stolen
by innocent love and
grand ideals.


“worthwhile pursuits”

a long thought dump/poem/prose because i’m not inspired at all tonight, and very lost in memories and thoughts.

while i stand here
in this static white space,
i see nothing but
what i’ve been lacking
so long, and the reminders
keep pouring in of
the cross, the snow, the stained
glass windows at dawn,
like my open heart surgery
that was never fully closed,
i wish you’d just
stop reminding me
constantly, of summers when
she’d run about the house,
closing old swollen
windows before storms,
her soups and sliced bell peppers
and the big fan
in the living room,
she was delighted when
i talked of the midwest,
and now i regret
because i didn’t know it then,
i hated when we had to
have nightly bible study,
now i hate myself
for my reluctance,
i’ve developed an affair,
an obsession and a deep scar
from kisses in cars and longing
for those summer nights
when crickets would cry
instead of myself as i detailed
my ascension into
the adult world, why
must you remind me of
hallways, words, and white girls
i’ve never seen nor heard,
but learned to despise more
than my own sins,
stand there and belt your songs
every sunday, at least
you aren’t a total hypocrite
we can all learn to twist
and mince our words
through the dark winter
of the north,
but the poison only works
when we’re being purposeful
in our worthwhile pursuits
good for you—-
you’ve all got yours.