Not Our Denton

Waking this small town
with bullets and violence;
It’s not our Denton.

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Dandy Lion – Revision

The quilts, the quiet;
the weekend we only ate sushi
then rolled ourselves in the sheets
like ghosts, like goblins,
gobbling gluttonous—
for granted.

Leaving curls on his pillows,
he called me Dandy Lion.
In weekends, in time
breezing through so fast
taking it in only in the
moments between
the pages, the distance.

The silences, the spinning,
how sorry we were
when we tried to look back,
how hard it became to look
forward, for ourselves.
I’ll tear you apart, said The Truth.
Leave those memories for better things.

And we did.
We left
for better, for us.
The distance saved us
and the memories left us happy
enough.

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Jenn

Let’s tell time in stories.
Let’s tell stories in dimes,
in losses,
in rounds of tequila in basement bars.

Let’s remember
when bikes meant freedom,
coasting through an empty campus
on summer nights.

Every winter,
we’ll wish for snow days,
“Baby, it’s Cold Outside,”
to group cuddle on couches
and drink each other’s beers.

And over time we’ll fill journals,
bind albums of our memories,
so we can press replay
and watch ourselves grow up together
over and over.

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Pill Bottle

Through the pill bottle
turning and tumbling ’round
—a kaleidoscope.

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Buckle

When it comes to you,
my knees only know “buckle,”
my shoes laced with hope.

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Pumpkin – Revised

I have a lot of nicknames,
but I’d like you to call me Pumpkin.
I’m red-headed and full of so much bullshit
no one wants to deal with.
I embarrass myself everyday
and most of the time I look like I’ve lost my map.
A doctor once told me I get dizzy spells
because anxiety can make you unbalanced.
I think my body gets seasick
from all the storms I follow.

You can call me Pumpkin,
cut and carve me—jack-o-lantern.
Hollow me out
and bury your hands in my guts
take out my seeds,
pull out my seeds,
rip out my seeds
to try and find my tremble.
Squeeze through my grief, silent beneath the lies I’ve woven
into the patchwork of my chest.

Sometimes there’s nothing left
except a face that smiles hollow,
but I promise there’s still a fire behind it
to put a glow back in your cheeks.

Some days, I just have to tell myself:
It’s not going to be that easy.
Don’t beat yourself up because it took you way too long
to understand the sadness you didn’t mean to bury.
You can keep fighting the good fight,
even when there doesn’t seem to be a right side to choose.
In war, there’s never a winner.

Don’t fight against what you feel
and let your heart do the talking sometimes.
There’s more honesty there anyways.

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Bubbles

I’m pretty sure hangovers shouldn’t feel this catastrophic.

This beer bottle belly,
it’s seen its fair share of action;
Shots two by two down the hatch,
while King Kong climbing buildings to the top.
I can’t remember who that is in the photo,
but lord knows I probably shared my Genesis story.

All the photos,
just as blurry as I remember them.
Some would even make J. Edgar Hoover blush.
They say you’ll always want to save those images for a rainy day.
I sure haven’t seen a lot of rain around,
but the last time I saw the sun

I kept my eyes closed

the whole time.

The ringing in my ears,

bubble-headed at 6am, orange filters in
and my head spins.
The fizz finally runs out
and all the memories just fade
and fade.

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