She was a punk girl with dark brown hair.
Wore studded necklaces and jackets.
And had fifty earrings, if you could call them that,
In her head at one time.
But that was last December and she
Doesn’t like the cookies I bake anymore.
She’s bleached her hair and left behind values.
The guy she’s dating was once my friend.
I sat on the sidewalk with him and talked about music.
And the guy she used to date is now my
Defense in disguise.
He wears my scarf on rainy days and tells me
Everything will be fine once the chemistry is blown and when
Machu Picchu is his hometown and when
He finds the love of his life and when
He can say ‘communist’ in Spanish and when
The cliques are gone is just me and him
And everything will be just fine.
There’s this new girl with white blond hair.
Her favorite color is pink and people call her
She’s in the class I TA for and she always
Sits by my friends and totally ignores me.
Until Friday I was sitting on bench outside the bathrooms.
A bunch of people rushed out and told me
What was going down.
Hilary and the punk girl were trading clothes.
Pink for camo and diamonds for safety pins and
A pink purse for a halloween bag and
K-Swiss for skater boy shoes.
She sat there and talked to me while I drew a picture.
She kept complaining about how uncomfortable
Everything was that day.
Right, like I’m not uncomfortable sitting here
Talking to the girl that called me a lesbian the second day of school and
Ruined my relationship with a person
I’ve known since I was twelve and
Made me late for class because she’s always on her cellphone and
Her locker is right below mine.
And everything will be just fine.
She told me to put strawberries next to the scarecrow.
Some in his hand to give them a hint.
And all I could think of was Rothwell’s room last year when
The punk girl ate my Christmas cookies down to
The bottom of the tupperware and
She told me that she liked my hair and
She asked me for paper during English and it was
So uncomfortable to see her clothes on Hilary because
I wanted life to go backwards again.
My defense in disguise always scoffs at their names.
“Oh…how I loved that girl…”
He mentions the kisses he’s shared and
The times they wrote on each other’s arms.
And laughs in her face when she’s not around.
I sit and try to do my test before he reaches out his hands.
He takes my scarf and all my warmth and
I go on without a hope for survival.
In English I’m testing his strength and will
With knowledge of the past.
He sitting there below me with that
“I know you know I know what you’re thinking.”
And all I can do is smile and tap my fingers
With his beat on the desk.
Chemistry comes and is blown away at the end of the day
As he tosses my scarf and says “I’m leaving now”
Because the cliques are still here and
His fingers are cold in the aftermath and all we can
Say in our eyes is “Everything will be fine.”
Because everyone is watching us and he
Doesn’t want anyone to know that with me
I make life go backwards again.
Totally cool Katie! The funny thing is, I know exactly who you are talking about almost the whole time! I haven't read your stuff in forever. I will have to read it more often, that was really cool. Lata chicka!
Your stuff reads like prose more than poetry. I liked this about your speaker's "defense". It really was about him, silently in the beckground, isn't it? The rest is just the colour of her daily life and somewhat surreal...I suppose life can be that way sometimes. Your speaker seems to be the type of person that someone would mention years later and everyone would ask, "Huh? Who was that again?", and after a bit of a background sketch they'd say, "Oh yes, of course" and only half would truthfully remember even the slightest detail about her. Not bad, she just blends in a bit too well and gets taken for granted and used like the furniture. Pity no-one commented. I also read the one about your grandmother. She's still in there somewhere and I know you find times and ways to express your love for her (which is so obvious despite the trying circumstances of the disease), and I know she appreciates it and would express her gratitude better if she only could. Well done on capturing what no shapshot will ever do.
I really like this. I love how you write. I like the prose reading, and it's so beautiful. I'm big on objects in writings rather than just feelings, and you do a great job of integrating both. You really are good. I definately liked it.