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In every poem I am a terrible person.
by Jolie JordanLast summer
my legs were twigs and I had left you suddenly.
I lived only on dill weed and celery
all of my shit in a pile
in the corner
of a friend's overpriced Hollywood apartment
Every night I would
whiskey fuel up my two feet
and travel to each corner of this city
for no reason at all, if just to be moving forward.
there I left my mark,
on the dotted line
in the form of a bar tab.
-------
3 months later
I had successfully fucked my way back into your heart,
and my mind flutters back to this again now
like some stupid tapedeck stuck on repeat
I'm frustrated.
I pull at the crinkled black tape until it stops.
It's an easy thing to do, so I
rip a page right out from [under] your book,
Like, "Baby!
There are no regrets!"
But sitting here I'm self admitting,
I may have just came back for the conquest
more so then the end result. 04/08/2014 Author's Note: End?
Posted on 04/08/2014
Copyright © 2024 Jolie Jordan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 04/15/14 at 11:27 PM "But sitting here I'm self admitting,
I may have just came back for the conquest
more so then the end result"
- so well I understand this. Too intimately. |
| Posted by Lauren Singer on 04/16/14 at 06:06 PM I'm frustrated.
I pull at the crinkled black tape until it stops.
It's an easy thing to do, so I
rip a page right out from [under] your book,
Like, "Baby!
There are no regrets!"
How familiar the sentiments of this piece are. |
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