Notes on my book & February poems
Last night, I was walking in downtown Santa Cruz with a friend, and I told him I have been writing poems since I was six years old. This is probably true. It felt true when I said it. He asked me why I write poetry. I told him that for me, there have never been any stakes when it comes to poetry. I’ve never felt a particular pressure to send my poems out for professional publication; I’ve never had the thought that my poetry will get me anywhere. My poems are coping mechanisms. My poems are just written for fun. When I am feeling a particularly strong emotion, I can sit down and write a poem, and making words sound pretty together will undoubtedly make me feel better. I’ve always felt a pressure to gain recognition for my fiction that I don’t feel at all when it comes to poetry. Poetry is something that I do solely for myself.
Anyway, self-advertisement time: You can preorder my book, This Rambling Heart, now. I don’t think it’s a huge secret that this self-publication project is a result of my breakup era. The book would have never been finished if I hadn’t written eight melodramatic poems about a relationship that has now ended.
When the relationship ended, I took a look at the portfolio of poetry I’ve written on and off over the past five years, and realized that the work had taken a shape of its own—eight poems about my childhood and grief, eight poems about my ex-boyfriend, and eight poems about my miscellaneous woes and sorrows (including a dramatic poem about The Shining by Stephen King, because I have always felt a particular kinship with both Jack and Danny Torrance). Overall, 24 poems written between the ages of 19 and 24 (I will be 25 on March 2, and the book comes out on March 1).
The finished books, shipped to me from San Luis Obispo, are currently sitting in my living room, so I’m going to see the project through (and if you’ve already preordered, I will be shipping your copy out in like two weeks), but I am admittedly a little fatigued of the melodramatic poems in This Rambling Heart. The oldest poems in This Rambling Heart were written when I was 19 years old, and I’m a much happier person now.
I also kind of thought I would never write another poem again, and in 2024 I would be focusing on the queer horror novel I’m kind of sort of revising, but surprise: today, I am going to share three more melodramatic poems. It turns out the melodramatic poems don’t stop getting written just because you’re tired of them.
Here are three poems written this month. I call them my Silver Poems. I also think that if I ever get another collection together, it might be called I wanted to be your god not your woman/I WANTED TO BE YOUR GOD NOT YOUR WOMAN.
I guess I’ll always be melodramatic.
SILVER
picture us at the edge of the water. it is all so easy in the winter. you are never kind enough and it’s winter. after you leave I will freeze and wonder what you are doing while my fingers fold, slow, into an anxious fist.
that day your silver soul unraveled at the edge of the water. I thought about daring you to jump so you would be paralyzed forever in this corner of the Pacific that belongs only to me. that night, your silver soul came to me in my dream. a dream of rain and your hand in mine, just for a moment — enough for now. we shared an umbrella and a child came running next to us, throwing us off, almost making us fall.
on the highway heading to you, I wonder if you are looking forward to seeing my face the way I am looking forward to touching your hand, just once — enough for now. you do not give me anything easily but it is all so easy in the winter. after I leave I will freeze and the pieces of our shared world will fall into place. I see silver in the tapestries of my life where there was once gold. o you and your sunken silver eyes.
SILVER (Reprise)
silver boy amalgamation of every girl he has ever touched. silver boy amalgamation of unbothered sorrow. silver boy worship me. silver boy I worship you only on the coastal highway that brings me to you. silver boy turn your head my way. silver boy look at me if only in a rain-soaked dream. silver boy hold my hand if only in a rain-soaked dream. silver boy I’ll share my umbrella with you silver boy I’ll keep you warm. silver boy worship me silver boy I’ll worship you. silver boy I’ll dream of you, with you. silver boy it’s all so easy in the winter. silver boy none of it has to mean anything. silver boy I’ll drive all night you don’t have to ask. silver boy it’s all just for laughs. silver boy last year I walked on golden water and this year you’ve turned it silver. silver boy with the sad sunken eyes.
YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN ANYTHING THAT HASN’T HAPPENED TO YOU,
but you do believe in god. I guess god happened to you when you were born a man.
when I remember that I am a woman,
my brain turns red & I dangle over cliff sides.
you have told me that it will always be this way.
you have told me that I will always have this
cotton in my eyes. cotton that was put there
when I was born. YOU DON’T BELIEVE
IN ANYTHING THAT HASN’T
HAPPENED TO YOU,
& still you run away from a love
possessed unconditionally.
I touched your hand anyway
& it may as well have been
an instance of apocalypse —
something you had to survive.
I am something you have to
survive. I want to be the end
of your world; instead I am
your turning point,
the lesson you learn when
you decide not to be a hero
& still:
YOU DON’T BELIEVE
IN ANYTHING THAT HASN’T
HAPPENED TO YOU,
but you do believe in god.
I wanted to be your god not your woman.
I wanted you to tell me that you believe
I can walk on water even if YOU DON’T
BELIEVE IN ANYTHING THAT
HASN’T HAPPENED TO YOU.
I wanted to be your god not your woman
not your obligation not your wasted time. I
wanted to be the end of your world
& you will never tell anyone how you survived me.
