naive melody

devyn // 24// boston this is a description of a collection of thoughts belonging to a girl who is awkward

[heyitsdevyn]

a good love

“i don’t know what i’m looking for,” you say, but i’m just not it. the worst part about being 25; not young enough to let it slide, not old enough   to know a better love. when i was 14 i stared at the popcorn ceiling of my childhood bedroom, his fingers inside me, thinking ‘as bad as it gets,  one day ill know it, without pain like a screwdriver  to the bare foot.’ out of nowhere, on the bathroom tiles, cool from the autumn impending.  a good love, i am still naive. terrified  every four weeks, praying for the streak of blood in the toilet  bowl in the same bathroom to free me. may i never have a child, but if i do,  may he be a good son.

[heyitsdevyn]

a united front

we both keep lying to ourselves

[heyitsdevyn]

Whatever It Is

At work, the father admits to me his three-year-old son will only fall asleep if he puts on Black Sabbath, Born Again at a low yet detectable volume. SHOCKINGLY CALMING. I can’t help but feel oppositely unnerved. In the early morning, your footsteps creak down the stairs

to get a glass of water and I think about you recklessly, lying naively gratified in your bed. It creeps up on me in mismatched moments-- the flow from the tap hitting the metal basin, the suburban quiet plastered onto to an orange-pink sunrise. I’M NOT SURE WHAT IT IS BUT IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING

[heyitsdevyn]

Taking some space, as if

a bit of universe could be captured and administered as a nice, quick fix. Trust how much I wish you could be as easily faded. I sit passenger and you drive me back after we are finished. Oh were I to blazon my flaws as proudly as the banner screaming vacancies across the run-down apartments, mere feet from the highway and caught between overpasses IF YOU LIVED HERE  YOU’D BE HOME BY NOW

[heyitsdevyn]

how my relationships started, how they ended, and when i knew

[heyitsdevyn]

churning

Too cold to be spring yet, though the calendar claims otherwise. IN LIKE A LION and OUT  LIKE ONE TOO, and more so when considering wind chill. My fingers betray me outside, do not purple any less without gloves simply on wishing alone. The change clatters loose in my pocket and I think that I am not my own worst enemy, but probably my own worst friend

[heyitsdevyn]

I Know Well By Now

Staring silently at her fingertips lightly twirling the straw around her drink and of course she takes note. ‘You seem to be exercising a lot of self-control,’ she says, as if to remind me how recklessly I used to love her. ‘Well, one of me has to do it.’ CRACKING YOUR

KNUCKLES WILL ONLY MAKE THEM MORE SWOLLEN IN THE LONG RUN, someone’s ornery grandmother once warned, and now every time I feel momentary guilt upon release. 

[heyitsdevyn]

who do you do it for

nothing entirely independently, i hate to admit. Katie says ‘STOP BENDING OVER BACKWARDS’ and i can’t decide if my problem is more impulsivity or naivety. i am not  sorry for crying, in public or otherwise but i just wish

someone would let me in on why everything has to be either Very Bad or Not Very Bad, syntactically-entrapmentally speaking. ‘how does

the order in which you rank what you want and what someone else wants affect your actions?’ the caveat in ‘I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO BE HAPPY’

[heyitsdevyn]

causes for concern

one of my recent google searches ‘how long does salsa picante last before it goes bad’ -- apparently a few months if sealed and 2 weeks if not but personally if it doesn’t smell or look bad within the first second i usually just dump it on. don’t want to go searching too hard for something i’m not looking to find when it’s just easier to hope that nothing will go septic on me. let’s not talk about the fact that i’m ‘into you,’ however apophatically we both need to read that, but my therapist told me the faster i am genuine the less likely i am to self-sabotage. ‘whats your kink baby’ uh ‘emotional intimacy’? i just love how it fucks me over, or up, or any other direction that’s not cardinal and just as disorienting, like a city street that slowly curves-- unnoticeably 

[heyitsdevyn]

i feel at once myself and horrified

‘i do my dying just like everyone else -- one goddamn day at a time,’ i think, ripping 

open a pack of birth control and popping the  first one right there in the aisle of CVS with ben who slept in his contacts for me, or for himself maybe, or for no reason at all, but in any case woke up in my bed this morning. i want to trademark the term EMOTIONALLY IMPULSIVE so that people think i’m at least original with my hackneyed hangups and consequently prescriptive forms of interpersonal sabotage, like ‘fuck me harder, i mean in the emotional sense’ or ‘touch me there, i have trust issues’

[heyitsdevyn]

from the other side of the door

from then, the soft click and the splinter– the slow sound of stairs beneath the hardwood i will never tell you about hitting again, familiar as you know the grain is to me

[heyitsdevyn]

it’s raining and the windows are fogging over

Writing a poem with little to no success and John is drawing a molecule  for something that cures cancer on some program called ChemDraw Prime “They use to have one of those for poetry,” I say, “WordArt Ultra. But concrete poems went out of style”

I type the line ‘J attempts to save grandpa with picture drawings’ and then get scared he’s going to look over and see me writing about him John actually spells it without the H in real life but I started changing really small details about people so they can’t claim I’m circulating libel about them when it ends poorly because that’s happened to me before to be honest I hold down backspace and then type ‘Jon cradles the tiniest pieces like they have the power to become something, like he’s going to rebuild Rome out of toothpicks and he’s given every stick its own name and pecks it on the cheek every night before bed while I am an elephant shoe shopping in an anthill, pulverizing everything within a 15-foot radius every time I lift a foot (without meaning to really), but I should have known this wasn’t my neck of the woods in the first place and even after I realize my mistake I keep crushing everyone and destroying countless ant families as I leave’ Which is not something I would be caught dead saying in poetry-- Does this mean I’ve gotten over my trust issues or have I reached a new level of not giving a shit

The condensation on the window reaches a tipping point and drips and falls I see us barely in the reflection and a girl running outside trying to keep a poster board dry and the bus going by too quickly Wall of water rising and slamming down on the pavement, bus driver hitting the brakes a little too hard

[ruinedchildhood]

[heyitsdevyn]

it is warm still

we’re on the phone and you won’t tell me that you stopped loving me but we both know you can’t be with me  we both try to stretch it out as long as possible so we talk about work and school and the weather but not the blonde girl and not the rooftop  garden we never ended up visiting and not the promise we made once that  held only temporarily  ‘i’m starting gross anatomy lab next week,’ you say and  the thought of you, tearing into something cold  the thought of you, afraid to hurt it still  the thought of you, heart in your hands that you only trust to be there after it’s stopped beating 

[heyitsdevyn]

failure to thrive

the last time, you give me my mini plant back, though not after repotting it and buying me a dish to collect the extra water in. ‘it’s special soil,’ you say, ‘so you won’t have to water it as often.’ i now have a garden of you growing my living room window sill because it was too painful to keep by my bed anymore-- my mini plant, the bamboo you gave me for my birthday and the tiny weed i planted in a Brooklyn Summer Ale beer can after giving you one as well. i remember staring at dirt for 3 weeks and then suddenly a fragile, tiny green sprout the next day. all this time yours never grew and i wonder if you kept the dirt in the can we drank together during summer or if this is it-- you, finally calling time and reason for death

[heyitsdevyn]

BRANDY! UR A FINE GIRL! WHAT A GOOOOD WIFE YOU WOULD BE this song was my childhood

!!!!! lmao yep that's the one also should add some good lyrical insight for anyone who hasn't been graced with a 70s rock childhood^^

[heyitsdevyn]

pinch the cut dry

like holding two things together as tightly and as close as possible can cure you, or at least clot you. i watched the way you stood at the sink and cut broccoli once, with a steak knife,  which was both ominous and banal. Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl) by Looking Glass was playing and you were humming along and i thought myself into circles about telling you i loved you, or not, or whether  it’s manipulative to tell someone that if you desperately want to hear  it back. you kept your arm around me throughout the night and your hand fell asleep and my neck was stiff and i got lightheaded from us breathing in each other’s air, our mouths so close but not  touching. i held it anyway because of how you looked in your sleep and in the morning you said you loved waking up like that more than anything. your face when you say you never want to hurt me your face when you say you’re not sure if it’s right