suburban lungs

just two angsty teenage girls writing poetry

[suburbanlungs-blog]

once again

it’s a wednesday and it’s rainy

you’ve still got the sun on the face of your grin

and you’re new. you’re not him but at least you don’t hurt me

you’re not exciting the way he was. but at least you’re not holding my blood

we small talk and i swear i can taste it getting better

it’s the way my head fills with new words i have yet to jump into 

it’s the way i smell the truth when i’m with you

you’re not clouded in smoke the way he was.

he smoked cigarettes and drowned out the smell of smoke 

with peppermints, but i still couldn’t see through his screen

his smoke was his faithful ghost, and he wore it like a coat

its the way when i talk to you that i feel like i am whole again

not the strong way you feel when you’ve suffered and survived

but whole in the way that you were never even broken

i think it’s the way that i could have bitten into the skin of your words

and my teeth would come clean, no floss needed

i can feel myself lean in again. once again

he was exciting and compelling, but he never did have a clue

that he slowly killed me, but i guess that’s the point of his charm

but i don’t want to die. cos i don’t believe in the “die young” culture

i believed in him. and he left me broken on the streets

i guess it’s the way i tasted the clean air with you

the kind of air that wouldn’t give me cancer.

i guess it’s the way i leaned in and didn’t feel the fingerprints of other girls

the way your clothes were yours and your smell was yours alone

not that of another girl.

i guess it’s the way you touched the glass that stood between us 

and you didn’t resist. i guess it’s the way 

i heard God tell me that i had finally put on the right song

i think it’s the way the songs of love and lost were finally muted

i think it’s the way that you loved me, not taking a piece of me 

nor i a piece of you, but the wholesome way you complemented me.

the way he never did. the full way you in which you added onto me

not take away. i think that’s when i knew i could trust again

@suburbanlungs

11-13-15 - jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

strangers

i don’t know you. i don’t know you 

-you’re too far down a road where light doesn’t touch-

you strolled with the wrong crowd, and you 

pulled me with you. i don’t know you anymore

you said i didn’t know you and you were right

you said you would hurt me and you were right

you said you didn’t want to hurt me but you were wrong

you said you cared but you were wrong

what do i do. what do i do. 

i am seventeen and i am too young

i am seventeen and i am too naive 

i don’t know who you are anymore. 

the you i thought i knew was a facade, painted in 

pretty lies and airheaded remarks.

you said you didn’t want to be so fucking superficial

but you were what you said you weren’t

- i don’t believe you anymore-

i can’t even taste the metaphors that used to be my own

i can’t feel the syllables of complex words, cos i’m so numb

all i can muster is mediocre words because you don’t deserve 

the pretty letters. you don’t deserve the banter

because i don’t know you anymore, not the way i used to.

i don’t know you. i don’t know you

(leave me be).

@suburbanlungs

11-13-15 - jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

roses

cliche you once told me. overdone you rolled your eyes

but you didn’t know how much i loved those roses of gold and silver

and i don’t know how to please you because 

you live on jupiter and you let all the gases and all the weights

pull you down. you’re dreary and gray like frayed rain puddles

i pet the soft petals and inhale the scent of home

and i cringe when i hear your scorn

who needed roses when you had a tv set with blunt colors

and static pleasure? well you didn’t know that i needed roses

you didn’t know that i liked the taste of buttercups and daffodils

but not quite the way i liked roses. 

who needed roses? you said, when all you ever need is in comfort’s grasp

air and water and those goddamn soup cans which you did indulge

but you didn’t know that i liked roses. 

i liked the way they vacillated like my perception

i liked the way they pulled out my roots 

i liked the way they flung themselves in new waters

but mostly i liked the way they didn’t remind me of you

@suburbanlungs

10-30-2015 - jessica

ohmygoshididn’tevenrealizethatyouwroteaboutrosesonyourlastpoem gahh

[suburbanlungs-blog]

pitted peaches

the fuzz of the fruit is velvety and on the outside

we felt odd, itchy, and strangely soft

the bruised flesh on the inside is late but sweet

the romance we danced inside our skins was

late and pained but soothing 

the pit is gone because although we were in hell

when we talked to each other 

that pit was removed and the unwanted seed

of our problems was gone with it.

i can feel fate sinking its teeth

in what we have and i can feel its tongue 

rolling over the soft, ripe flesh 

tasting it and i can feel our hope

that it’ll like what it tastes and swallow it up

letting us live on.

fate’s fingers probe the warm, fragrant fruit

and it tosses us up and catches us with 

cold, unforgiving hands

and i can feel you holding your breath

and i can feel me gripping manically onto your shirt 

inhaling all the smells of the cigarettes you smoked 

and the peppermints you ate 

and my own innocence prancing into the fibers of your cotton tee

i want to remember you like this, with your hazel eyes

just in case i can never do so again

but fate sets us down without spitting us out,

without ruthlessly stepping onto us. 

and these pitted peaches are what keep “us” alive, not just you not just me

@suburbanlungs

10-23-15 - jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

I Hate Your Vase

It was too unfair.

He chose the mosaic vase with a bouquet of white roses inside,

milky petals and stems like silk,

and took it everywhere—

to the soccer field, where the roses could drink up sun

and to the science lab, where the vase could drink up attention.

He liked how solid the glass was,

and he was obsessed with the perfect symmetry of the flowers.

You make me feel safe, he said,

safe like the pristine marks on his math tests

and safe like the recruiting officer who delivered him Ivy admission.

His web of friends approved of his choice,

because the mosaics matched in color scheme with their backpacks

and the petals matched in texture with his eyes.

It was an ideal fit.

Often I close my eyes and struggle to imagine him getting old,

going to New York with the vase

and diligently watering the roses.

He might polish the glass  

or rearrange the stems to fit with what was in style,

showing off his most prized possession to strangers on the street.

For some reason, no matter how hard I try,

I can’t imagine him ever remembering

the tiny, tiny purple wildflowers

I stitched onto my palms

to compete with his damned vase.

@suburbanlungs

10-22-15 - anmei

[suburbanlungs-blog]

peppermint reminiscence

popped in my mouth is the grainy, delicate

skin of a puffed peppermint, brand new

the softness of the flavor gentle pats my taste buds

and i feel in my stomach the churning of an old memory

peppermints you did give

in late springtime in a room i can’t soon forget

peppermints i did take

with hesitance that left us hanging

the more the peppermint stays in my mouth

the more vivid are my memories of you

with our minty dreams, sweet and soothing 

and our prospects of raising our arms in a tunnel downtown

everyone else just sees manufactured sugar

with artificial flavoring and industrial flare

but i see the springtime spent with you 

peppermints stain my breath

and i’ll walk by you, wordlessly, hoping maybe

the scent of something you once gave me

would remind you that i am still in love with you

@suburbanlungs

10-17-15 -jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

It’s Seoul, It’s Late, It’s Nothing

The Dark Green line with a station in front of my apartment, thirteen sets of closed off gray windows down and a left turn at the hat stand, runs from five to twelve but I swear I’ve heard trains roar by later. You have to be careful not to confuse it with the Green line because that one will take you west of the river, where the boys have lazy voices and the girls give in too easily and the streets are filled with harsh yellow light, and anyway I have to be home by 9.

 I’m afraid of missing too much. The missing feeling is quieter than the Light Blue line that never came – I was sitting at the wrong train entrance with the wrong timetable – and the hums of city air get quieter, soft like empty metal benches, the longer you wait. Don’t look for patterns in strangers, and don’t forget to turn the lights off when you make it home. It’s getting late, okay?

 The coffee shop beside my school, seven quiet restaurants down and towards the tunnel painted with fish and flowers, is open from ten to eight but my friend, the Persian one, insists we’ve been there later. You have to be careful with ordering because the ice machine is always broken and the mango ice cream can make you forget things and the doorway lies to you about a city where everyone has lifetimes but you do not, and anyway I have to be home by 9.

@suburbanlungs

10-12-15 - anmei

[suburbanlungs-blog]

silver fire

i’m stupidly in love and i watch the glow of the stars

eat at the darkness in the sky

and i close my eyes and hear your sour words

i breathe with machines and gears and feel 

the former heat of the fire that used to burn between us

and i feel a sick, crude smile crawling

on the muscles of my face

as i remember the dances of the lights

and all the laughs and all the promises of cities

and i think of all the things that waited and is waiting for you and me

there is no such thing as us anymore 

but i hope my masochistic tastes will be able 

to satisfy the sick chase we play 

maybe it’ll be enough to keep that stale

silver flame glowing, between the gaps of our broken hearts

i can feel three veins reaching out in the subspace

in the subconscious room of my mind

i’m stupidly in love 

and even now i can’t even say your name without 

feeling the lovely sting of every 

laugh you laughed when i was the girl who used to make you happy

what happened to the promise of “i’ll be there”

maybe it’s still there, in the last embers of that silver fire

@suburbanlungs

10-09-15 - jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

The Cities Have Strange Shadows Across Their Faces

The peacock feather tickets in my purse

can still sing your piano sonatas on Sundays,

and when the fluorescent lights make my head heavy enough

I swear we are back on peeling benches

with numb lips, waiting for the fast train to arrive.

You used to smell like strangers waving goodbye

out of an airplane window.

@suburbanlungs

10-02-2015 -anmei

[suburbanlungs-blog]

stars misconstrued

i remember the way you smiled at me

with your crooked teeth and your hazel eyes

there aren’t flowery words or artful tongues

that i could speak with to capture your nature 

because you were art. you didn’t need art to define you

you were sugarcoated, insane, and strange

but i never got tired of you

you were sick and twisted and mean

but i never caught the disease

i was immune to the way everyone treated you

i was immune to the way everyone misunderstood you

but you were so blind 

to the things i gave you and the words like diamonds 

that i tried to sew onto you 

the clouds were heavy as they filled with every

word that you and i had bottled in

we were explosive

dangerous and chemical but 

we never got sick of it. 

i don’t know when it ended. when that endurance was

finally drowned out by anger and passion

when we got tired of the way 

we fed oxygen to the flame with our

insanity and our misconstrued tongues

i don’t know why it ended. 

but our art was starcrossed 

and in the blue moon we danced together

in a fantasy only fools believed in

and when it passed all that was left

was two strangers so broken by each other 

that the only thing that could remedy 

the pain and the cuts

was the prospect of a new romance 

just as torn and frayed 

@suburbanlungs

10-02-2015 -jessica

[suburbanlungs-blog]

shaky

it was a friday when you ripped off the photos from my wall

and told me they were to blame for everything in my head

(you did not want happy to soak through the soft parts of my brain)

i remember my hands shook like tiny butterflies and i

wished to take the planets and hurl them at your mouth

(you needed to swallow the loneliness of space like i did)

so success does not grow on the trees of bad memories

but you kept telling me to leave plants of green everywhere

(you could have earned a whole forest with the pieces i left)

and we decided on a friday that it was fine for me to be stuck

in the tiny cave crevices between sentences

(god it was for my own good)

and i remember cutting jagged lines in my punctuation

to wash away every letter of you.

suburbanlungs

9-25-2015 - anmei

[suburbanlungs-blog]

to love and to lose

migraines ingrained in my brain

its going all insane

in the web of cold, gray rain

that clouds my thoughts and is my bane

i lose myself. so quick to lose myself

in the rhymes that take time

and the beats that play in my mind

maybe its clever word play 

or maybe i just had a bad day

with not enough capitalization

but more than enough exploitation 

of the girl i once was and the girl who didn’t take enough

i loved and lost and i’d do all again

and i’m so lost in this maze of my mind

that i cant even rhyme

as the world goes on

without him 

and as the blues stay on

to haunt me

suburbanlungs 

9-25-2015 - jessica