Ryne :)

Some writing is on the wall, but this writing is in the milk.

[writingisinthemilk]

<3

I’ve captured the summer evening in a jar. The sky, a faded periwinkle bed sheet, skims just above your ink-in-water hair. We eat the wind with red plastic spoons. Morning glories and four o’clocks slip from beneath my nervous feet and you laugh and so I love you so brightly (young-ly?) that my snapdragon heart bursts and the pollen inside my veins seeps out. And when you take off running, catching clouds like butterflies with your worn denim hands, I try to catch you too.

[writingisinthemilk]

My life does not pass the bechdel test

somehow everytime we talk you still bring up

Dad

i am justlike

Him

insomany  Ways

and

you neverfail to remind me Facebrainspowerdriveangerangeranger pour

Him

into a smaller vial, and

He

isme

and inasmuch and insofar and inthesameway

my friends neverfail to remind me

 Man

who looked

 atme

across the bar

didyouseehimlookatyourtits ?

or the

Guy

ikissedwekissed

He kissedme

at that oneparty because

my life is simplythe

patchwork of Men who

wantmelovemetouchmefuckme askmyage

and grin

anddid

He ?

 eyesroving,

seconds after wesay hello

do youlike Him ?

didyoulike when

He

didthatdoesthatisdoingthat

iammy

Fathers

daughter

iam the girlfriendof the

Guy

whodidthat  thing thatonetimethat was so coolwasn’tit

and it is not as though iam faultless inthis because

iwant to be noticed by the manacrossthebar and i wanthimtowantmesothat iknow

iam

wanted

so iask and another conversation has fallen prey to my daddyissues yet again

and iask mom about

Dad

even though they’ve been divorced for yearsnow to make sure iam stillbeautifulandsmartandwitty justlike my

Father

wasbeforehewasn’tanymore

[writingisinthemilk]

Some of my ért

[writingisinthemilk]

I hit my peak being seven. I was missing my two front teeth, and my milk-chocolate hair was cropped short with home-cut bangs, and my hopeful eyes had yet to turn gray. I think I was happiest then. Because when I think back on seven, it's literally washed in sunlight. I see the squat little Christmas- tree-looking cypresses (I thought they were real Christmas trees until Mom told me otherwise) so green they glitter, and the deck where the wasps and hornets gave kisses (I was terrified of being kissed) with reckless abandon, and I see the slope, rolling towards the stand of sapphire and opal and emerald trees and groping and roving vines at the very back of the yard. So many trees. And the Osage oranges that would plop from their leafy placentas with no warning because they were too full and too sweet for their mother to love them anymore. We called them monkey balls and would throw them against the unforgiving ground until they popped and cracked and opened to show their brains (and then we'd shriek and laugh at our sticky hands until Mom called us in to wash). I didn’t understand what I know to be true now, but it didn’t matter because the tooth fairy was still real and fun-shaped erasers mattered.

[writingisinthemilk]

Sometimes it’s nice to just smile and appreciate the words you don’t know how to read. And that’s why I sit there and watch your face when you talk. Constantly shifting and rippling and smiling and frowning, a pond disrupted by some invisible pebble. I know nothing of what happens behind the waves of your lips, behind the too-bright, fever glass of your eyes, And yet, I sit, and I watch. And from your lips spill half-baked pearls, not-quite diamonds, maybe-one-day sapphires, and though I do not understand where or why you have them stored away inside your rib cage, I hold them close and polish them, and watch your reflection inside their thousand hallways.

[writingisinthemilk]

What if we are attracted to people who are the physical manifestation of the music we’re listening to at the time?

[writingisinthemilk]

Do you folks ever think about? How when an artist creates something? A little piece of them was left behind in that something? A little piece of soul? So that one day someone will come along and find that piece and hold it close? I think about that a lot.