merely aesthetics (Argentina)

I think my heart is cursing me
for I keep falling in love somehow
with every single person my age that even dares
to give me an iota of attention

my heart belongs to Samhain
but I keep seeing myself in people’s eyes and minds
maybe wrapped in their arms, maybe being clouds
and I try to stop each time I arrive at cloud nine

sometimes I think I’m better off alone
owning my heart itself and the responsibilities that come with it
but no man is completely an island
and everybody craves touch after a while

Samhain always tries her best
but it’s hard when she makes you believe that you’re already the best
with no thought or regard to herself or her safety
and this is her own form of being dangerous

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luggage in the trunk (Samhain)

image

vapor hanging in the air
escaping past these cracked lips
shivering in an oversize and damp hoodie
in a van with a broken heating system

it’s snowing, but it’s not sticking
and Mom is getting frustrated with the dysfunctional windshield wiper
that should be going wap-wap-wap
like my heart would be if it weren’t so frozen

the sideview mirror shows a girl with a rat’s nest for a mop of hair
and a face pinker than it should be for its circumstances
and a faint blur of a few splotches of sunset
hidden by an undershirt and asked about by nobody

the window in my room isn’t supposed to be easy enough for me to unlock
but I know how to anyways
and it’s like a reverse portal to a world
full of fluffy clichés and otherworldly pain

a bed of clouds (Argentina)

If it was my decision, I’d make school start later and end later to make up for the missing hours, giving students more time to get ready in the morning or just sleep in enough so that their brains would actually be awake in time for the first class of the day. But, of course, none of that mattered today- behold! Just my luck for wearing the dress on the wrong day!

I was dragged out of sleep at one in the morning to the burning sensation that I was giving birth to a nuclear baby that had gotten halfway stuck on the way out, and just managed to drag myself in the crappy see-through pajamas that I only used for home nights (because nobody’d be able to see me, you know) out of my cluttered room and a few feet over to the basement bathroom, where I proceeded to inadvertently make a mess everywhere.

But anyways, I don’t want to dwell on that, it being one of my less proud private moments. I had Mom call in sick while I laid in bed, unsure whether to be cursing myself for not being born without a vagina to torment me once every month or to be thankful that I was still evading the ranks of the sixteen and pregnant. Samhain called me once in her first period (ugh) class, asking me where I was and wishing a moment later that she hadn’t asked from how I went into gruesome detail. (I’ll save you from it, so be thankful.)

 

A few hours later, I’d managed to ignore the burning between my legs enough to take a shower and get into something clean, propping myself up in bed after I’d crawled down back to my room to pretend that I didn’t exist. But even that got boring after a while, and as I was about to pull over my phone and playfully harass Samhain about absolutely nothing, guess who decided that she was going to stay harassing me instead.

“Yo. Primero Bitchacho in business.” I put it on speakerphone and laid it on my chest, sliding back down and trying to keep down another wave of nausea. “What’s going on, Samhain?”

“Argentina? What happened to you?”

Good job, Argentina. That’s how crappy you sound without a cough drop and a tissue. “Sick. Thought I told you.”

“Ah. Sorry.” There was a thunk and a few zippers on the other side.  “Sorry. I’m kinda packing.”

“Packing for? I thought you didn’t take vacations.”

“Well, the current doctor’s finally decided to just give up and call it an autoimmune disorder and send me off to some center that’ll actually bother to continue my case. Maybe I’ll get to finally not be sick for once.” She blew her nose on what I hoped was a tissue for emphasis. “Lucky you. You’re only sick every once in a while like every normal person.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call that luck, Samhain.” Luck? Who cared about luck when you were a human taco with a flannel wrap?

“Compared to you, it would be. But anyways, I’ll be gone until next trimester starts. I’ll take my finals late. Try to pass me some answers, okay?” And without waiting for an answer, she hung up. Dang it, Samhain.. you’ve always got to act dramatic, aye? It’s not like this is the last time we’ll ever talk. You don’t need to leave a cliffhanger like that.

edgy.png (Argentina)

Ah, yes, the proliferate edginess of the thirteen-year-olds who were just coming into the middle school and trying to cope with the fact that their teacher wasn’t going to lead them in lines to all of their classes anymore. One would think that, at least by the time that they were in tenth grade, they would finally be free from the edgy.png influence, but no- instead of going to church, which my parents had insisted be a requirement as long as I stayed under their roof, I’d gone and signed up for the job of math tutor in the middle school.

“So where were you this morning?” For all that the phone company boasted about how clear their call quality was, Samhain didn’t sound too good. “I saved a seat for you in our row and everything. Made me sit all by myself for a good two hours listening to the preacher rant about ‘Merry Christmas’ supposedly being illegal to say!”
“I was busy dedicating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon to helping some junior emo rebels without causes with their pre-algebra. I’ll get out of worship night every week, at least.”
“That’s good.” I could hear a vacuum cleaner blaring on the other end of the call. “I should probably wash this mirror, you know? Lots of toothpaste flecks on it.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but okay… are you obsessing over your concealer again? It’s fine, I swear.”
“Aesthetics don’t take breaks, Samhain. I don’t want to be the fat socially-awkward mess of an internet addict I was as an eighth grader.”

winter’s weaving loom (Argentina)

Winter’s both my friend and my worst enemy. Every single year, this would be the season I’d get sick in the most, and the mass amount of seasonal cookies wouldn’t help my waistline at all. But Wychester almost seemed magical after the sun went down and the Christmas lights went up, especially as a small child pressed up against my van’s windows in the back wearing the Santa glasses that made a Santa light pattern on every single bead of light up and down the street. Christmas would be one of the only times that the family would actually get along with each other, and it was easy to plan out future ink when you could just pull on a long-sleeved shirt after the fact and not cook half to death during the day. And during the days when there was no wind, one could almost just go outside and step into a world where time had frozen along with everything else.

“So how are you, Samhain? Not completely swamped with medical issues right now?” I’d stripped my special mahogany dress off, changing into my baggy pajamas and flopping onto my bed an hour ago. I should have saved that dress for a better day, I know… preferably one where there’d be actual people to appreciate it. By the time it came back from the wash, the trimester would be over, and I’d have to wait a few more weeks until I could show off again.
“No, Argentina, I’m okay…” Samhain sighed on the other end. Shoot, Argentina, you shouldn’t have asked her that… good job, you messed up yet again. “I finished some more homework. Maybe I’ll be on top of everything for once by Monday.”
“Maybe… Say, Sammie, you wouldn’t happen to have some more of that nail polish that I borrowed last time, would you? I’m chipping again.”
“Mom took it back. I’ll see if I can snag it again, though.” A few minutes passed in which nothing would said, but nobody was complaining with us just listening to each other breathe. “How bad’s the chip?”
“Half a nail this time. Pretty significant.” But not really. What’s a chipped nail to a national catastrophe, anyways? “Oh, and on the math test review, the last answer’s 128. Dang teacher forgot to teach us how to do the polynomials with the graphs that make two right angles that never touch. Kinda makes me wonder how completely screwed we are in time for finals week.”

ON A SIDE NOTE: A rebuttal to an attempt at slander.

(If you’re curious, the original post was at https://adrienfangrl.wordpress.com/2015/11/29/im/. A friend of a friend sent me this, claiming that it was about me. No word over whether it’ll stay up after I write this post.)

I see your walls crumbling down every day!
How can you say that I don’t see?
How can you say that I don’t know why you’re falling,
When every attempt to confess what weights your heart down is hidden
Behind a cloudy veil of interests in cheap products of the internet age
That make me want to scream in frustration?
There are people in this world who care-
Or should care, anyways-
About you, like your parents and friends who have shown themselves to care far more than I have the energy to!

Stop forcing me to be your savior.
A bond is best made when it is not forced,
But instead laid to be made over time.
Stop putting words into my mouth.
I never said that you were self-pitying,
Although it feels like it’s certainly nearing that stage
When you feel the need to incessantly spam me with shoddily-made copypasta about how bad you feel about yourself
Instead of using the mouth and the words that you were given to speak for yourself.
I know that you’re bad at language,
But an attempt at being original and honest that ends in failure
Is better than no attempt at all.

I’m not your savior,
Your magic bandaid,
Or your rainbow,
And it’d be best if you stopped chasing me.
I find it hard to care about people I haven’t seen in person for half a year!
But there unfortunately is no way to harmlessly disappear from someone’s life in the blink of an eye,
And I am instead stuck doing this fragile dance with someone who uses me as a crutch
Without a former invitation.

I’m in love with someone else.
My heart just barely beats for one,
And I’d die if I let it beat for two,
Especially someone I have no interest being with.
Please don’t guilt me for choosing to only be with someone
That I can be happy with 100% of the time.

calendars (Samhain)

My mom always kept a very plain calendar in the kitchen by the microwave, insisting that she was the only one who could mark events on it- no matter how important or necessary. She’d had this month crisscrossed with dates, mostly appointments at various clinics that Mom often dragged me to in order to see if the latest quack cure or fad diet would ‘cure’ whatever unnamed ailment I ‘had’ at the time, but a few ordinary events like a friend’s birthday and trash day were hidden among the scrawls and spider web-like patterns connecting all the doctor days.

“Samhain? Are you okay, honey?” Mom asked offhandedly, mussing my already-unkempt hair and walking off to do some other chore around the house. Mom never was one to be helping with homework, anyways, always playing the “I’m not good at homework” excuse whenever I asked her to confirm that I’d gotten a complicated answer right.

“Yeah, I’m just fine, Mom.” But Mom didn’t acknowledge my answer, instead opting to turn on the vacuum cleaner and go over the already-clean hardwood floor. “Nice to know you care…”

Yesterday, Argentina had driven me home from school, having just gotten out of her test retake that she’d had to stay after and noticing that I was the only one left waiting in the nearing-winter temperatures. Sure, the leaves were still falling off of the trees, but the majority of them had already provided the layer that’d end up choking the grass underneath when the snow came. Nobody bothered to rake up the leaves, especially the holier-than-thou “charity workers” from church who were too busy screaming about the Starbucks cups to live up to their promises of beautifying the neighborhood. The teachers at school were hypocritical, anyways- screaming about how they were “oppressed” because the infamous red cups didn’t have Merry Christmas emblazoned on them anymore, but insisted on praying in class even when students complained to the counselors that the intrusive displays of religion made them uncomfortable. But for all of their talk about how “righteous” they were, they still didn’t close school down on Thanksgiving, leading to Argentina choosing to break her dad’s rule about not letting me into her van in order to fulfill my parents’ request to drive me the long way home instead of letting me freeze in the cold.