L A F E I S T

truth slayer


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When my palms face the sun.

In the pool,

where I pretend the chlorine will

bleach my mistakes without turning my hair green,

the men turn skin into leather.

A man who preferred F bombs over cannon balls said,

“We’ve got to stop meeting this way.  Thought about you the other day when I picked up

some Heineken,”

but the man with hair longer than his patience said something by

not saying anything at all.

This time, when the mother insisted,

“Stay away from the lady with the book,

you’ll get her pages wet,”

I said, “It’s okay, the pages dry,”

and she smiled.

I never use a bookmark, because I always know where I left off.

In the Age of Silence,

people communicated only with their hands,

where I wouldn’t get into as much trouble with ambiguity.

Krauss’s words,”the lover might accidentally take to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you.  These mistakes were heartbreaking.  And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly,”

landed softly in my cushioned palms because they were

always facing the sun.

I mixed the black print in with the spaces in between into the water around me because intention is overlooked in a world

without greys.

There was a time when the only thing that happened when my shoulder strap broke was that it made it easier to crawl out.

 


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Why “Crazy” and “Jerk” are Lazy

The link in my last post only works for some people, so I’m reblogging it here! Check out my guest-post!

Stories that Must Not Die

She texted me again.

Really? That bitch is crazy. It’s been two months. She needs to move on.

Stuck between a bench and a table stacked with freshly poured beers, I felt compelled to add my two cents to a conversation between my boyfriend’s friends, regardless of whether they were equipped with an open coin-slot. Don’t get me wrong — smart guys, but emotional maturity might not have been their strong suit. The discussion was about one of their ex-girlfriends that he broke up with over a text-message he didn’t compose. Although the dump-ee seconded the emotion, he was clearly distraught by her words. Distraught might only be a small overreach. Only a small one. Perhaps it was easier to go along.

My response to him was a soft, “I have empathy for her. Maybe she should move on, but she isn’t crazy. That’s a strong word. She has feelings…

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