The ice waters down my whiskey as I sit on the patio.
I enjoy the musical clinks they make as I swirl the liquid.
The trickle of cold-fire douses my throat.
Though the ice never lasts long.
The condensation on the glass becomes my sweat.
I get up, again, and refill the drink with ice.
I glance down at the sausages in my yellowing kitchen.
They thaw in the sink.
Fatty, pink, glistening meat.
That will be blackened in the pan that is no longer non-stick.
The heat ruins all the beauty and reduces it to a puddle of salt.
I’ll keep drinking my whiskey on the rocks.
Til the thawing is done.
Hand on thigh
Fingers trace back
Careful to avoid ribcage
Let out a sigh
Change the music track
Lights off in our cave
Cleaning the room
Will mean you are frustrated
Mentioning my perfume
Will mean you are elated
With a sly smile
Sharing a secret joke
Lasting a while
Is love never spoke
Look at me.
At my ticked eyeliner.
My smokey eye-shadow.
Contoured cheek bones.
I did all this for you.
I did it so you’d think I’m pretty.
Not that you think being pretty is an important trait in relation to your personality.
Being pretty won’t fulfill your sense of achievement as you grow.
You don’t even care what anyone else really looks like.
Unfortunately, you have this built in need to receive approval from everyone else.
You’re not pretty on the inside if you rely so heavily on materialism.
I’m still going to wear makeup.
I’m almost 21 years old.
Today I was working in a deli and now smell of ham.
My ultimate goal is to one day publish a novel.
This blog is to encourage myself to generate more writing, particularly poetry.
I would also like the contribution of others. Please tell me what you think. Critical feedback is definitely welcome.
Seriously, this ham smell is intense.