Yesterday in my speech communications class, my professor was talking about friendships and all the different roles we step into for our friends and all the roles they step into for us. I’m always tweeting and posting on here about how important friendships are and how you should never ever take them for granted and I just wanted to reiterate that again. Maybe it’s because, as some of you know, my absolute best friend is going to school in another city and I miss him hourly, and I think about him a lot and I just related everything she was saying back to our friendship, but I wish I could have recorded everything my professor said because I found myself nodding my head and smiling and just agreeing with everything she was talking about (I mean, honestly, she’s brilliant).
But specifically what stayed with me was when she was speaking about how we parent our friends. Not that we boss them around, exactly, but because we want them to stay healthy and active and be around for a long, long time, we tell them what to do, a lot. So gently gently gently remind your friends to eat, to drink plenty of water, to take their medications and go outside for fresh air. Remind them that you love them and that even if you don’t always agree with their decisions, you’ll always be there for them. Be patient and understanding but don’t be afraid to argue with them. Stand up for yourself, stand up for them.
My professor said, “I need you to live for me.” And we do. We need our friends to live for us, selfish as that is. We need them. We can’t survive without them. Take care of each other, y’all. Take care of yourselves.
apples, leaves, cinnamon, sandalwood, jasmine, a candle my best friend got me to burn when I really miss him + said best friend’s cologne, mint, roses, the entire fall candle collection at bath and body works, coconut, clean sheets, my grandmother’s hands, melting chocolate, new books and my current perfume.
We are all really stoked about this event!
We will be reading round-robin style, all of us will have books there that wouldn’t mind going home with you. ;) It should be a blast!
October 18th at 6pm @ A Poet Art Gallery, 4032 W Girard Ave, Philadelphia, PA 19104
(Check out some of us here on Tumblr: alonesomes, brandonspeck, fly-underground, amanda-oaks + fleurishes!)
We hope to see, bring your poems for the open mic!
Peeing my pants because this is a real thing that’s REALLY happening!
is not pretty
but I don’t care
Set the dumpster
on fire. Break
Don’t kiss me
like they do
in the movies.
like they do
on the emergency
Now it’s getting to the point where I see a bench or a parking garage or Christ, a garbage can we passed by once and I am so overwhelmed by missing you that it goes all the way right down to my knees and I don’t want any part of it. When I’m singing I’m singing to you as loudly as I can in my head. Strangers come up to me and check my forehead, under my tongue for signs of a fever. I can’t go anywhere and make the mistake of thinking it’s safe. We said love and pinky swore over Italian ices, colored juice running thick down our chins. Parking lot a shimmering mirage beneath our carefully linked hands.
Hi, hi, hi! First, thank you for your kind words about my writing. Second, I hope you don’t mind if I answer this publicly just because I’ve gotten several anonymous messages already about Chloe’s identity and who she is to me and why I’m writing serial poems that involve the name specifically. I will say that, aesthetically, I love the name Chloe. Always have. I just think it’s so pretty and elegant and glamorous and rocker girl chic and I’ve always just been drawn to it. ALSO, I do know several Chloes personally and one in particular kind of really inspired these poems. She’s kind of a mess (both the Chloe I write about and the Chloe I’ve gleaned a little bit of inspiration from) but I think that’s okay and I think she’s relatable and I think at times she’s kind of not relatable at all and that’s completely fine. I’ve already had an alarming amount of Chloes on Tumblr message me about these poems and how they can’t help but to think of themselves or the Chloe in their lives and how they see really shocking similarities between themselves and the girl I’m writing about in my poems. A lot of the time, though, honestly? Chloe is me. I am Chloe. Kind of like a messier, much more emotional yet still annoyingly nonchalant me. I’m writing to myself. My past self, my future self, my present self. But I’m also writing to Chloe. Your Chloe. My Chloe. All Chloes. And I’m writing to you, the universal you, you as in the readers of my work. Trying to bestow a little bit of wisdom but coming off more so like an older sister who still hasn’t really quite gotten her life together but thinks she knows better than you. She doesn’t, really, but she’s trying, and I think that’s okay. I think that’s sort of wonderful.
We didn’t say goodbye because it wasn’t, and goodbyes are kind of really just awful and we knew, even when we were kind of crying but kind of laughing, that we’d be seeing each other soon. I think that’s a huge part of what love is, and what it means to be intimate with someone when your relationship isn’t a sexual one. It’s letting a person leave so that they can come back. It’s singing to each other in the car on the way home to a song that portrays absolutely every single thing you can’t put into words and holding each other for only a second after because anything longer might last forever. It’s knowing that it’s always going to be hello, even when it feels a lot like goodbye.
first THANK YOU because i’ve gotten so many messages about my chloe poems and i’m kind of overwhelmed by the things you all are saying about them and i kind of just I DON’T KNOW. i’ve actually written nearly 20 poems so far in a series that i hope will be 25-30 poems long but IDK yet because Chloe kind of won’t leave me alone. she’s in my head, she’s with me in the shower and when i’m out with friends. she sneaks into my bed at night to try to warm her toes against my legs and sometimes she brings me flowers but honestly a lot of the time she’s angry and leaves me knives instead. she’s a handful. she’s demanding that i write faster but honestly she talks a lot and never about any one thing for long. I AM TRYING TO GET THESE POEMS DONE AS QUICKLY AS I CAN. send all hate mail to Chloe, honestly. she’ll read them and probably burn them all and eat the ashes after.
Last night was that dream
again: me and Jesus
pulling nails out of our feet
at the lip of the Mississippi
Delta. Somewhere, Coretta
is calling for Martin
to come down from a sycamore.
He’s just a boy, here, but
he weeps and the sky
is ripped at the belly.
This is always what I hope to do with my writing. Thank you. Thank you.