Elizabeth

she looked like a girl I knew
but stranger
a creature
dental-floss hair
ice in her eyes
tattoos on her toes
tequila on the tip of her tongue
where did she come from?
that whole afternoon
we told stories by the pool
about parents and books
and drugs and the moon
and smoked cigarettes on the beach
with the sea up to our knees
and shared hugs and kisses
and promises and secrets
and I told her
that I’d rather be happy and never write again
than feel this sad/bad/mad forever and have poetry in me
and she said no no no
you must love your pain, your sadness is you
and I told her
that I wished more than anything
that I had nothing to write about
that my notebook was empty
that my heart was good and full
that my life was simple and easy
that my brain was quiet and dull
and she said no, no way,
no way, that’s not true
oh Elizabeth,
my darling girl,
you have no fucking clue.

2 Comments

  1. that I’d rather be happy and never write again
than feel this sad/bad/mad forever and have poetry in me -This!!

    You know, not a day goes by when I feel like quitting writing and settling down in some mountainside, and spending the rest of my life in obscurity. But the chaos within; the impulsivity and the fucking angst; the terror and the mania force me to write even if I don’t want to.

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