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Tell Me A Story

A Poet's Journey

New beginnings should always involve an element of the unattainable as inspiration.

 
 
  • Angela Stubbs

Waterlogged

beginning here is a promise to breathe underwater where laughs emit bubbles break the surface; when you clasp hands and touch tongues play repeat after me while doing butt bumpers and come up choking on the funny. I’m thinking Jill and what’s his face and you remember what the rest of the poem said because of everything and nothing in particular but old fashion plates help me offer my version of the end of it. I write letters addressed to various you’s please don’t break this, dear chicken it’s my heart on a platter not yours for the eating nor regurgitating nor misuse or abuse of the still. I remember how I misspelled words like February and environment at six but by seven had mastered the art of crafts and making perfect hearts on valentine’s day made of construction paper, sculpted with shearing scissors and the jagged edge of a dull love for school supplies make the difference up in spades and gowns of sparkle and bubble gum. Learn the rules of me at fourteen where I roll you into my heart and my eyes scoff at your style because I’m cool and I’ve got it and that’s dumb don’t you know anything? If to be superior to all things made from Velcro and neon, how do you do twenty-three where fear lives inside of the intravenous drugs that keep you walking around on two feet if only for the irony of it all. I thought I’d met you a few blocks back between regret and strawberry swirl. If you knew me the way you know me now you could see girl plus girl equals the opposite of pandemonium when you dream my dreams. If you’d share we’d swing hands and mortgage me, fight me, fuck me because at forty-seven I’m beneath you on all counts, for I live for all your aprons and steamy broccoli as you plate up the best creation I could ingest now over the mistakes of thirty-five fuzzy head broken impulses ready for alongside. Lucky I’ll show you inside out the right way up with my secret look where how to question is sopping wet in the pool out back overflowing with a garden hose full of love and jello and chlorine where we soak our shortcomings but you knew that because fifty- nine gives you all the answers packaged in a form fitting dress and gams up to there where catapults are the only means of feeling the feelings and fifty-five starts to feel like the best taste in velour, wrapped silk-strands of compassion and desire folds in on itself like hot cross buns where you live in wait for ifonly and real I grab onto you tightly as if you knew the way all along but know there’s no road to where you came from but here.

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