Poems

"I contain multitudes."

Your 5 Boats

When you die
no one will remember
how big your salary was
or the diamond your mommy and daddy
bought you to put on your wrist
or your insta likes 
or your lake house 
that has seven whole bedrooms.

This place is beyond words. My heart is just the happiest it can be. I’m never leaving. 

I like wearin baseball hats
and drinking coffee in bed,
so my hair is always flat
and my sheets are always 
splotchy
(I spill a lot when I
am reading and get distracted).

I’ve got a lot of 
scars on my feet and 
a freckle on my 
ass cheek 
cause the human body
is more weird than it is
sexy.

Lately my ankles have been
scraped up and sometimes
muddy,
which I like because it makes me
feel like an accomplished adventurer-
bringing my findings 
back home with me to
be washed down my shower drain. 

I wonder how long I’ll have
Copenhagen grit
loose in my shoes?

If I were born in 
another time,
I’d live in the woods and
draw pictures and write poetry about the 
nature and shit I saw.

But I can’t do that now
because my grandpa saved up 
a lot of money,
missed out on a lot of golf tournaments,
to send me to school,
so I guess I’ll 
educate the youth instead
(secretly tell them to 
screw college and 
live a little).

It’s 3am

I’m feeling very
lucky
right now I guess.

Maybe it’s the rum and wine,
maybe it’s this city.

I’m lucky cause I’m not
the girl crying about her 
boyfriend outside my window,
because my computer is still at 23%.

I guess I am also lucky because of 
this God damn beautiful city and the 
people that have filled it
(temporarily and permanently).

I’m feeling lucky because
I found money on the street,
because they played my song tonight and I 
danced (badly).

I’ve felt lucky today
because I ate oysters at the peer,
and laughed with new friends,
looked at babies,
and sang John Mellencamp on the 
metro.

I’m lucky because 
I’ll write this drunk,
but be able to wake up tomorrow
to revise it.

Maybe to erase it.

Philosophy of a Half-Adult

Knee deep into a 
sticky July night,
I placed five fingers 
square onto your Hawiian shirt,
and told you that I believe in
crummy nights
because we all need stories to tell.

The City Fell Silent

Over dark blue waters
embroidered by 
moon smeared buildings
and big white sails,
I maybe mentioned science class,
but this city is 
distracting, so all of my words 
are blurred like frosted windows.

Notice how the 
stars are floating 
under the bridge
and how 
one million people have
dissolved into the
deep dark night.

Take a 
million mental pictures
of this moment
(of this feeling of
complete content)
but know that 
tomorrow when you wake up,
you’ll have to know it’s
just a memory now.

Scenic but not cheesy and
buzzed but not drunk,
these hands are firm
and I’ve got that
temporary happy heart syndrome.

This city,
this picture I’ve got captured behind my eyes,
the dirt on my feet,
the paint chips on my shirt.

Paper/Baked Goods

One time I found a
fortune cookie fortune on the 
ground.
I taped it to my dashboard 
cause it read

"YOUR LIFE IS A
DASHING
BOLD
ADVENTURE!”

and at the time I needed
adventure and it seemed
false but fitting. 

It was there until I turned 
eighteen and got my 
heart all broken,
so I threw it away and 
replaced it with

"YOUR LIFE IS A 
CONFUSING
MESSY
INDECISIVE 
ADVENTURE
THAT INVOLVES A LOT OF
GETTING TURNED AROUND”

I was cynical then and listened to a lot of
stoner pop because
it made me seem cooler
and less lonely behind the wheel
of my little red car.

Cyclically my life
kept turning and
mending my dumb heart,
then kind of puncturing it again,
but I kept looking at my fortune
until I thought
"Fuck fortune cookies,"
cause I don’t like Chinese food all that much. 

But I had some rice and 
egg rolls the other day
and made my own fortune.
I think I’ll tape it to my 
feet so that it can
come with me as I 
run around in this big circle.

"YOUR LIFE IS A
MEMORABLE,
DELIGHTFUL,
ONCE IN A MILLION YEARS
ADVENTURE 
DESPITE THE TWISTS,
DESPITE THE VERY
UNROMANTIC
UNREMARKABLE 
MOMENTS.”

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy