I'm down to counting the memories.
Writing fan letters to porn stars
doesn't phase me like it would have back in those days, especially since I sent three out this week.
Dear Taylor,
I like the way your soles wrinkle
write me back with the exact
color of your toe nails, I need something NEW to masterbate to.
The proof is in the liquor,
it makes me forget those memories,
but honestly I think I got to second base with my Emily Dickinson doll since I've
been downing shots lately like a soon to be amputee.
Dear Emily,
I'm sorry I penciled over all your beautiful poetry with my ugly notes. I just wanted to know you deeper, but I guess getting a doll didn't help, because I have a thing for creepy and porcelain...
and feet so to speak of Taylor again, because I have a favorite band and a favorite porn star, and that's it.
The memories make me cringe, and so does writing this, when will it end?
I want to make my self a new set of memories. Scenes with a girl more genuine than Taylor Raz, and I want to write her poetry as immediate and romantic as to compete with Emily Dickinsons. I want a new girl that will beg my reference, but for now I have a thing for porn and poetry...
and feet, but to speak honestly I would trade in my subscriptions and my note books if just one genuine girl took the time to see past all of this, to acknowledge the courage and creativity it took to both write and recite it.
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
