Tuesday, June 18, 2013

poem of the day 06.18.13


it was me and charlotte
playing house in my parent’s basement

we were nine or ten
and all we did was cuddle in the dark and kiss

we kissed like parents did
like you did playing house

even though my parents were fighting all of the time
and charlotte’s old man had already left her mom years ago

neither of us saw much kissing
but we played house that way regardless

we kissed and cuddled like good television couples

our teeth clinking
because we didn’t know how make out

our breath tasting of lunch or dinner
like canned spaghetti and peanut butter

and for whatever reason growing kids had
our game eventually ended

charlotte stopped coming over to play house
but instead hung with her girlfriends in the street
playing pop music on tapes
pointing and laughing at me
and calling me fat ass

of course i’d push her or call her a bitch

we were an aftermath of love and family
distilled down to brutalities and insults

just like our parents
like all the parents we knew in pittsburgh
like families everywhere in america

playing house until they died inside
and love transformed itself in to a flower called hate.

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