There Is This Guy. He Is Living in a Church on the Ledge of an Old Mountain Top in Greece

There is this guy. He is living in a church on the ledge of an old mountain top in Greece. Ever since the economic turmoil, he has been jobless and moneyless. He used to be an amazing musician but I guess now people just don’t enjoy the electric tambourine.

Laying in his bed in the morning, he wonders if he should be content. His mother would choose the second, but for today, he chooses the first.

He gets up to use the bathroom, his moaning stomach remembering the final snack pack left to eat in the bottom cupboard, next to cleaning supplies. He opens it up and sits on the floor next to his cat’s water bowl.

Laying back down on his side, he falls fast asleep until the warm sun of the annoying afternoon finds him once more through the small crack of un-curtained window.

(See “The Poet’s Husband.”)

You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be. Sweat
slides down your face like a pineapple being cored.
That drip down the middle of your back
makes you cringing and self aware
like a panther lapping up ice cream.
You don’t want anybody to see
the excretions, upper lip and elbow grease.
You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be—
you’re warm.

You don’t want anybody to see the
excretions, upper lip and elbow grease. Sweat
slides down your face like a pineapple being cored.
That drip down the middle of your back
makes you cringing and self aware
like a panther lapping up ice cream..
You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be;
You’re inside your skin.

You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be. Sweat
slides down your face like a pineapple being cored.
That drip down the middle of your back
makes you cringing and self aware
like a panther lapping up ice cream.
You don’t want anybody to see the
excretions, upper lip and elbow grease.
You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be—
you’re warm. You’re inside your skin.

You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be. Sweat
slides down your face like a pineapple being cored.
That drip down the middle of your back
makes you cringing and self aware
like a panther lapping up ice cream.
You don’t want anybody to see the
excretions, upper lip and elbow crease.
You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be.
You’re warm. You’re inside your skin. You cry out salty juices.

______

There was this guy. He is living in a church on the ledge of an old mountain top in Greece. Ever since the economic turmoil, he has been jobless and moneyless. He used to be an amazing musician but I guess now people just don’t enjoy the electric tambourine.

Laying in his bed in the morning, he wonders if he should be content with the fact that he has nothing to do that day, or if he should feel like a bum. His mother would choose the second, but for today, he chooses the first. Rolling back over on his side he fell fast asleep until the warm sun of the annoying afternoon found him once more through the small crack of un-curtained window. Getting up to use the bathroom, his moaning stomach remembered he had one more snack pack left to eat in the bottom cupboard, next to cleaning supplies. Disregarding his bladder, he walked to get the sweet brown nectar. Brushing off a fine residue of Kaboom and Windex, he opened it up and sat on the floor next to his cat’s water bowl. Opening it, he saw a small ant scurrying past his big toe. After successfully squishing it and flicking it away, he began, once again, to eat his snack pack.

Once the feast was regrettably over, he wiped the pudding off his scruffy beard and onto his grey, half ripped underwear, walked to the unbelievably urine filled toilet, and began to relieve himself. Completely obliviously content, he had no idea that would be the last time he felt the warm sun on his freckled face, taste the sweetly sour taste of an expired pudding cup, warm sheet on his hair covered leg, or feel the sense of relief a mid-afternoon pee brings. And just like the small ant crawling across the slippery hardwood floor, he had no idea his life would come to an unexpected termination.

The sweat bounces up and out of pores
sliding down a face like a pineaple being cored.
Where’s the beauty in a digusting monster
crying out salty smelly juices?
Those nasty stains of mold on the windowsill,
Those conservative douchebags with a nose turned up against your will.
Those nasty things you can’t cover up.
It’s all the sweat pouring from your upper lip and elbow crease. It’s
the drip down the middle of your back,
it makes you cringe and self aware
like a panther lapping up ice cream, making sure nobody is there to see his theivery.
You don’t want anybody to be aware of the excretions from your body.
You know more than the other about the moist
buttcrack, and the dampened hair.
It’s being really warm.
It’s being uncomfortable in your own wet skin.
You aren’t the pretty girl that you’re told to be, you’re the
sweaty oaf hunching behind the fan
with a bottle of water tied to every hand.
Where’s the beauty in being nasty?

Hey I Just Met You…

Hey I just met you
and this is crazy.
So here’s my number,
so call me maybe.

This just so happens
to be the
WONDERFUL words
of Carly Rae Jepsen.
You should know
that I am just
like this.

I know this sounds
crazy, but I just
met you, and I
can feel this
feeling…
that says “Hey, you know,
I kind of like you.
I couldn’t even tell you why I do.
I don’t know you.
I don’t know anything
about you.
But I’m not stupid.

I KNOW
your smile cheers the room.
I KNOW
your laugh makes everybody laugh harder.
I KNOW
your voice makes people want to listen.
And I KNOW
that when our eyes met,
I was stuck.
I don’t know about you,
but every time I try to
turn away. I can’t.

You DON’T know
how HARD this is
for me not to
talk to you every
second we are near.

You DON’T know
how HARD this is
for me to not
tell you that I can’t
sleep because I think of you.
In Kesha’s words:
Your Love Is My Drug.

It hurts you know?
I shouldn’t feel this way
but…
I do.
I walk around and you
are talking to her?
THAT SHOULD BE ME!
I want to soak up what you say!
You are the sun
while I’m just the flower,
yearning for your attention.
Yet, you’re the strong one.
You can choose any flower
you want! I, the dandelion,
is obviously nothing compared
to the sunflower,
BUT
you don’t know what’s in me.

I haven’t known you that
long. And Hey! I just
met you!
And this is CRAZY!
You’re in my mind now.
So I’ll see you in my dreams.

Now I hope my story
doesn’t end like
Carly Rae Jepsen