A Sober Letter to an Intoxicated Girl

Dear Julia,

Don’t have that Pirate’s Choice.

Yes, Hannah makes it sound super tasty and, yes, all right, pirates are pretty badass, but you don’t need it. You’ve already had a Cosmo and a Pink Lady, not to mention a whole lot of Hannah’s Creekside Lemonade. You're at a good place. Slightly drunk, but still hanging on to that last bit of you that makes smart choices and keeps her mouth shut. Besides, you hate the taste of rum, but if you get it you’ll force yourself to drink it anyway because you don’t want to “waste a drink”. And if you drink all of it? Well, you’re going to get drunk. Not the drunk that you like though. You’ll be drunk. Meaning? You’re going to wake up in your bed at 9am the next day and you’re going to lie, on your face, for a whole minute before you finally ask yourself, out loud, “How did I get here?” And it wont be until you feel the pounding in your head and the jeans hugging your thighs that you realize that you got so drunk last night that you honestly can’t remember getting home. You'll get up, go to the bathroom mirror, and behold the make up smeared under your eyes and the low cut tank top still showing off your cleavage, before quickly returning to your bed because, goddammit, it hurts too much to stand. Then you're going to have a panic attack because you can't find your phone anywhere, only to find it in the shower five minutes later (how it got there, I'm sorry, even I do not know). Then you're going to spend the rest of the day curled up in your roommate's pillsbury dough boy blanket, scarfing down mac n' cheese and oatmeal and anything else to quell your nauseous stomach, feeling like utter shit. Sure, you'll get to spend quality time with your roommates and your cat from hell watching Daria and John Hughes movies, but it'll still be a waste of a day. The only productive thing you'll get done is renewing your library books and you'll do that online anyway, you lazy fuck. Not to mention you can’t remember anything you did and/or said at the bar after drinking only half of that vile, intoxicating drink. For all you know you could have told everyone you're on your period or how that one boy is a douche or how you're oddly attracted to John Lithgow and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t put it passed you. Let’s just pray you didn’t kiss anyone.

So, don’t have that Pirate’s Choice.

Sincerely,
Future Julia

only a dream

i’m hungry for a kiss
that never even happened,
but I can still
taste
your lips upon mine.

A LOST slam poem (finished)

Ostentatious

There is a cloud of smoke, and it is trying to kill me

My heart beats loudly in my ears

As I run from the accumulation of all my dread and hate and fears

This thing – this malignant monster – that has haunted us for what seems like years

In this place

This place

This hunk of rock floating lost at sea

A god forsaken planet forgotten by all humanity

With the same hungry individuals

Each with some twisted back story

And we are stuck here, together

Trying to survive

Dividing up water, sharing granola bars

Trying to stay alive

Wearing shoes stolen from the dead

Keeping calm, counting to five

Memorizing names of stations

Learning to live without technology

And there is a cloud of smoke trying to kill me

Why aren’t I questioning the plausibility of this?

Why am I so used to the thought of the unnatural becoming natural?

No longer looking for some larger rationale

Maybe it’s because I’ve faced polar bears in the heat of the jungle

I’ve heard of rabbits brought back from the dead

I’ve jumped through space and time with the flash of a light

And pushed the same ten buttons so we could live through the night

I met an omnipresent deity who just called himself “Jacob”

I watched a horse appear out of thin air

I was taken hostage by a character from the Wizard of Oz

I’ve seen a whole island move

Something no one ever thought that we could do

And there’s more

A man who can withstand an electromagnetic force

A wife whose cancer melted away like wax

A paraplegic man who found his will to stand

A child who can cause the death of birds without any reprieve

And this cloud of smoke is still trying to kill me

This black, thick gas that can shape shift and mind fuck you

Into believing it is anyone or anything

Like a man who looks like Mr. Clean with a machete in his teeth

Or an Iraqi soldier who’s been through hell because he’s lived it

A woman who’s little turnip is sought by the unspoken natives

Or a large man who thought that he was crazy, until he took control

A man who told me to find my constant, whatever that may be

A woman who just wanted to be free

Or a doctor who never wanted the responsibility

Anyone or anything

A father who made too many mistakes

A kidnapped boy with a warning

A holy brother who died for his sinful other

A wife who died because her husband was too late

A daughter who blamed her father for her fate

Or Mr. Clean with that machete still gripped in between his teeth

And that cloud of smoke is still trying to kill me

Maybe this is purgatory

And we have to own up for the sins we created in life

Torturing innocents

Running from consequence

Taking drugs, lying to spouses

Betting with the unlucky ten that then burns down our houses

Conning, stealing, swindling, chasing

Killing, cheating, drinking, debasing

Or murdering our stepfathers

In the coldest of blood

And not feeling regret

For one tiny instant

So maybe we’re all dead

Maybe we died upon impact and this is our hell

Hoping our strengths and our minds are enough to quell our fate         

Or maybe, just maybe, this is a place that we all made together

Because maybe we’re the most important part of each other’s lives.

Nobody does it alone

No one alone can survive

Or maybe that’s just a flash sideways

At this point, who really can say?

But I will keep running

And I will keep fighting

This wrong that needs righting

And diligently escaping this contest we’re pacing

And, no matter how this ends, in bliss or grievancey,

That cloud of smoke will never, ever kill me