• bluebird 92w

    It'll be safe to say that I was dancing in my living room while writing this after I hit my head against some shelf and bled out, feeling healed and happy after so long.

    And getting over some people. Yeah that too.

    All I want to do is have fun with my writing, just like I used to. So in case you're disappointed, please just let it be. It's okay.

    #pod

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    baby, we're out of hair dye

    I've been using the strawberry scented soaps,
    From the stock you bought in that discount sale,
    And my skin still happens to be dented up from the glycerine,
    Just the way they appear on the rotting brand name
    On the upper west side of the soap, as it slips out of my hands,
    When I try to give "letting go" a fair thought;
    Onto the drain, till by the end of the month
    Its been grated enough to be stuck upon,
    A fresh one, dry and sharp, flaking over it's edges,
    A name I can't pronounce, etched over it's upper west side,
    And that's when I look at someone in the steam clogged mirror,
    And the taps you used to leave your shampoo imprints upon,
    That I still don't bother to wipe off
    Or maybe I don't want to;
    So I let him know,
    "Baby, I've been smelling like strawberries,
    For about six months since you left me now,
    Give and take a shower or four,
    Wrapping my pillows in your towels
    To pretend you're still around"
    So tell me,
    Why can't I just let you go?

    Every walk outside lends me a boho plant pot for our bedroom,
    Getting used to calling it mine, since you replaced our cactus,
    It seems like I miss mistaking it for the alarm clock afterall.
    The candles over our kitchen counter have melted down to puddles,
    That won't go away despite having them scraped with my license ID;
    So I light them up every night,
    And luckily this time around I decided not to shave
    Just so my hair is long enough,
    For me to pretend that I'm eating the spaghetti you made,
    As it hooks onto my fork and I choke on it.
    All my friends expected me for beer pong last week,
    At the bar you first rejected me,
    So I told them how I'm already over you,
    And would rather spend my evening at home
    Listening to the song on the radio, the one we made love to,
    When right in the middle of the chorus you broke up with me.
    All of that convincing to prove that it's me on my driving license,
    And yet they ask me,
    Why can't I just let it go?

    There's Poppy's dog bowl under our sink,
    And I can't help but wonder how you must be managing,
    When she bites on your toes, just because
    You forgot Poppy's dog bowl under our sink,
    That she must be waiting for.
    Won't you come?
    Took a day off,
    I sit by the window and shove away the curtains,
    Just the way you loved, when it made it hard for me,
    To focus on my laptop screen;
    I'll be reading my journal in which you drew my caricatures
    And left your lipstick mark over my photograph,
    That slips off when I glide my hand over it,
    And reveals a ring that I bought out of my grandpa's pension ,
    For the right day, do you remember?
    Oh honey, how beautiful you were that night,
    Right after the toilet had clogged, when you threw in my ring;
    That night you said "no" and we slept without protection.
    A car or twenty four pass through the window view,
    And I didn't happen to care about those 3 VW Bugs,
    Blue and Pinks, but none Yellow;
    So I begin biting my nails, just because,
    I've left all your things as they used to be,
    Including your ring, that I promise I've cleaned,
    And Poppy's dog bowl from under our sink
    That she must be waiting for.
    Won't you come?
    And ask me,
    Why can't I just let her go?

    At the barber's, men stare and ask me if I've been doing okay,
    I can't say how they make such an assumption
    When I've been keeping up to my appearances,
    With women calling me every night, for a dinner;
    Unfortunately I have to deny, given that beer pong I promised,
    Is still due.
    So I sink into my sofa till my neighbour calls on landline,
    Every night, for a dinner
    Since she's concerned about no visits paid to the grocery story,
    It's a new trend, these long hair and this thick beard,
    And your organic onion hair oil has been responsible;
    Yet I must say, baby, we're out of hair dye,
    But then it doesn't matter, given my age,
    And how we're soon to settle.
    Just worried if I've waited long enough to call you,
    Doesn't seem like you could've forgotten me, within eight months;
    Exactly the way I've been sitting with your stuff, all alone,
    Drinking water from the taps that you left your shampoo imprints upon,
    That I still don't bother to wipe off,
    Or maybe I don't want to.
    Despite looking at all of those pictures on your social media,
    Where I wonder if that man who puts his arm around your waist
    Is your brother,
    Who may ask me,
    Why can't I just let you go?

    My drawer seems to be stuck, and I seem to use my strength,
    For the first time in so long,
    And I find, a rotting cactus, close to my alarm clock,
    With a fly decaying right by it, on your pocket mirror,
    Just the way they appear on the rotting brand name
    Of your memories;
    So close is my razor, and the urge to look younger,
    Despite all the time wasted, eating the neighbour's pie,
    And the bathroom basin overflows, with it's clogged drains
    When I cut my hair short and look the way, you might remember me,
    If you recall my name,
    Just as the officers recognised me on my ID proof
    As I drove around, making sure I didn't bump into a VW Bug,
    Thinking it was you,
    So I stopped around, and saw a stray, picked her up and drove away,
    Hoping that Poppy had moved on too,
    And that your toes shall heal faster than my brittle nails.
    The beer seems to make me better at dart,
    And the boys gift me plants on my birthdays,
    Even a cactus, that I keep on your side of the bed,
    Lately I've been waking up early, it's better for my eyes,
    When the curtains are shoved away, but the sun doesn't bother me
    As I work on the screen, eating spaghetti
    And sharing it with my neighbour.
    My journal is full of all the thoughts I spent,
    Wishing for you, and wanting to swallow,
    All of your strawberry scented soaps,
    Because baby, I've been smelling like strawberries
    Since you left me now,
    And honestly, it's not the first time in a while,
    That I've not quite felt like myself.
    And that's when I look at someone in the steam clogged mirror,
    And the taps you used to leave your shampoo imprints upon,
    That I can't help but wipe clean every time I shower.
    So I let him know,
    Baby, it's time to let go.

    ©bluebird