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unless you’re my editor please don’t edit me

the big yellow tractor is coming
sometimes i dream about it
mowing down the poetry
reciting girls eating birthday cake with purple roses
and drinking lemonade from china doll
sized tea sets
the way memories of bad cocaine and a pink taffeta dress that never fit right
skin blistered with sunburn and a coke head surfer with angelic curls
obliterate the memory of that tall slavic bicyclist
who painted me in his bedroom and then terrified
me with his tender kiss
b/c there was no way i could believe he would ever love me
raggedy-haired and sun burned as i was

you can be friends on facebook with almost anyone though
even if you never exchange a word

what scares me the most is that i have ceased
to believe that love can redeem me
at least not the romantic kind

my son scented grass and dirt and baseball can still fit in my lap
and daughter, making chocolate chip cookies with sturdy hands, folding shirts into perfect piles, straightening her waves of hair like a pro
she’s the reason i survived my mother’s death

that’s what matters.
and it feels better when i write
please don’t edit me
unless i ask Continue reading