Category: Junior Literary

I’m waiting for the call from my mother to officially declare how much she hates me. I want the call- I need to hear it from her mouth and let it sink into my bones and settle into the crook of my ears, just so I won’t forget it when we’re riding down the road together.

I’ll want to tell her about my day and all off the things that I said and thought but then her voice will fall from my left ear crook into the canal and I’ll remember that she doesn’t care. No one, especially her, wants to hear about the madness in my mind. I’ll stay silent.

She knows my favorite food is spaghetti- it’s why she makes nothing by roasts: grilled, baked, crock-pot, steamed. I’ve been eating roasts for the last five years of my life, but it’s okay, I  deserve them. I think she needs to cook roasts to remind herself to hate me, because otherwise, she might ask me how my day was. She can’t do that do that while focusing on seasoning the afternoon roast.

It started when I was nine and dropped her ring that she told me to not drop. It was lost in her car for over a year. She looked at me differently after that. Sure, I was the one to find it after its escapade under the driver’s seat, but she deemed that I was untrustworthy. She was right. I get it from her.

I have a basic sense of morals that remind me not to murder anyone or the like, but beyond that, what needs to happen goes. (I don’t know how to make this sound less crude.) This has never sat well with her because, despite her hatred for me, she is a very compassionate person who lives her life to please others. I am not like this- she is angry about it. We argue about it a lot.

I don’t think I’ll ever get her to utter the words we both need to hear. She needs them to sit on her shoulder and whisper all of the terrible things I’ve done, just as I need them ready to fall from my ear into my canal and scream their reminder that we’re not right for each other. I don’t think it will ever happen.

I’ll tell her about my days as we ride down the road, and every couple of weeks she’ll make something other than roast. Maybe not spaghetti, possibly something with chicken.

 

they say you are what you eat

but what about what you drink?

I drank liter of juice

but I don’t feel anymore sweet

or fruity

like that candle you got me

because of my sexuality

thats only for men i tell you

you tell me that its half true

but only when its convenient

find a middle ground

or you can’t stick around

but i’m a fish out of water

and i don’t care if you want her

they say you are what you eat

but what about where you sleep?

on the top bunk of a bed

in a room where nothing is said

only heard

god i hope that was a bird

whoops

wrong room

in that room i sleep on the floor

and don’t do chores

i just sleep

and pretend to ignore

the knocks on the walls

and the thing they used to kill the lord

they say you are what you eat

but what about where you creep?

i’d rather put a bullet in my head

then have my parents say don’t let it happen again

it wasn’t my fault

i don’t care what they say

p l e a s e  l i l l y

die.

you’re the only man who has ever made me cry

i suppressed

and I folded

and folded

103 times

i looked at myself and realized i was dying

and suddenly every man was you

they say you are what you eat

but what about what you think?

i live with five people

and you live with two

we all share a bathroom

but you’ve never shared a day in your life, have you?

until you met me, that is

you share me with three people

and i share you with none

well, shared

loving you was like trying to own nice furniture in a house filled with cats

i will never tell you that

i’ve been told i don’t talk much

but no one really listens much

so i’ll just keep everything in here

playing my thoughts on repeat until i disappear.

 

 

Revelation 12:11
And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death.

And so it was,the eyes were swords wielded on girls half- drunk on their lover’s cars outside of the bar last Tuesday.

My mother overdosed on hymnals six weeks ago, leaving me with ma man and two options, flight or fight.

I chosen either and now I’m wearing two pairs of socks; if were going to be honest, it doesn’t matter how many socks I put on because I hate socks and I wish I didn’t have any on.

To me, LBJ is a con, just like Jesus and seat belts and all the dying men who still have teeth in the bottom of their closet.

Someone probably forgot to brush their teeth today, which doesn’t bother me one bit, but might bother you, so I thought i would include it.

 

I want to be teeth and tongue and the weightlessness of bird bones.

Cane is asleep on my doormat like a dead dog and it’s blasphemy if I do it, but I bring him inside anyway,his eyes broken and bleeding,weeping for a bottle half full.

And still it seems, a life half lived is all were ever gonna be.

“Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?

 

There’s no daylight in Vietnam.

Medusa

Woman turned Gorgon

You didn’t deserve what happened to you

Fool for a God in a temple for a night

Snakes upon your hair for the rest of your life

To bed with a bed blissfully

Unaware of you fate

And now angry, and alone, without a mate

Cursed by a Goddess for all of eternity

For no man to love

For no one to see

Turning people to stone

Like your heart

It is dark and bitter

And like your beauty

Won’t you wither

away

---

Daddy’s Girl

If my father were still alive I feel as if i would’ve been a daddy’s girl
But he’s not, so i’m not
Because of childish decisions and careless mistakes
I now have no one to make my house stable when it shakes
No one to take my side when my mom tells me no and no one to show me the ropes
My mom became my mom and my dad when he died
And she had to do it all on her own, keep me alive
His death made us strong, closer
And i’m glad God chose her
One parent became two and she taught me how to tie my shoes
To ride a bike
To drive
And daddy didn’t because he couldn’t
And that doesn’t bother me anymore
But i always wondered
Would I really be a daddy’s girl if he were alive

---

Searching for yourself in destructive fashions
In the beds of men you won’t remember tomorrow
You don’t know love, not of self or other
Fighting for control within yourself

You’re spineless in a backless dress, too weak to be anything but
Hand out, begging
You need but don’t know what
Get a grip on reality instead of getting lost in lines of coke

You’re a child begging for forgiveness
Needing a hand to hold
———————————————————–

In your skin, you find comfort
You find solace, you find beauty, you find intelligence
In your skin you find…
Insanity
You find pity, self -loathing hatred
In your skin you find love, love of living, love of self
In your skin you

———————————————————–
Distressed denim and mind sets make for good back stories
Ripped knees and jeans
All unholy things
I am unstable and distracted
My mind draws blanks
I can’t even think straight
Exhaustion overpowers me and I can barely stay awake
I want to overachieve but I can’t believe that I am able to do a lot of things
I am useless

Some girls love girls and boys, and some boys like girls and boys And some people like other people who are different. That may seem crazy, insane, foreign and new, but surprise! surprise! It happens. Sometimes the infinity to love both seems like too much. That it conflicts with your ideas, or you as a person, or the very things you’re supposed to reject comes from being gay. Or any other word some people choose to put out there. For some time now I’ve been battling. And it’s been hard and I have lost at times and won at times and pushed myself to a breaking point others times too. And at my lowest, I have crawled back up tooth and nail and cried and almost puked and torn my mind to shreds about things like this.  Then I came to a realization so destructive that it border-lined insanity. I was going to tell the world i was gay. Which involved my parents. But how could I do that? What would happen? Who should be present? Should I make arrangements just in case I get kicked out? What could I do for money or for food or college or a job? The thoughts played cat and mouse over and over again and I couldn’t even begin to explain the sudden need to not exist on planet earth for a maybe a month or three so I wouldn’t have to make this decision. Then out of nowhere came an idea from the heavens and crafted by demons because both had to have a part to even think this up. I’ll write a blog. WOW! That was extremely anticlimactic Tim-era, do better next time. Wait! hold on not just any blog post. No. A post for experiences I have had to deal with and things that I feel like I need them to know. And I’ll send this blog post to them senior year. Not now of course because that would be disastrous, to say the least, but, coming up to graduation and when I did I would hope and pray they would show up after and if not……. I would know what they felt. Because I can’t seem to stay hidden anymore.The Gay jokes are starting to get pesky. The hiding is becoming deter mentally.  The wishing to be anything but this is beginning to be pointless and as I grow older, and as I get a better idea of what is happening I can no longer do this and I hope they’ll understand, and yeah there’s a chance they won’t, but I can try and maybe fail with confidence. I owe myself that at least.

3:33

I woke up today. the doves have been here again. the dust told me so,
outlining their footmarks, all pointed in a circle with me in the middle.
the window is shut, yet the dust bunnies still sob themselves
back to sleep.  I clean away the claw marks at the bottom of my bed.
I swear they get closer every day.

but you & me, we’re screaming about a feeling in a june riverbed
until the crack of dawn, drinking the creek water that’s turned
into wine, our denim dipped legs running as fast as we can,
sun-stained on cheeks and shoulders.  your momma told you
to put sunscreen on those damn shoulders, she’ll beat some more
of your skin raw when you get home, so much so that it’ll peel up
just to run away. or maybe she won’t, i hear she’s been trying
to act real good since the Lord is coming home, the preacher
is awfully excited. and holding hands with you is like
holding a dog’s tongue, sticky and unclean,
but I’ll be holding this dog’s tongue till the end of my days.

eyelashes and dandelion puffs fly through the air,
carrying all of our wishes with them. I laugh. “I bet God’s eyelashes
are made of ours, and he uses these dandelion puffs for nose hairs.”
“don’t be silly,” you say, “God doesn’t have nose hairs.
he’s too respectable for that, bet he has a beard or somethin’.”
all our wishes rise up to the air, but the clocks are chiming loud,
the loudest they ever have, and the dandelions are crying.
they beg, “God, we can’t hear you, we’re lost.”
the clocks beat them down right out of the sky.
chiming, it’s 3:33. halfway to evil.

laughing, tongues out, pink where the sun can’t lick.
God, this wine is great, isn’t it?
I forgot how to eat honeysuckle. I scream at the top of my lungs,
“I bet those angels have a thousand teeth and two jaws,
three jaws, even.” (I eat the flower whole. that’s right, right?)
you spit. “jaws, what do they need jaws for, I don’t think angels
chew tobacco.” the dove behind you winks.

but I’ll never forget when we turned around too quickly
and for a second, saw us, everywhere, with new colors
I’d never even imagined. us, like ghosts, haunting ourselves.
do you think this wine is getting to me? I don’t think
I’ll ever remember how to eat honeysuckle again.
I pet the dove beside me. “what are you gonna do
when the sky falls out, buddy?” it laughs right in my face
and asks me, “what are you gonna do?” its teeth
are a whole new color I’d never seen before in my life.

the window is on the other side of the room now, isn’t that funny?
and I’ve got a stepdad, but my dad never even left.
All the universes are running together, everything is ripping apart.
there are some days that I have blue hair  and some days
that I do not know you and some days where my leg lays
on the other side of the room. But it is every day
that the dust bunnies lay decapitated on the floor.

I tried turning around too fast again today. it wasn’t black.
it was nothing, like the universe was a little slow to put on a show.
I watched as the rocks tied to the river, seams being sewed together,
watched as you were sown together, piece by piece.
you tried telling me I blinked. you knew I hadn’t.
I don’t think I’ve closed my eyes for days,
too scared they’ll get sown together.

and I’m screaming in these july riverbeds, screaming, we’ll die here.
we won’t make it, stuck between makeout rock and home,
a dove footprint stained on my forehead.
swimming in lakes— the water that’s breaking me, me and my levies—
and I sob. I don’t want to drink wine anymore.
okay, you say. no more drinking wine.

the stars start falling out of the sky. I hold a dog’s tongue.

 

elena – spanish, “shining light”

so i’m writing this blog on april 4th, but i assume by the time it goes up, it will be april 12th. i only mention this because the next day, april 13th, my best friend turns 17.

so, elena, this is dedicated to you.

when you first added me on snapchat all those years ago, i don’t think either of us ever anticipated ending up here. all of this was an accident. but we started talking, and lucky for us, we had a lot in common.

the date on your first physicality in my life is february 21st, 2015. just a few days after we started talking if not the exact date. from “the things we dig” down to the fact we both have one dimple, i think our fate together was sealed.

i have the clearest memories of sitting in the back of my fifth period science class, surrounded by stupid teenage boys, hiding my phone under my desk to reply to you because mr. hobbs wouldn’t let us have our phones out in class. i can see the yellow hearts, too.

since then, we’ve both been through a lot. the first year’s worth of our conversations is gone (still wish i hadn’t deleted that snapchat account). the history is gone, but i still remember skyping you while i painted commissions for an art project in my backyard. i still remember messaging you on instagram and you messaging me a few months later to tell me you didn’t even realize it was me you were talking to.

every moment i have with you becomes my new favorite.

in jack antonoff’s words, nothing has changed me quite like you. i know it sound cheesy, but it’s supposed to be. there are more references to describe us than i can count, but you’re the only one who would get them anyway.

i can write all the words and make all the playlists in the world, but none of them will ever capture what we are. birds of a feather, floating to each other across the pond.

elena beth brammar, you are my best friend, and now you’re 17. soon i’ll be 18, and you’ll follow two months suit, and before we know it, we’ll be old ladies in rocking chairs with the husbands (or wives) we dreamed of having. and all i can hope is those two wrinkly old ladies in their rocking chairs are best friends just like they were all those years ago, back when their skin was bright and pink and full of hope that one day, 4377 won’t come between them anymore.

you already have the playlist, but i made something else for you, and this time, the words that describe us are all ours.

51 August 30 BC

Nile River

We admired her beauty from afar. From under our veils we watched her, the great Cleopatra; greet her loving subjects on her own for the first time as their sole ruler. Her long black hair swayed in the wind and her skin shimmered against the sun. Everyone loved her dearly, much more than her father. I’d known Cleo all my life and knew that ruling over this land was not what she wanted, although she loved all the luxuries she would have rather been a common girl. My companion was Cleo’s first love, and he, he loved her still. As her carriage left my line of sight, my partner dragged me with him to Cleo’s palace.

“Come! Come! We must hurry to find an entrance,” Ahmes, my companion shouted. We crept around the palace slowly and with stealth, acting as if we were walking to the gardens. When we reached the far end of the wall we began to look for our old, secret entrance. It was the height of a large barrel and the width of a clothing trunk. Once we found it we climbed through and replaced the bricks when we got to the other side. We crawled through a series of interconnected tunnels and moved a hidden wall panel. Ahmes & I entered Cleo’s old room, and to our surprise it still looked the same, except Cleo wasn’t in her usual spot, on her floor with a scroll in her hand. In fact she wasn’t there at all. We sat on her bed, knowing she’d come. “Hey look, she still has our hieroglyphs painted on her wall; I thought she would’ve gotten that painted over.” I exclaimed. I was purely amazed at how long Cleo had kept those childlike paintings on her wall. We’d drawn them there 10 years ago, when were 10. “Oh, how great,” Ahmes’s words oozed sarcasm. He still loved Cleo with everything in him, but was extremely angry that he hadn’t married her.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss; I’m sure Cleo still has feelings for you. You know royals have to marry royals, her siblings means nothing to her.” I tried to cheer him up to the best of my ability. We stopped moving at once, listening for voices, and ran to Cleo’s secret closet. We sat for many hours, waiting and listening. “My legs hurt,” I whined. “Shut up Amuntu, you’ll get us caught.” More silence, an even longer wait. It was so boring that we fell asleep.

We awoke to the setting sun. What a beautiful view it was, blues, reds, oranges, and pinks emitted from the skies. Then there was a big dark sky, with the moon herself shining ever so brightly. We admired her, and the stars in all its beauty. After a few minutes of silence, Cleo’s old cat, Apu, waddled into the room. She was excited to see us, purring loudly and walking into the closet to sit with us. “No Apu, go away. Go, shoo.” “Apu, come.” She left us at the sound of Cleopatra’s voice. “What were you doing in there? I hope you weren’t scratching at my new dresses.” She walked toward the closet, pushed it from her path, bent down and simply smiled at us. She used her index finger to let us know to follow her. Neither of us could get our words together. She made us sit immediately. “Hello old friends, I’m glad to see you again. I knew you’d come,” she chirped. I spoke first, “Cleo! We missed you so much. It’s been so long, I thought you’d forgotten about us.” “

“Don’t speak for me,” Ahmes grumbled.

“Oh Ahmes, stop that, you know that wasn’t my choice, if it was, I would’ve married you.”

He simply walked over to the animal skin rug in the corner of the room and picked up a bundle of papyrus, beginning to read it.

“Don’t mind him Cle, he’s just upset.”

“That’s quite alright, I’d be angry too if the only person I’d ever loved left me for the throne I was born in to.” as she spoke her eyes twinkled and it sounded as if she were laughing lightly.

We sat in silence for a few moment before Cleopatra announced, “I will be meeting the great Julius Caesar tonight, I will be back in two days’ time, feel free to roam my home, it is yours for the taking.” She then vanished, while Ahmes & I prepared for dinner and then later bed.

Meanwhile Cleopatra was being dressed in the finest silks and cloths possible, her hair and her make up looked so utterly beautiful against her skin. “Roll me in this here carpet and deliver it to Caesar’s home.” Her servants did as told and within an hour she was delivered to his door. When Caesar unrolled his newly found carpet, he was welcomed by the sight of a radiant Cleopatra staring at him with fierce eyes. He chuckled and pulled her from the floor. ‘A sight of ethereal beauty you are.” Cleo, previously kneeling before him, sauntered to a nearby stool. “Julius, how kind of you to welcome me in to your home,” she said with a smirk. “Always a pleasure to have such a lovely woman of your stature near.” Cleo and Caesar talked for several hours, of everything and nothing, until one topic in particular rubbed him the wrong way. “I believe it would be best if we joined forces, in marriage perhaps, to rule our two lands as one and build a stronger empire,” Cleo said as she glanced from her nails to Julius’s eyes. They showed a hint of hesitation, and so did his words. Which grew angrier by the second. He shouted and argued, although he’d have loved to rule two lands, sharing his power, let alone with a woman, was unthinkable. Cleo stormed off, all the while Julius began forming a plan to destroy what she loved most.

“Ahmes, we have to hurry!” we were being attacked by only Osiris knows who. We needed to make our way to Cleopatra’s room and get her into hiding immediately. When we finally arrived, Cleo was changing, and shouting orders at anyone within ear shot. We had to get her to safety. “Cleo, come with us, please.” Ahmes pleaded with her, Cleo had always been stubborn, so Ahmes took it upon himself to be her knight in shining armor. Before I knew it, he’d thrown her over his shoulder and we were on a small boat to our favorite hiding place. And then I knew, only time would tell what was to come and our lives would change forever.

Two days ago from now i did a thing, and it was a normal thing. A thing that if anyone were to ask would know that it happened but if not then wouldn’t. It was one of those things that cross your mind for a second and then fades through the day until it’s brought up again. Which  it hardly is. Things like that are left unsaid. Those things are sacred. A little secret between yourself and maybe one other person depending on the type of day. This thing was hard of course. I felt like I would burst into a million pieces as if my skin would burn off. This thing was intense. This thing made me wonder briefly why I did anything but cemented my role just the same. This thing brings me curiosity. So much curiosity that I pick it apart day by day until I’m left feeling alone. This thing is monstrous. This things pick me up by the hair and swings me around until I’m too dizzy to get back up again. This thing is so neutral that I couldn’t even blame it for the faults that it causes because those faults are only faults in certain lighting. Then again everything seems better in the dark. This thing seems to strive there. I And I don’t mean the darkness in you’re mind. No, this thing isn’t that deep. But it could be if applied right. Then again I don’t think I ever apply this thing correctly. This thing is a mystery. A mystery only solved by time and space and people. Words exchanging. Exchanging this thing with the person to animal to alien to anything that’s willing to exist in its presence. It’s a troubled thing. It finds what it needs most no means of its own but then again I don’t know. I can never tell what the purpose of this thing is but I believe that it isn’t trying to cause harm. It doesn’t want to end things it just wants to go and move through life like water to a stream. It wants to be free to do what it chooses. Then it chooses to live in a cage. This thing contradicts. This thing holds out secrets like gold and then it’s picked clean. This things wonders why people would do such a thing. But it knows why. It knows what it also doesn’t. that thing is best left unsaid, because i don’t think i could give it a name. Or at least not yet. 

When I was a kid my family used to put together letters for funeral parlors to earn some extra money. We’d fold the letters a certain way, put them in the correct envelop, and seal them. I always got a lot of paper cuts from doing this. The letters were then sent out to families who had an old family member. I remember seeing a letter for a family who had the same last name as mine once. Could you imagine getting a letter that tells you that you should probably start financially planning for your loved ones death? Or being old and getting one? A reminder of your mortality in the form of mail from your local funeral parlor. My uncle used to work at a funeral parlor. He was a mortician. He sells kitchenware now and is the type of guy to tell pet store employees that their fish are dead. I’ve had a lot of fish in my life. And cats. And dogs. And lizards. And rodents. Just a lot of animals in general. Having a lot of pets also means having a lot of pet deaths. My mom thinks a big part of having pets is to prepare us for the deaths of people. I’ve been to two funerals these past five years. Both of them were during the summer. The worst time of the year to have a funeral. I hope I don’t die in the summer. I didn’t  know either person very well, but their deaths affected my life greatly. Death has a funny way of bringing out the truth. The first person to die was my Great-Grandfather. He was the grandma on my mom’s side dad. I only ever saw him alive twice. The first time was at a wedding, I didn’t like him the moment I laid eyes on him. I didn’t have a specific reason to not like him, but something just felt off. The second time I saw him was when he was in the retirement home. He had Alzheimers then and pretended to know who we were when we introduced ourselves. He played it off pretty well, the only reason I know he was faking it is because my mom told me after we left that if he really remembered us he would have talked our ears off. When he died, I found out a lot about my mom’s side of the family that I didn’t want to know. I remember texting my cousins about everything , trying to piece it all together while I was at a friends house. I wasn’t happy with what we found. I didn’t want to go back home after that. I remember whispering something cruel to his casket. My grandma would have slapped me if she had found out. She believes we should never talk bad about the dead. Even if they were bad people. I used to think everyone deserved a fueneral before I heard about my not-so-great-grandfather. The second person to die was my Great-Aunt. I never saw her while she was alive. We were friends on facebook, though. My mom asked me to draw a  portrait of her to give to her kids. Drawing a dead person for five hours straight is kind of weird. Makes you think. Her funeral really made me rethink a lot of who I was. All I knew about her was what people were saying about her in their eulogies. They said that she loved God and talking, but how could I be sure if that was true? They could be lying. Or maybe they just only knew what she showed them? Maybe that was just a facade. What if she had a secret side of her that her family didn’t know about? People like me would never know.  I had a thought, “If I died right here, right now, would any of my family know who I really am?” Your family is an essential part of how you are remembered when you die. I don’t want people saying that I love God at my funeral. I don’t want them to read bible verses. That funeral is what made me decide I wanted to stop being distant. Up until then I was terrified of letting my family get to know me, because all my life I was  told that  they could never love me for being a heathen queer. But at that point, I’d rather die and be remembered as a heathen queer than die and be remembered as someone that I wasn’t. So, I came out to them. It went pretty well. I can be more myself around them now and I’ve never felt more free. Some of them didn’t accept me, but I was prepared to live with that. Death is a weird thing. It made me distant from my family and closer. It can destroy and build up. Like a volcano.