All of my old writings and pictures from college now only exist on a harddrive that my Dad got me for Christmas a while back that, if anything ever happened to it, might prompt my suicide. I’m searching through it for my Fiction Writing Thesis duely titled ‘Salad’ and I just found this poem that makes me really sad.
Growing up crooked
I once found out what a school Night weighed;
What exactly it could carry:
Scrambled late night biographies, popcorn, old coke,
Remembering sad things must happen to you, so you will be interesting,
and then sad things really did.
I will never weigh it all together here;
The things I hide in paper bags will never
Meet the things I lied, in childhood.
There are the true things: the curve where
Spine meets head, the flesh of too short fingernails,
The strawberry place where birth marked me.
Honesty, you are too grown up and straight
and uncolorful for me to ever get my fingers on.