fatterthanalbert

fatterthanalbert

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apron

They told me, "Wear an apron. Wear that ugly, one-size fits all, piece of trash that's been worn by so many broken souls before you. Wear it while you sling out coffee and throw out smelly grounds. Wear it while you become increasingly sick of the smell of all things bakery. Wear it while you waste your time and bust your ass for minimum wage." So I did.

across the hallways, we engage in warfare, tongues in motion like daggers and thoughts like guns. you'll find me in a bunker shielded by my own lies and eating all the rations. the troops can wait; i'm still hungry and scared.

She places her CD's in stacks. The most important ones sit proudly on the top, and the ones she only keeps for nostalgia's sake lay at the bottom. Just like she had outgrown her Legos and her Barbie dolls, they are just placeholders now. They serve no purpose except for reminding her of a time in her life when things were happy and when her regrets weren't shown by the size of her waistline.

Our mothers warned us about the man in the alley way who offered candy and lost his puppy, but she never told us about a man in New York City with a perpetual smile and a knack at balancing his body weight on a board of wood. She never spoke of the man with hazelnut eyes and light brown skin.

half

half of the time, we're not even thinking. words spill out of our mouths just like bp's latest disaster. we'll try to clean up, but we'll never get it all. we try so hard, yet we still fall. giving up seems right, for once. half of us don't even care anymore, but i still do. half of me thinks we're all going crazy.

couch

As heavy raindrops poured down onto the roof, we lay on your leather couch, sipping lemon infused green tea and letting it warm our quivering bodies. You smoked a cigarette, the smoke snaking around my head and reminding me of all the other times we’ve lain in this same spot. All we could hear was the light sound of your fingers snapping to different strings on that old wooden lute and my voice singing an old folk song that rang through your entire living room. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days and haven’t shaved for that long as well. Your stubbly beard scratched against my cheek every time we kissed. I tapped my feet, clad in purple cashmere socks against the arm of the couch to the rhythm of your playing. Your aquamarine eyes shone in the light of your lava lamp. We hadn’t gotten out much, and our overgrown fingernails were scratching at the door. We wanted to get out, but the weather would never allow it.

i can't celebrate something that i don't believe in, but i like the gifts and i like the cookies. i like the trees, and i like the family. i just don't like the cult following and the obsession with santa.

rally

we started a revolution while listening to the beatles, and i pretended i liked their music, but really i think they're overrated. your favorite album is revolver, but they just make me want to put one to my head. we were at a youth rally against drugs and drinking, but the leaders got high in the bathrooms and OD'd on stage.

hover

i have a maternal figure who floats around in a spaceship. she hovers over my hometown and tries to probe my thoughts. i try to run away, but she flies faster than me. i hide in a bomb shelter, but she'll always find me.

some angels, upon entering, have their wings clipped. not many know why, but some have some crazy theories. they say, "those insects shouldn't be allowed to fly." but personally i think, those cynics are just jealous because they stay sleeping in sewers while the rest rest in clouds.

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writing since 2011 · 13 entries · 13 days shown up

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on this day 15 years ago

michelle wrote about stacks
“She places her CD's in stacks. The most important ones sit proudly on the top, and the ones she only keeps for nostalgia's sake lay at the bottom. Just like she had outgrown her Legos and her Barbie …”

the words michelle reaches for

wearmissednighttraintransportanothersizeagainstlighthalfhomedidncityfeetcandydrugs