IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNY
CARMEN SANTANA
I Need to Get Out More I haven’t left my house in a while All the interactions I have are with my thought I sleep with my thoughts Have breakfast with my thoughts Skip lunch with my thoughts And stare at dinner with my thoughts I hear my thoughts I have conversations with my thoughts I need to get out more Because I keep writing about the same goddamn thing: My thoughts that have been confined Inside four walls For long enough for them to fester And rot And infect every inch of me
Hard Boiled Eggs The smell of whiskey in your breath reminded me of my father His son stood on top of the stairs Our eyes met I felt embarrassed The look in the child’s eyes is still very clear. The antique glass bottles were lined up so perfectly And yet the house still felt so broken I could see the overflowing love he had for his son And he—he was just a kid. The kids tucked in. the father came downstairs. While the children slept We smoked in the furnace room It left the entire house reeking. In the morning the father offered to get doughnuts I said “no thank you” and left. He made his sons hard boiled eggs.
Single Serving I’m stuck in a life of single servings. Single serving friends, Single serving homes, Single serving microwavable meals, Single serving dresses, Single serving nights. Done with one and on to the next. Disposable. No trace, no footprint Just my lipstick on your coffee cup And my single serving perfume that lingers Just for a little after I leave.
Home I’m neither here nor there I don’t belong there anymore But I don’t really feel at home here either I thought when I went back to the salty air and sticky wind I would feel at home again But I didn’t Things had changed just enough where I still recognized them But they didn’t feel familiar anyone The walls yellowed and I wasn’t there to watch them as they did The ocean turned darker and I wasn’t there to try to lighten its mood The girl from three apartments downed moved I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye I don’t know what it’s like to feel at home Maybe I never really had a home Maybe I’ve always had a nomadic heart Always wandering in search of a home
Diet Coke and Cherry Lifesavers Twizzlers and Dr. Pepper And your cupid bow lips. I wish you would have kissed me when you said you wanted to. Sour gummy worms and coffee ice cream Black coffee and fried rice. That’s what the memories of you taste like to me.
9:24 pm It’s 9:24 pm And my thoughts are dead Maybe starring at the computer screen for too long Killed them. Or maybe it’s the anger that filled me up all the way leaving no more room for my thoughts drowned them. Its 9:36 pm And I have a lot to do But I lay in bed instead Dead like my thoughts
Tired I am not feeling well I’ve realized. I’m angry. I never used to feel angry But now that’s all I feel, Anger, I am angry because My father is an asshole. I’m angry because My mom cries at night. I am angry because my brother Is now depressed, Smokes cigarettes, And buys cocaine. I am angry because I can’t Be angry. I can’t scream. I can’t punch the wall Repeatedly Until My Knuckles Bleed.
I Am The Girl You Bring Home To Your Parents Because I wear pretty lace dresses and nude flats and have manners Because I don’t wear too much makeup I am the girl you bring home to your parents Because I am quiet but I can maintain pleasant small talk I am the girl you bring home to your parents Because I haven’t gone to many parties And my nails are always painted But I am not actually the girl you want You want a girl who gets drunk and dances on tables A girl who puts her feet on your dashboard during long car rides A girl full of conflict and excitement You want a girl that has a lot to say And knows how to fuck (Because she’s had experience) Who wears short shorts and tight dresses And nothing but your button down shirt in the morning And I am simply not that girl I am the girl you bring home to your parents
Porcelain My heart sinks every time you ask me if you can ask me a question. “Are you happy with me?” you’ll ask I feel like one of these days ill finally answer: No. And it might not even be because I am unhappy But because I know that would be your answer if you were being honest But I know you won’t admit it Because you fear that I will break But I am not made out of porcelain. I don’t break that easy. I am made out of flesh and bones and I have fallen out of trees And not broken a bone. If you tell me you are not happy with me I won’t break. I am not chains that hold you back I am not venomous Or parasitic And I am not porcelain. I don’t break that easy.
A Letter from a Highschool Graduate The next person to ask me about my plans for next year Is going to wake up with a missing head I have no clue what my fucking plans for next year are Shit, I don’t even know if I’ll make it to next year Is that what you wanted to hear? That I keep tally of the times I’ve wanted to kill myself on my arm That I am too busy writing suicide noted to write college essays That I puke up every meal because it feels like I just consumed poison That I keep scratching the back of my throat until my stomach is empty And all that is coming out is blood Blood and bile. And no matter how much I vomit There is still poison inside me Because in the end, it turns out, my thoughts were the poison all along And you can’t puke up thoughts into a toilet bowl And you can’t flush the toilet And get rid of all the shit in your life Is that what you wanted to hear? Because that’s what I am telling you I’m rotting from the inside out I’ve been broken one too many times to heal back the right way. And that isn’t beautiful And it doesn’t make me stronger And don’t pretend it’s admirable It just means that when you look at me My eyes will look slightly glazed over from all the drugs I’m on And when you have a conversation with me you will feel uneasy Because you are talking to someone who is hollow Someone who emptied herself out in a toilet bowl. What I’m going to be doing isn’t going to be much And I know that So please don’t ask me what I’m doing next year I’m doing the best that I can
I’m Bleeding to Death We are all bleeding to death really, if you think about it Given some of us are bleeding at a faster pace than others But we are all bleeding to death Our whole lives we are bleeding We bite our cheek and spit the blood in the sink We fall of our bikes and scrape our knees and get blood in our jeans We get punched in the face or just fall on our face and get a bloody nose Or if you are anything like me: You run face first into a glass window and cut your lip and on the way through you leave your blood behind on shards of glass we do that you know, leave little bits of ourselves behind on dollar bills, on borrowed t-shirts , on sidewalks. we’re bleeding to death And I feel like no one else can see the blood pooling around me And I don’t want to be drowning in a pool of blood no one can see
Addiction My brother snorts cocaine now His nails are becoming concave At 5’10 he weighs 100 pounds I feel like I would snap him if I held him but all I want to do Is hold him. Clean his wounds and feed him soup Make a cast for his broken heart I know casts are made for bones that are broken But not everything that breaks in a human body Can be so neatly held in place until it heals in a cast
Whiskey My father drinks whiskey Always drinks whiskey My childhood tasted like whiskey The first time I got drunk on whisky It felt like I was getting drunk off my childhood
Cracked Cracked glass Cracked hands Cracked sidewalks Cracked hopes There is a crack on my wall And now one in my skull
The Damn Dog Keeps Staring At Me (a hauiku trio)
While I just sit here dogs glassy eyes stare at me the damn thing wont blink
while I just sit here I keep thinking of you get out of my skin
while I just sit here I’m going insane just get me out of this cage
A Sestina to All The Motherfuckers, especially you To all you manufactured, mass produced pieces of shit Ya’lls can suck my dick I AM SO SICK OF ALL OF YOU Day after day your same goddamn faces I am so happy I won’t need to see your stupid faces ever again THANK THE LORD JESUS CHRIST THANK THE LORD JESUS CHRIST I’ll finally be able to get away from you pieces of shit! Your hollow plastic hearts suck the life out of me again and again And you, ESPECIALLY YOU, are a little dick I praise the lord and kiss his feet because I’ll finally get rid of you. Ill finally get you out of my face Just wipe you off my face. I’ll get rid of you and your little manufactured, mass produced friends, but especially you. You are one of a kind, I don’t know how you manage to keep fucking me up AGAIN AND AGAIN Like congrants, I don’t know you do it. You keep handing me a platter of bullshit You probably spewed out of your dic—I mean mouth Does the shit ever stop spewing out?—like jesus FUCKING Christ but THANK THE LORD JESUS CHRIST This hell hole will come to an end, ill finally see the light again I AM SO SICK OF THIS SHIT Of all the synthetic nicenesses stapled onto your face So over processed no one will buy, not even you You are such a little dick Like honest to lord jesus Christ I am THIS close from spooning my eyes out of my face I swear if I have to see any of you again… Just please don’t open your mouth For my sanity and for yours Cause I swear to god I will flip tables and shit If you say ONE more dick comment, you little dick Learn your place for me, please, little dick And sit your ass down or I will sit your ass down again I’ll get up all on your face And out of you I will scare the living shit Don’t tempt me, I swear to jesus Christ That I am not messing with you One last kind message to you, to show all my gratitude for you: Go suck a big fat dick.
Ode to the Springy Thing at the Bottom of my Door Little springy thing at the bottom of my door I dont know your name. I’m really sorry about that. I really should look it up maybe google it, or something. because without you doors would be slamming against eachother loud bangs would resonate seeming as if the wall and door are in dispute and besides what the hell would my cat play with since apperently her toys arent good enough but you are so little springy thing at the bottom of my door... thank you thank you so mcuh.
Dripping The clock has hands and they keep running And I think how hard it would be to run on my hands It doesn’t seem time efficient Yet that’s how we measure time But the hands on the clock keep running The faucet in the sink keeps dripping And my mother keeps crying
Get Me Out of this Cage I feel like I am putting a whole lot of effort for getting no where I am chasing my tail and going in circles Circles In circles And circles All day A whole lot of effort for a whole lot of nothing. Get me out of this cage
And I Carried a Suicide Note in My Pocket Laying with my skull pressed against the cold tracks I could feel the vibrations Turn to rumbles Turn to shaking And then it all stopped. It all stopped.
Heaven I was laying in bed one night and as usual it was getting late and I was still awake. This is my favorite time of the day sometimes, other times it’s just hell but this day was one of the better days, everything was quiet, still, calm I was alone with my thoughts and it. I could do what I like doing and let my mind think like it does at this time of the day I started thinking about crosses and about the rosary and my mother and the smell of rose petals after they have been left out in the sun to dry. I thought about the bougainvillea tree I used to climb when I was young and wore light blue gingham dresses like Dorothy. I thought about how the bougainvillea tree smelled like when I hid in all of its flowers. It felt cool, refreshing. Like going outside after it rains. Up there I felt alone with my thoughts. The little tiny white flowers inside the petals were ferries and I made friends with them. Told them about my day. I thought about the feeling of dirty feet in leather sandals and how the fountain didn’t work anymore but we kept goldfish in it. I thought about how the water smelled like coins and how it felt like to dip my fingers in it. How the water was always cold even if the sun wasn’t and how the goldfish nibbled at my fingers. I thought about how it rained. How the rain didn’t start with a trickle, it just started raining. The raindrops sounding like liquid stones when they hit the glass. Satisfying. Then it went back to being sunny again. I thought about how happy it made me to go outside the second it stopped raining. And how the streets looked like rivers and how the sky looked so blue and how it felt. Cool, refreshing, quiet. I thought about the convent in Zapopan and how the nuns would sneak me in, clean the dirt of my shins, face, hands then give me cookies and rompope. How the convent’s tile floors sounded under my sandals and how the rosaries tied to Madre Esperanza’s belt sounded when they swished as her hips swayed when she walked. I cried that night because I felt so much love and I felt immensely lucky for having those memories. It remind ed me that somewhere inside my physical body, I’m still there. I fell asleep thinking about crosses and the rosary and my mother and the smell of rose petals after they have been left out in the sun to dry. I got even luckier when I got to dream about all of it that night. I don’t know what happens after I die but if I got to choose my afterlife I want to keep dreaming the dream I dreamt that night because it surely felt like heaven.
The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight “What happened to the American dream? Here’s the punch line: You’re looking at it” The curtain closes The show was over The comedian took a bow The audience clapped But no one laughed They didn’t get the joke That their lives That everything It’s all a fucking joke.
Life in the end is really just a bad joke we should atleast get a good laugh out of it