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Saturday, May 16, 2015

26


Nobody gets me. 
It’s hard to say without thick eyeliner 
and an evanescence CD
but unless I actually write some of the bullshit down 
I will fall into an aisle of Hot Topic.  

it started with a number.

26.

it was going to be lucky. 
I was lucky 
admitted to a small program
26 classmates
26 friends
26 clovered lifeboats running on rabbits feet
it didn't add up

Admissions took in 29 my year
I dove outward
out pressing hot horseshoes across my neck
the Canadian - a unapologetic bitch like me
She called me up, down, her best friend
the Indian, soft like thread 
stitched wounds together with frizzy hair
the other Jewish girl liked my headbands 
said they were characteristic
I’ve worn them constantly since
braided my forehead with flowers
swinging hippie hips across my wardrobe
dancing through florals and fringe
The Christian asked too many questions
built a vault of secrets
I smudged insecurities between his cracks
too busy to detect
the Braille lining
silence shouting he was not a safe
The Tattooed was everything I wanted
I wanted to be her, 
wanted to live in her colorful skin
watching her ink galaxies into paper
inscribing each body had a universe inside it
The Boy Who Hated His Skin ate matches and wrote fire
The Ginger upheaved strings of sentences
The Pushover gave out sips of anesthesia
The Giant turned me inside out, 
let my blood taste oxygen
The Joker was serious
commanding me to swallow sea water
evaporate the words he didn't like on paper
One was from Los Angeles, so we lunched. 
Multiple times a day. 
I was honest again.
I was honest to everyone. 
handed out pieces they never gave back 
learned hanging out with someone does not make them your friend
it makes you a nibbled dress
a decision to wear out
outside or
out flesh and mind
donating used stories
The Flamboyant dropped out of college after one semester. 

28.

The Indian said 
Canadian and I were not bitching on the same side. 
we should go maple free
we should go away
out
out of the ground ceilings we knew
she changed me
Then best friends. 
Then her major.

27.

The Giant made me small. 
I fell into his pores, under his skin
he called me a contagious rash. 
then lifeboats fled
rowing into smaller streams with thick tides
I couldn't burrow through
but we were going to write, party, grow--
They hated my writing
mouths became shredders.
was it my fault for being paper thin?
They threw parties. 
I was not invited.
I was chopped down 
reduced to twigs
made for charring
The Tattooed chose the other Jewish girl, 
moisturized the Boy Who Hated his Skin.
the Christian stayed with the Canadian. 
comedy writers are only in it for the laugh
you don't fight when you can only throw punchlines
Los Angeles lunched without me 
Ginger died her hair. 
Pushover pushed back.
Drummer rolled his eyes. 
I did not leave my program
But my class was 
26.

Turns out some lifeboats ask you
To anchor yourself with apologies
buoyancy is not standardized
drowning called to me
begged for my blood 
but I ran towards a fresh vein
off shore to The Quiet Stranger 
a fresh jeaned shrub who grew on everyone. 
We walked the same path from separate directions. 
met at the middle.
she admitted they didn’t understand me
so refused to stand me at all
Yes I shot cannons
but love is fire
the breath of war

My lucky number never became 26.
It stayed 11.
I was born 11/28, my sister 11/11. 
one, doubled
one biopsy
one reflection for a freshly polished glass
I'm not playing Evanescence 
I’m jamming to (2002) Avril Lavigne. 
lonely beats
beating on
not beating up
pumping blood through flesh
floating through it's own stream
But why do you have to go and make things so complicated?

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Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at arielsob@usc.edu.
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!