Author: Danielle Shorr

when he shows up at my door at 1:30 am, I do not hesitate
instead invite him in with tired arms,
make a conscious decision to sacrifice a night of sleep
to lie in the body of a boy on my too small twin sized bed
it was not made to hold another but
this heart was

his smile is summer in the marina and feels too much like the sunsets of
red and
purple and
pink

I want to bury myself in the sand next to him beneath
a sun too harsh for our pale skin to meet, one that
will leave us burnt and peeling and laughing at our human turned starfish bodies
I want to be surprised by the freezing that comes from
running into the ocean bare and unbound but
for now all we have are the sheets we are in
so we sink further into the memory foam

he mentions the softness of my lips as they trace his
I laugh and say
“I try”
what I really mean is
“I hope I am enough for you”
his limbs stretch across the length of the mattress, mine fold to fit his
our cohesion in this lack of space is a packed box and
I don’t mind the suffocation

I decide that this hour of holding before
his eyelids fall together for the remainder of the night
is worth the 10 hours I will spend not sleeping
his breath, heavy with exhaustion, overpowers the sound of my starving heart
beating for the music of his and
that’s completely fine

I am running out of ways to
tell him he is exactly
what I want

so I let him stay as an unspoken declaration of always welcome
I let him make my bed a home with the hopes that
in turn he will make one out of me

I could be sober with you
and I don’t mean that lightly
I could stay up the entire night with you holding me, forgetting all surroundings, distractions
I’d watch the anxiety roll off my body into your hands as you set it aside gently
You always seem to know how
to mold my discomfort into feeling safe
And I know I am

I could be happy with you
And I don’t often think that with others
But your body is a home I’d like to call my own
I can see a full row of sunflowers blooming on our energy only
We could grow gardens from the glow of our touching

I could be wide-awake with you
And I don’t say that frequently
I would suck every ounce of life out of my body to give to you
I’d stay up till morning watching the sunrise, listening to the back alley voices outside my window
I’d sacrifice an entire night of sleep just to hear you speak

I could listen to you for hours
Your words, your voice, your melodies
You are a song on repeat I know I could never stop liking
You’ve taken over my mind and it’s a problem I don’t mind having

I’m an addict for people, for hearts, for intimacy, for touch and
You are exactly what I could thrive on
I would empty a bottle of wine for lack of necessity
I could drown in your skin,
Feed off your lips,
Your laugh,

I am full on just being here
There is no need for substance
I could easily be drunk on you
and
only you

Palm of hand touching hair touching cheek touching
you for the first time
Lend me your hips like
a sweet favor
I will teach this body rhythm and
the music of us will echo into
the bricked walls, syncing together melodies of
contact, electrical wire sparking in this blood, your
heart beating its way out of chest,
the softness, a catalyst for fire, I almost
swear I can hear the air particles kissing,
speaking, they are singing,
closer, closer

“gravity, is working against me”

the dark means nothing without
a glow under covers and
wrinkled sheets holding us eager, silent learning,
don’t let go just yet,
we are falling,
falling
further into each other,

“just keep me where the light is.”

We played house quite nicely
The two of us in yours, pretending
it was ours

We acted out our definitions of home,
what we learned it meant growing up,
you without a mother or
father, me with both and too much love
I tried to imitate their arguments,
reckless yelling without purpose and
you, the quiet child in the corner didn’t
know how to fight back

I sat atop the kitchen counter and
you fed me bread and lies but
mostly lies
I took them with ease and
swallowed willingly,
smiling like they do in sitcoms
happy, always

We played house
taking care of this one like we knew how to
when really all we knew was how to
love carelessly
fuck occasionally and
walk the dog

You the husband, I the mistress
this was our home, unconventional but
intact
it was fun being lover but
only for so long

The key to playing house
is to never mention the future
everything is pretend and
there is no talk of forever or later and
all that really matters is right now

This is what we did
and oh, were we good at it

We played house quite nicely, or at least
until the roof caved in and
the walls cracked and
the floor sank
we then looked at the wreckage and
sighed

What a silly game for us to have played
But oh, we were good at it.

A guy who
only cares when
he’s inside

When will you learn
to stop opening the door
for people like
that?

You say,
“This is awkward.”
The way most people point out that it’s raining.
It’s obvious that yes,
It is.
Your hand is on the button and
your eyes are on the ground
and I’m waiting to go up while
you’re waiting to go down and
it’s funny.
I wonder why you find this so awkward
but I don’t ask.
Maybe it’s because you wear coward so well and I, lioness,
greet you well with grinning teeth and
confidence.
In this very moment, technology and
its failure have become
my new favorite
elephant in the room,
stomping about blindly,
pushing its trunk into the space between us,
I love this discomfort.
I love the tension thick as rope.
I love that you probably wish you could tie it around your neck right now.
I stare directly into you
because I love feeding the caged animal.
I am an intentional catalyst for your internal,
“Oh fuck.”
Is this what happens
when there is too much weakness
on one side for closure?
When the scales shift to the right
And the left falls completely?
Does it make you uneasy
that I still exist after you stopped talking to me?
bless this malfunctioning, how
I am grateful for the comedy
for these few minutes of entertainment
and your desperation hanging from your pockets,
I could see it clearly,
how awkward.

You are, almost
Tell me your first memory of happiness.

Maybe a swing set above wood chips or
collecting ladybugs in your pockets or
a perfectly cut sandwich you didn’t make
or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine
and sunscreen coating your skin under
a sky brighter than any future imaginable.
Pink frosting from cake dyes palms
into a canvas of sugary pigment
A popsicle melting down between
the webbing of eager fingers
Teeth are covered in chocolate and
face a mess and
all smiles,
it is funny how joy always seems
to be synonymous with
sweetness and
giggles and
the memory of being too young to remember anything fully.

19 is poison for a clock
it is reminder to wake up
after pretending to be
something you were not for too long
time is eating away the comfort
from your bones, I wonder
does candy still taste like candy
when it has grown stale?
when the shell has cracked and
all that remains is what’s inside,
is it still desirable then?
will people still want to know
what you feel like against their tongue
after you’ve already touched the ground?

The same texture but time
has made its evidence on you tangible
The juice once spilling from your hands
has become wine
The summer sparklers have become remnants of
cigarettes on your nail buds,
ashes of trying to forget,
you are no longer afraid of fireworks
the hairbrush holds another version of yourself,
a near stranger with similar freckles who
once insisted on only wearing dresses,
now you struggle just to get shoes on,
it was easier when someone did it all for you,
everything is, that way.
I don’t know when laughing became
a side effect instead of a soundtrack but
it still rings familiar, sometimes.

19 is more sour than lost
it is possible to know whereabouts with
a bitterness between your lips but
not all of your past is disintegrating
there is a love for saccharine that still remains,
more honey than cloying and
19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick
asking to be noticed but
it is ready to be uncovered
19 is golden
You are, almost.

Funny how a year can come and go so fast
I don’t know when last June became this one but it did, quickly.
I almost swore on our future
I almost did,
almost

This is another Sunday but in the present now
Time has shifted unrecognizable
I bet you wouldn’t notice me next to you on a sidewalk or at a streetlight or in the ocean drowning
I don’t think you remember the sound of my voice but
I still taste yours, humming

Maybe you think about me, maybe
Probably not, you probably don’t
Look at how far we didn’t make it
Look at how long we didn’t stay

Back again, summer and heat and unfortunate desire
I have come again in pieces
Full circle, your arms could still be around me
Full circle, they are not even close
Full circle, I still haven’t let go
But I’m coming around
I’m coming around
Still,
Still,
Still
I’m coming around,
I swear, I am.

Your hands
in places they don’t belong
I don’t mind at all.

You’re here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know.

An arm wrapped around me
I unravel it back to you
I can not call it my own.

Tonight my lips are stained with wine
And yours are stained with mine,
Both of ours are stained with guilt.

You taste like a lie I know
All too well.

I am not a bad person but
I have to be every time
we’re together.

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

How good does it feel
to wipe the shame into
desire?

When you’re gone
I don’t hold my breath in waiting
I would suffocate if I were to.

I miss you only on the nights when
I am alone and the days where you
don’t text back.

I ask if you even exist anymore and
you answer sometimes,
Do you need me?
Sometimes.

There is only lonely and whispering when it comes to us,
See you soon, we swear,
always.

Your hands
in places they don’t belong

You’re here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

Does your love know where you are tonight?

is crooning bird with
beehive nest built from soul
is sixty five years inside body of young girl
loves jazz and destructive boy
looks at him the way her voice does microphone
eyes are drawn black like cat’s and she
sings the way a tail curls along wood floor
graceful  effortless  confident

shaina maidel with
a gap between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who wears
star of David around her neck belts
songs she writes with scratching fingers against
ink covered arms
pretty girl loves heroin and crack pipe and liquor
has a crooked mouth but hums melodies
smooth as the heart is aching

pink ballet slippers stain red
from pricks between toes
bulimia makes a home in her habits
empties stomach after every meal
makes more room for wine and vodka and whisky with coke
stumbles across a stage she does not belong to while
the audience boos and mocks while
the paparazzi stalks and preys and while
the media criticizes and
a world that doesn’t quite understand does the same

we watch her disaster like
a car accident
unable to stop staring at the damage
we watch her downfall like
an avalanche in another city
it isn’t ours so we do nothing to save it

this disappearing act is not magic but
a side effect of fame unwanted
dad doesn’t understand that skin and
bones is foreshadow of death
says, baby, smile for the camera
baby, just do what you’re supposed to
baby, just finish the tour
suck every last ounce out of her like
the wringing of a towel
it is an easy thing for a girl to become
invisible when she wants to
enough

crooning bird falls from tree and
we watch with hands at our side
bodies tilted in confusion
what a shame, we say
there is depth but it is hiding under addiction
all we see is girl destroying herself under
the fluorescents we placed above her
what a waste, we say, shaking heads
we do nothing in response

my love,
you tore boundaries with your swollen hands
they said your honest was too loud
hair too big
voice too bold
they picked with curious fingers and
gap-tooth jew girl with
the audacity to break silence
ended up breaking too

shaina maidel with
a space between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who could never be a star became just that
burned into supernova
graceful  effortless  confident in her
descent back to
black

(For Amy Winehouse)