Once upon a time
I was struck by lightning,
all of my veins were pulled
one by one through my skin
and out of my body
through the base of my skull.
They were used for jump ropes
to occupy those who could not stand
to watch the human body be dismantled
without the proper occasional distraction.
My teeth formed an orchestra,
chattering in beat to some minor chord.
My hands became fish
and swam soundlessly off of my wrists.
Not to be outdone,
my feet ran away from my body,
chasing after my fish hands.
They raced off into another dimension.
It was impossible to see who won,
just then my eyes rolled down
the silhouette of my body
like a gumball in one of those machines
where they spiral for a few moments
before reaching the bottom.
I went to scream but
my lips were on fire
and my tongue thrashed helplessly about
trying to put out the flames.
And that’s when I began to fall apart.
Every single part of my body
abandoned me.
My brain fashioned a shank
out of my skull and cut itself to freedom.
My temporal lobe stuck its tongue out
as they abandoned ship.
Only my heart stuck around,
beating louder and louder
to remind me it’s the only thing
to ever have complete faith in.
—Lucy Quin
Sometimes in the shower I
look
down at my hands and tell myself I’m going to be an entirely different person that day, as if it was as simple as washing yourself down the drain. Sometimes I look up at the shower head and remember a time when my mother coaxed me into getting showers by telling me water came out of the spigot because there was an elephant spraying water from its trunk on the other side of the wall.
I don’t remember time passing but all of the sudden my hands got so big. The days all seem to run together like the adjoining tracks of a train, and it’s only when I stop to notice the distance from point A to point B that I realize how much space has elapsed, how I’ll never again be quite small enough to hide behind a laundry basket and I’ll never be big enough to occupy the space in someone’s heart.
The water rolls awkwardly along my knuckles, the right one is scabbed because I get angry and a lot of the time words just won’t do. It’s just that sometimes skin and bones feel more like a prison than a home and to try to convey that to someone who doesn’t know how it feels to house an entire hurricane in their body is impossibly frustrating. It’s like trying to accurately describe a dream as it slips further and further away, only to be later recalled in bursts. It is a fear of mine, a time when people will remember me in bursts. But I am most frightened of a time when I will only be able to recollect my life in bursts.
down at my hands and tell myself I’m going to be an entirely different person that day, as if it was as simple as washing yourself down the drain. Sometimes I look up at the shower head and remember a time when my mother coaxed me into getting showers by telling me water came out of the spigot because there was an elephant spraying water from its trunk on the other side of the wall.
I don’t remember time passing but all of the sudden my hands got so big. The days all seem to run together like the adjoining tracks of a train, and it’s only when I stop to notice the distance from point A to point B that I realize how much space has elapsed, how I’ll never again be quite small enough to hide behind a laundry basket and I’ll never be big enough to occupy the space in someone’s heart.
The water rolls awkwardly along my knuckles, the right one is scabbed because I get angry and a lot of the time words just won’t do. It’s just that sometimes skin and bones feel more like a prison than a home and to try to convey that to someone who doesn’t know how it feels to house an entire hurricane in their body is impossibly frustrating. It’s like trying to accurately describe a dream as it slips further and further away, only to be later recalled in bursts. It is a fear of mine, a time when people will remember me in bursts. But I am most frightened of a time when I will only be able to recollect my life in bursts.
In the 2nd grade
my hair was so long
it would get caught
in the screws
on the back of
my chair.
Tiny pieces would be
ripped out and left behind,
I’d be sure to collect
them so no one would
walk off with parts of me.
And not much has changed,
except now I don’t get
to take my parts back,
people walk off with
bits of me before
I even realize they were
close enough to take
anything at all.
—Lucy Quin
I swear there is no feeling
quite
as comforting like the glow of the television from the window of the house down the street on a night when I cannot sleep. Sometimes I lay in bed trying to picture who is watching and why they also can’t get to sleep. I think of how they will never know how many nights they have been my only source of solace, how they’ve been the only means of consistency in my life when so many others have failed.
My mother always tells me I find comfort in the uncomfortable, that out of all of her children I am the only one that keeps her up at night worrying the most. Sometimes I think about who might be watching the television glowing from the window of my parent’s bedroom as my mother stays up thinking about all the other more suitable versions of myself she’d rather I grew up to become. I think about who they are or why they are awake staring at the flickering light of my parent’s television, and I can’t help but be comforted by the idea.
as comforting like the glow of the television from the window of the house down the street on a night when I cannot sleep. Sometimes I lay in bed trying to picture who is watching and why they also can’t get to sleep. I think of how they will never know how many nights they have been my only source of solace, how they’ve been the only means of consistency in my life when so many others have failed.
My mother always tells me I find comfort in the uncomfortable, that out of all of her children I am the only one that keeps her up at night worrying the most. Sometimes I think about who might be watching the television glowing from the window of my parent’s bedroom as my mother stays up thinking about all the other more suitable versions of myself she’d rather I grew up to become. I think about who they are or why they are awake staring at the flickering light of my parent’s television, and I can’t help but be comforted by the idea.
I watched a man run his hand up and down his girlfriend’s
spine like a keyboard to keep her warm as they waited for the
bus downtown, she smiled without looking at him and he knew it
so he pulled her close. And I thought about them hours later
– how I hoped they were good to each other and knew just
how lucky they were because there’s not enough of that
kind of love around anymore. —Lucy Quin
I swear I’ve written over a dozen times in my head
but the words never found my mouth. But that’s just like
me — inarticulate and constantly halfway out of your
life.
I meant to call but my fingers could never seem to find the courage. Instead, I kept them distracted in the hands of all the wrong people.
“Your eyes never quite look the same twice, and I’m scared for the time when I’ll look and no one will be behind them.”
I never knew what you meant until one night it was 3 A.M. and I caught sight of myself in the mirror and couldn’t tell where I had run off to.
I go to sleep one person and it feels like I’m an entirely different person when I wake up. And you just never understood. It’s so hard to hold on to people when you’re constantly losing yourself.
I meant to call but my fingers could never seem to find the courage. Instead, I kept them distracted in the hands of all the wrong people.
“Your eyes never quite look the same twice, and I’m scared for the time when I’ll look and no one will be behind them.”
I never knew what you meant until one night it was 3 A.M. and I caught sight of myself in the mirror and couldn’t tell where I had run off to.
I go to sleep one person and it feels like I’m an entirely different person when I wake up. And you just never understood. It’s so hard to hold on to people when you’re constantly losing yourself.
you
text
her,
she
texts
you three hours later, you text her four
hours later to compensate, she says she likes you but purposely
posts photos of herself cuddled up with some other dude so she
knows you see it. He tells you he misses you, you tell him you
miss him, he deletes you on all forms of social media then
disappears off the face of Earth never to be seen from again.
STOP IT. This s.hit is not
a game. Abandon ship. Stop f.ucking
around with people who aren’t worth your time because
that means you’re not focusing on the people who are.
You’re doing yourself a terrible injustice by letting
someone who isn’t worth a damn dictate your
feelings.
“
If
someone wants to be in your life, they will be. Constantly. Not
every now and then. Not sometimes on weekends. Not at 4am every
other Thursday when they’re bombed. Constantly. DO NOT
accept inconsistency as a form of some warped idea of compassion.
You chase drinks, after the bus if you miss it, your dog when he
makes a break for it, your hat on an exceedingly windy day
– YOU DO NOT CHASE HUMAN BEINGS IN ORDER FOR THEM TO PAY
ATTENTION TO YOU.—Lucy Quin
”
