Dear Nameless

Dear N,

To this day I don’t know what you think of me at all. We met under life-altering circumstances, for me at least. We didn’t start this dance until about a few months later. It lasts around a year, maybe less, I’ve lost count. They say those who have been traumatized have poor memories.

When I look back at the time I spent with you and all that we were, I’m left with more questions than answers and more pain than before. I was a kid, who really liked you. So much of my heart was poured into you, so many sleepless nights wondering if you liked me back. My hope was severely juvenile and my love was more on the side of lust, but that doesn’t matter now.

We never had a talk, a crescendo, something that made me feel like it was over, said, and done. One day we were the next day… I admit this is my fault. But I’m really only going to take responsibility for that. You really put me through hell. It’s been almost three years. You’ve popped in occasionally, come up in conversation, never lasting too long. It seems to be a theme of yours.

I truly hope you’re doing well. Whatever we were, are, at any given time, you’re still a human who deserves happiness and love. We just couldn’t give one another that. I don’t know whether you liked me or if you just didn’t want to be alone. I don’t know if a single thing you told me is true. And for a while, that really messed me up, but I forgive you. I have a life to live, as do you.

I could say so much more, ask the hard-hitting questions, but I don’t think that would do any good. It would kick the dust-up once more, and it has just now settled. I have found peace in writing this. I aired my grievances and I don’t have to go searching for a stamp! Score!

We’ll always have the summer of 2017.

-Courtney

2020

The country is burning

Brown skin a death sentence

Children locked in cages

No justice for the wronged

Fascists in power

Simple-minded individuals screaming about masks

 

And you ask me if I’m okay.

 

Citizens angry for all the wrong reasons

Racism bubbling over

Ignorance is a flavor they’re too comfortable with

Misinterpreting the bible

Highlighting history to justify their hatefulness

Know when to play the victim

Beliefs not their own

Hate in their bones

 

And you ask me if I’m okay.

 

In the middle of a pandemic, we fracture and crack

We argue over who is allowed to be murdered

You choose a job over another humans life

You purposefully choose not to save others

Masks are uncomfortable but you’re okay with murder

And you cling onto your hatred colored morals for dear life

 

And you ask me if I’m okay.

 

Recipe for Chaos

This is my grandmother’s recipe, so bear with me

1 tsp of sheer dumb luck

2 tbsp of a winning smile

1 and 1/2 tbsp nicotine addiction

1 cup of blatant disregard of those around him

2 cups unrelenting visions of grandeur

This recipe takes a while to perfect, so start it as soon as you can.

Once you begin, it will never end.

I Wish I Could Tell You

Alone in a world unfamiliar

Searching for family in a sea of strangers

Jane, her new name, doesn’t sound right in her mouth

Life churning and growing in her

Life in Korea still going, like she never left

8 siblings soon to greet her

4 children

7 grandchildren

Me

The granddaughter of an immigrant

Feeding me cloves of pickled garlic

To help me grow up to be beautiful

I wish I could tell you what your sacrifices would yield

That they were worth it

It isn’t my place to say though

For now it is just

Jane

Introduction 2020

Hello all! I’m Courtney. I’m 20 years old and have been writing since I could pick up a pen. This is my second time participating in the poetry marathon and I’m super excited. I’m definitely coming in more prepared than I was last year, having an alarm for every hour and designated snack times. I think this is a wonderful exercise and cannot wait to come out of it with 24 new pieces of writing. I’m hoping to submit some pieces to the anthology this year and fulfilling my dream of being a published author.

I Want to Break Free

With the words of Mercury and Bowie, how were we supposed to stay tame?

Bigger hair, parties, dreams.

Drugs and drugs and drugs galore.

Dancing until our feet take control and walk us home themselves.

Age of no regret, anything goes.

Baby Girl

Stuck in the middle of things,

Overhearing it,

I just want to be a kid.

Ventura

The air is still not right.

Grass on the hills peak out slowly, then boom. 

Or should I say, bloom?

Fire renews.

Heavy rains uncover.

Crispy foundation, a ghost of a house lost.

Still, the scent of fire sends me into a nervous frenzy.

Smoke and embers make me nauseous.

Memories of driving into the chaos to rescue animals.

Picking up friends whose homes they will never see again.

Spending hours, days even, sorting through donations.

But the hills are green.

The fire is out.

A man named Thomas will never hurt us again.

Think About It

In high school, I played Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web.

I didn’t like spiders at all, they gave me the heeby-jeebies.

Still, I was grateful for the role.

It was small, simple, a kid’s play.

An hours worth of short scenes retelling a beloved children’s story.

That being said, something magical happened.

It was magical in the way that you don’t realize it happened until you look back on it.

I was a scared 17-year-old, trying to navigate the slippery slope of adolescents.

Holding on to my childhood as the sands of times drained in my hourglass.

And here I am playing a stupid spider that dies.

But there was something in the way the kids rushed up to me after the show.

Something in the way that I bowed alongside my humble pig.

Something in the way I could feel my onstage demise caused tears to fall.

I felt important.

And you can get your goosey bottom that I will never kill another spider again.