Imprints, Nostalgia & Thoughts About Pets


i want to hug you
to embrace you so completely
that no part of you is left unadmired or unloved
because each time i touch you, you become
a litttle bit more mine
and i want to do it, i want to touch you
again and again and again and again
so that the soft, fleshy inside of my forearms–
where the skin is translucent
where meandering little blue rivers stream recklessly–
are burned ad imprinted with your shape
so each and every person i touch and let touch will be a memory of
a healed broken wrist twanging like an achy country ghost town song
bruises that wail and belt out notes when you press down on them with your fingertips
little papercuts that whisper mournful infant cries
i want to remember you


the streets are dark on the westside. while we drive up and down the
familiar hills of a shared life. on both sides, the windows are rolled down
and under the backseat, Lucky pants in response to the humid New York heat,
my mouth and eyes water simultaneously, the barbecued smell of Labor Day Weekend
stinging my open childhood sores. with nostalgia.

an imaginary dream for a life i never had. a time before that rolling premonition of dread
in my stomach–where i hoped and prayed and did the opposite sometimes, in case the
universe went for reverse psychology, all in an effort to have you be there on time, to
not have to wait in the main office with a handful of forgotten children in matching
outcast second grade public school blue and yellow uniforms–i remember one day
you were so late i almost went home with a friend.

i remember one day i just wanted to walk home. just a few blocks down to escape the crowd of
parents who weren’t mine but i didn’t live there anymore. no one knew me anymore and i was
afraid. i say to myself, breath moist with the wishes of years past, I Want To Fly. under the
backseat Lucky whines and in response you tell us to shut up. the lights of the city are dim
tonight so it can’t be them that blinds me.
no the blurring technicolor is another delusionof a life i could lead
if only, if only
of a life i led
if only, if only

I Want To Fly, i say to myself but your eyes are on the road and while i hope and pray
and do the opposite too, in case the world is suceptible to reverse psychology, all in an effort
to fall into the sky away; you discuss the fastest way home
in spite of my silence.

I Want To Fly, i scream, but my wax wings burn in your presence and all the happy thoughts
i think can’t make me fly. so when we take the hills again i let go of the seat and imagine my
world painted blue
the sky so vast and true but i don’t live there anymore and no one knows me anymore and
i’m afraid. I Want To Fly, i cry.
if only, if only, if only.


you’re not looking for consistency or security, you’re not looking

for genuity or loyalty

you prefer curvy, cold bombshells ashamed of their breasts, noses
like broken mountains

concave foreheads with baby pudge at the waist

bipolarity to be found in every aspect of their lives

one day you’re God

the next, Lazarus as she bludgeons you with ‘Just Kiddings’ and resuscitates

you with similar interests and kept promises, the metaphorical cherry lipstick, if you will

…and in the recesses of your mind, you are only a man

superficial, idiot, grotesque in your need to hump a fire hydrant, DOG

but still somehow, I AM WRONG.

because if you change, i too must change

and if you’re lost, i too must never find my way and if you move, i too must move and if you win, i must lose and if you go, i must go because if i stay you too must go and IF YOU WIN, I MUST LOSE

sever the ties, clean, precise; jar it up, store away, pull me off the shelf when you so desire, MASTER.

because even if you are no longer mine, i must always be yours, to roll over, to command, squeeze, fold, and stand–i too must always be yours

Arielle Irizarry
Age 17, Grade 12
The High School of Fashion Industries
Silver Key

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