Collection of Poetry

East Hampton, NY

It was strictly a place for salty skin and sunburns 

For burning your feet on the blacktop and tearing them up on the gravel

for soreness in the legs from riding your mint green cruiser down backgrounds 

The distinct smell of the hydrangeas and freshly washed roofs 

It was strictly for the kids table and the lobster races 

For heaping bags of candy and seconds at the ice cream bar 

For dancing on your fathers feet and checkerboard dance floors

It was strictly for long driveways and convertible cars 

For crickets and mosquito bites 

Sometimes it was for whispering and gossip 

For critics and eye rollings 

Very rarely it was for yelling 

Because we wouldn't want to cause a scene, would we? 

It was more likely for passive aggression

As adults, the magic got lost 

You began to realize, it was strictly for your mother and your father would drive back north never to return to that zip code 

It was strictly for the inbred, the golf lovers 

the trophy wives and their ivy league kids 

As a child, it was strictly a place of innocence 

As we grew older, we understood why 

White powder
I started to shake at the age of 8 and then white powder appeared in my applesauce. My mom made it behind closed doors. I had little knowledge about the substances contaminating my veins. I noticed dizziness. My mom attributed that to low blood sugar. Loss of appetite and nausea could only mean stress. I was lethargic, groggy, irritated and still shaking. 

Blue pills were sprinkled on my ice cream. I gained 5 pounds because it was required to have a bowl after dinner. I was confused on why the sugar rush sent me to sleep. 

When I was of age to understand what was going on, I stopped it. This isn't a Gypsy Rose story. I wasn’t held against my will but my mom was concerned that the lack of sedation might prelude to an episode-and it did. 

When the fluorescent lights of a hospital bed harassed me, I’d realize I would black days, weeks, months without any help from substances. Marks would appear on my wrist which I tried to convince the doctors I didn't put there. 

I stopped caring who called as long as someone did. An empty voice to fill space and time. I smiled for the comfort of others to avoid their continuous looks of concern. Learned to control the shake with cardio, yoga or gloves. 

Question whether it would ever stop. If I was normal. If other people thought the way that I did. If I would ever stop sending late night emails to my psychiatrist and if a lover would ever notice I didn't want to be touched after. Was I capable of intimacy? 

Apple sauce is ruined for me. It reminded me of finished bottles of antidepressants that lay in the draws of my childhood bedroom mocking me.

My Dearest Leah,

I stood over your cold body whilst it went purple 

How dare you ask me to forgive you 

I wake up in tears on your birthday 

Yell your name only to be met with silence 

Fiddle with the bracelet you made me

I was swollen in the sight of medical wires 

Feet sweaty on snow covered pavement 

Veins pumping sedatives that you put there

I cannot write to you anymore

it destroys me