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The healing properties of ice cream

“You’re allowed to have ice cream when you’re sick. Look, the doctor even put it on the list of foods you can eat.”

“No, the sugar will slow down my recovery.”

“Fine, but I’ve gone to all the trouble of buying all the ingredients and making you this milkshake. The least you can do is take a sip.”

“….my God, this is delicious.”

Announcement: A New Book (Publisher wanted)

I just finished my master’s thesis, a poetry book called Softly Glowing Exit Signs. It is split into three sections: Fire! Everybody! and Run! These are based on my past, world travels, and present.
Here is the Index:

Out From Under
Grease Fire
Her Mink Paw Coat
Ghost Town
Sylvia is OUR car
Dead Fish
Bits of Butterfly
Wedding Plans
Quick, think of something!

Down in Costa Rica
For How Stupid I was
If you smoke, you will die
Your Favorite Memory
The Chinese Smog
The Barbecue
The Buddha’s Lap
Bow Wow
I just got back

Décor and Decorum
Ghost Children
Passing on the Wanderlust
Put the Newspaper Down
My House
This House
Ghost Children
Another New Psychiatrist
Pros and Cons
Puppy Supplies
Desk Job
Day’s Ending

I think Lavinia

I think Lavinia is so pretty
because she is
with pointed Lucille ball
eyebrows and cheekbones
clear milky skin
lush eyelashes foresting
the most startling greens
inside her saucer plated irises
which remind me of a porcelain doll
I once cherished when I was very young

I think Lavinia’s pretty
because she is
but she is so fierce
I feel guilty
taking pleasure in it
she gives off an air
like she hopes her beauty
is not the first thing you notice
in fact, İ can imagine her yelling
it better fucking not be

I was so crazy once

I was so crazy once I mistook a man for my mother
who was so masculine he had black and silver whiskers
up past the ridges of his cheeks which were jagged
possibly from a plethora of addictions
and into the corner of his eyes
which he would use to squint at me
in a way which, to me, suggested interest
of some unearthly, maternal kind

I made a point of not knowing him
to ward off my notice of any other dissimilarities
between him and her so that he could serve as my placeholder
and decided instead to put a great deal of importance
on making myself up to his mysterious standards

and cried in such earnest once after failing him
that an old friend posed this question:
are you sure this is really about him
and not about your parents?

Another new psychiatrist

So it’s another appointment

and another brand new psychiatrist’s assessment

in which İ’ll be re-diagnosed in under twenty minutes

she says I’m too young to be on heart medication

but my problem is a hyperactive amygdala

putting stress on my organs

and causing my heart

to beat like a rabbit’s

she prescribes yoga

and deep breathing and I say

you know it’s funny

I used to work out every day

but lately I find I spend most of my time

lying in bed

she says, ah, so you’re depressed

and the fact that she didn’t phrase it as a question

makes me so incredibly sad

I am a terrible girlfriend

But the story doesn’t end there, does it?
as one sided stories from mentally unstable people
tend to not

I will not see him Thursday or Friday
as I have several appointments
in previous poems, I have been featured
as the patient with the anomaly
but rarely does it get said how hard I am trying

he says I am not a terrible girlfriend
because sometimes, I have sex with him
the kind of sex that is desperate and clutching
but that is not it

I am funny, and kind, and always pushing
and he says he only pretends to be annoyed
when I insist on kissing him awake some mornings
really, he is only playing a game
in which he does not love me
to make me try harder
and I am up for the challenge

so for him, it becomes a fun game
“I do not love you, I do not love you,”
“Really!? Well…please!?”
maybe the reader won’t believe us
but you’ll see when it all
just leads to more kissing
and then, more fun games