Tag: relationships

Why I hate when you smoke, a poem

How I hate when you smoke

Revised with a new title and everything. A special thanks to Mary Brown.


On the rare occasion I want to
stand outside with you
while you hold and light, inhale and exhale in puffs    puffs     puffs,
I stand close to you.
I breathe out slow, like you do.
I pretend the cold air’s my secondhand smoke,
while I inhale yours. 

I’d never smoke.
D.A.R.E. taught me a thing or two about the tar, the nicotine
that addicts you, traps you. I wouldn’t even
dare try to light one. (You’ve seen me with one of those things.
I nearly burn my finger off letting
the butane out of its yellow, plastic trap.)
So most of the time I stay inside
while you find a friend to smoke with.

You ask me what’s wrong.
You think it’s the cigarette itself.
“I only smoke one a day, maybe less.”
I tell you I don’t care, and mean it.
Those surgeon general jokes I make are only meant for laughs.
Because the truth is I think smoking’s hot.
You’re like Gatsby.

It’s the way you hold it,
the way your big hand handles something so small –
so delicate, so intimate.
Put to your mouth like a kiss.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Losing, a poem

Losing
Sometimes I think I’m a sadist.
                I want change, even if
                                it means losing blood
                                                                                or sanity,
                even if it means
                taking my things back and
                                                leaving or
                telling you how I really feel—
                because that’s how I really feel
                (right now, anyway)—and leaving—leaving—
                                leaving.

–

Emily Dickinson is known for using dashes in her poetry. I like Poe’s use better. I’ve been spending some time with Poe (with his poetry, not his ghost…), which is how this poem came into being.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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God, relationships, and an overuse of the word ‘suck’

Alright. Well. Here’s the deal:

My favorite image of God is that of the Great Romancer – my husband. As a romantic, I have viewed Him this way even as a young girl. But, as we all know, relationships are tough. They even suck at times.

Friendships suck. Boyfriend-girlfriend relationships suck. Marriages suck. They’re hard sometimes, and they really, really suck.

Anyway, I was thinking about God as my Husband today, and it kind of pissed me off.

I’m coming out of this really low spiritual valley. Translation: I’ve felt far from God; I’ve felt far from the Church; I’ve felt like I’ve been asleep the whole time. I’m finally getting back to where I know I should be. I let God off the couch; I’m letting him back in bed. But I feel like it’s not enough.

Why? Well, a relationship is never one-sided. Sometimes I feel like my relationships with others are easier than my relationship with God because with them, I can tell if they’re putting in effort. I can see them trying. I can see someone keep his mouth shut when he usually yells. I can see her clean up her side of the room.

But God? Geez, I can’t tell if He’s even trying.

I pray to Him. I read about Him. I sing to Him. I tell Him everything I’m feeling — and still nothing. God, do you even hear me?

I feel like I’m holding up my end of the deal, but He is not.

I say, “God, I think we need to work through this.” And what is He doing? He says He agrees, but does nothing.

It’s funny because yesterday at church I filled out a spiritual inventory. It’s supposed to tell me how I’m doing spiritually. I keep thinking about my results. It sure looks like I’m a Christian. It sure looks like I’m doing all the right things. But it’s going to say that I’m not doing enough. It’s going to say that I’m acting like a baby Christian all over again.

I read my Bible. I pray. I fast. I go to church.

That inventory is going to say that I’m doing alright, but I need to tithe and help out at the church. It’s going to tell me that my faith isn’t very deep — it’s surface level — and they’re going to invite me to go deeper. They’re going to tell me to get into a small group or find a mentor or go through some membership class.

They’re going to think of me as a little kid, someone who hasn’t seen the rough side of faith — as if this is the first faith crisis I’ve seen.

Well, it isn’t.

I’ve been “married” to God for some time now. We’ve had some good times and some bad times. We aren’t newlyweds. We’re not in the honeymoon phase.

I’m doing everything I know how to do to get out of this phase.
But still it feels like God’s not holding up His end of the deal.

O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
Ps. 139:1-4, NLT

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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I love you.

I call this a prose poem. 
I also call it an apology.
–
I love you.
Okay, now say it with more feeling.
I love you?
Better, but with more passion this time.
I love you?
Close, but it’s missing something. Say my name.
I love you, Caitlyn.
Say it slower though, like you mean it.
I loooovvee yooo—
Not that slow!
I…love…you…Caitlyn.
Better, but it’s still not right. Hmm. Call me something else—call me “babe.”
I love you, Babe.
Try “baby.”
I love you, Baby.
Maybe it’s what you’re wearing. Can you put something else on?
[In a hat.] I love you.
Now you look ridiculous. Say it to me over dinner tonight.
[Over dinner tonight.] I love you.
What if you were holding a ring?
[Holding a ring.] I love you.
God, that’s still not right. Someone get this guy a baby!
[With a child.] I love you.
Hmm. Take me on vacation; tell me then.
[Clinking glasses.] I love you.
Now say it while you kiss me!

Mm mmuvf mooph.

Are you trying at all?
I LOVE YOU!
You don’t have to shout it! Geez.
. . .  
You don’t love me at all, do you?
Bitch.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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"Let’s break up," a poem

VII.
“Let’s break up,” she said
just to rile him up.
She liked the way
his eyes turned glossy.
If she were lucky
a tear would ski down
his cheek
dodging flags and trees
called freckles
and she could catch it
on its final turn
on a lower peak
before the big finale
(all for dramatic effect).

She folded her arms,
took a step back, and
waited. “Well?”

“Okay,” he replied.
“I never liked you much
anyway.”

–

(It’s fiction, geez.)

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Finals interlude

Okay, so I haven’t been inspired to write at all. I’m just trying to get everything finished: finals, classes, papers, projects, etc.

So here’s a poem I wrote for creative writing this semester. It’s about — guess who?

VI.
On his windowsill he keeps
dead insects in alcohol
in glass vials. Dragonflies
and moths with motionless wings
sit still, keeping guard. Below,
he sits on his couch not a
bed—he doesn’t own one. He
sleeps hard on the floor alone.

On his couch, behind a closed
door, he thinks and stares at
the cardboard beer box he cut
and flattened into décor
above his closet. The rest
of the wall: bare, beige, and bland,
except for a lithograph
of Emily Dickinson,
plucked from a library book.

In the corner: his altar.
Three guitars—an acoustic,
electric, and bass—lean up
against his vintage, baby-
blue, nineteen-seventies amp.
A one-millimeter pick
sits and waits for him to play.
When he does play, it’s with shut
eyes. Concentrating, he jams.

With knock-knock-knock on the door,
a young woman walks into
the bachelor’s dead-bug, bed-less
hub—his pad. He stands up and
hugs her, smells her hair, kisses
her neck near her collar bone.
He says, “I love you, pumpkin.”

Deep, pleasant sigh.

Lauren

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Unsaid

Some things are better left unsaid.

V.
“Talk to me,” he says,
caressing her hand
and fondling the wrinkles
of her numb fingers.
She says, “I’m fine.” Not
that he asked.
They walk with naked
stares into the night.
She pulls out
her hand from his hand
and shoves it into her pocket.
“Baby, come on. What
gives?”
She thinks
of a better lie to tell,
but she can’t. So she says
the same thing again
only slower, harder.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Future/Present poem

I bought an e.e. cummings poetry book: this is what resulted. (Okay, this hardly exemplifies my admiration for cummings, but I did split a word between two lines.)

Also, it’s fiction. Geez.

Also, also: three syllable lines!!

IV.
Dear future
husband, I
am sorry
but I have
(in retro-
spect) cheated
on you. Love,
forgive me
because I
didn’t know
you yet and
I thought you
wouldn’t mind
if I kissed
a man who
isn’t you
and let him
touch my breasts.

Dear present
wife, it’s fine.
I love you
anyway.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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And eat it too.

He baked you a cake?
Yeah. Isn’t it great? I’ll never want to finish eating it.
He obviously likes you.
Well, I thought so. Before, I mean, when he gave me the cake. But I know he doesn’t.
Caitlyn, he baked you a cake for crying out loud. How could he not like you?
He’s just home-broken. House-broken. Whatever you call it. He bakes.
No guy bakes for a girl he’s just friends with.
This guy does.
I don’t believe it.
Oh, believe it. You should’ve been there when I met him.
Tell me.
We were at McConn.
Together?
No, no. I was in line, and he was in front of me.
Did you say hi?
Not right away. I just kind of stared.
At what?
His hair.
His hair?
He has really nice hair. He usually covers it with that silly hat.
But underneath it?
Really … great … hair.
[pause.]
So then you said hi?
No, I touched his hair.
You didn’t?
I did. And you know what? It’s soft. Just like you’d expect it to be.
You’re joking, right? You just went up and touched his hair.
I wish. I asked first.
That’s a little better.
I said, “You have really great hair. Can I touch it?”
Oh, Caitlyn, that’s hilarious! What did he do?
He leaned over and let me touch it.
Aww.
The rest is history.
Then he likes you?
Not exactly.
You just said the rest was history, like it’s the end of the story. So it’s not?
Well, that was a month ago. So much has happened.
Like what?
The date.
You went on a date with him?
Sort of.
Tell me!
It was nothing. We just watched a movie at his apartment.
Alone?
Well, yeah alone. It was a date … I think.
You mean you don’t know?
It seemed like a date. He flirted.
Yeah?
And he walked me back to campus.
Did he try to hold your hand?
No.
Then it wasn’t a date.
He could be a prude.
Yeah, Caitlyn, get real. Did he know that you liked him? On the date, I mean.
Oh yeah, it was pretty clear. Lots of signals.
But he didn’t hold your hand?
Nope.
Then he doesn’t like you.
I told you.
But there’s more, isn’t there?
Well, that happened two weeks ago, so yeah there’s more.
What next?
He called me.
He didn’t!
The next day. He called me just to talk.
Oh, guys never do that.
They don’t.
Surely he must like you.
I thought he did. When he called me, I was sure of it.
Then what changed?

Well, he gave me the cake.

Right.

He gave me the cake Thursday, then yesterday we talked. We DTR’d.

Defined the relationship. Got it.
I told him I liked him. I told him I liked his hair and his smile and the way he says his vowels.
Then how’d he respond? What’d he say?
He said, “Huh.” He just brushed it off, like it was nothing.
That doesn’t mean anything.
Of course it does. It means everything.
[pause.]
So are you sad?
Kind of.
What’re you going to do with the cake?
Eat it, I guess.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Life updates, August 2010

I haven’t blogged to just blog in a while. I’ve written a lot about PLC; I’ve written a few creative pieces, but I haven’t just blogged.

Granted, most of the time I blog I have some muse to inspire me. I’m muse-less. I’m reading an essay by Ray Bradbury about “feeding and caring for your Muse,” but it hasn’t helped. I’ll be back to school soon and will have plenty to write about. So, no worries. (Were you worried?)

But, stuff has been going on, so I’ll update you.

Updates:

1. I’m in America. Yes, I’m adjusting well. I’ve spent 20 years and two months in America; two months away isn’t going to do much difference. I wish it did, sort of. I wish I viewed my life completely differently (but for the better) now that I’m home. I wish I was more thankful for my freedoms. I wish I spent my money on the children in Iraq and not on Old Crown coffee.

2. I have a boyfriend. For those of you who don’t know the story, Nate and I started talking when I was in Iraq – the first week I was there, actually. We had a few classes together at IWU. (Fun fact: one of my first memories of Nate was when he beat me in Scrabble. Bah!) We’re “official” now, and have been for 3 1/2 weeks.

3. I’m going back to IWU soon. I don’t know the exact date, but I’m heading back early for Sojourn workshops. I am the managing editor this year (second in charge, I guess), so I get to plan said workshops. It’s kind of fun. But also extremely stressful and hectic and frustrating.

4. I have a million half-read books on my bedside table. I started reading a few books in Iraq and in transit (Jayber Crow, Teaching a Stone to Talk) and started a few more now that I’m home (The Zen in the Art of Writing, The Copy-Editing and Headline Handbook), but I’ve only finished a few this summer. I’m disappointed in myself. Last summer, 19 books. This summer, 3.

5. I was in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette this morning. I was interviewed about my internship. You should read it, then feel led to donate to PLC and #RemedyMission.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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