A Certain Type of Decisive

United States

Just your unfriendly neighborhood disaster, bringing you bi-weekly updates from the bottom of my own shoe!

Message to Readers

I can't see the keys after staring into your eyes so long, how can I write when all I see is what's left behind?

Forgotten Prayer

March 25, 2019

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5
I pray to the Patron Saint of Hot Cheetos left on the dirty pavement of the parking lot to a school you don't go to anymore.
Of sweat pants more sweat than pants.
Of chipped plastic diamonds on a purple string on the basketball court.

I pray to the pagan god of dead sunflowers, when it's too hot to snow, but thanksgiving is long gone. 
Of the dots left everywhere you look after a bright light.
Of dead batteries at the bottom of the drawer.

I pray to the guardian angel of forgotten things.
Of what's left behind after life.
Of us.

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  • March 25, 2019 - 9:09am (Now Viewing)

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3 Comments
  • Loser

    I could not get past "patron saint of hot cheetos" without laughing. Hopefully that was your intent.


    9 months ago
  • Dani A. Remlap

    jesus christ you're good


    over 1 year ago
  • asteria

    i. am. breathless. this is such a beautiful poem. it is delicately simple, yet so raw and intricate.

    "the pagan god of dead sunflowers," "dead batteries at the bottom of the drawer," "chipped plastic diamonds on a purple string." these lines are so reminiscent of a fragmented childhood, experiences long forgotten, events our brains deemed unnecessary and promptly threw away. i love it!! keep on writing :)


    over 1 year ago