RILL TALK

I'VE BEEN LYING TO YOU FOR SIX MONTHS

--Things You Should Know But Probably Don't--

You should probably know already that I love Nutella.

I respect you enough to remind  you that I give in to wonder and am easily impressed and I'm always jealous of something that I don't have authority to be jealous of. I lose all reason in the face of beauty and marvel at anything that proves there is a God. I would hike the tallest mountain just to see the view and become an astronaut just to see the world.

You should touch my fingers and hair because I need connections and reassurance and contact. I need a
physical representation to satisfy my busy mind. You should know that one brush against me can do more than any words ever did.

You should learn how to play the violin  because you should know that the violin gets me. The violin reaches across my throat and holds me, pinned to the ground with nowhere to go. It hypnotizes me and erases me completely. 

I don't even play it.

You should smile because you would know that I hate doing what everyone else is doing but I refuse to go to a party alone.

You should be scared because you probably know (or will find out) how emotional I am.

I'm a girl.

That isn't why I'm emotional. I take everything very seriously and cry over spilled milk. I love you, but I don't know if you love me so I might hate you. I get lost in movies and still can't watch Jurassic Park because I get nightmares for weeks. I'm impulsive and should have never been allowed to text in the first place.

You should also most likely bring me Nutella when things like this happen.

You should know that I'm 13th in the Lone Peak Class of 2013, and that's pretty cool, cause 13 and '13.

You should know the name of my other blog and read it when I'm not watching.

You should stare at me because you would know that I only pretend that it makes me feel uncomfortable, your eyes on me. You should know how much I love faces. Faces speak when speechless and in their eyes I see a different color fire in each pupil. The rings under the all-seeing globes hang limp and unnoticed but I see them. You should know that I love to watch the corners of your mouth twitch with every new thought and perception.

Never forget how much I love writing words. How much I hate writing things like this and that when I write about myself it just isn't going to be good writing, okay? 

You should absolutely know that there is no way I would ever read this as a slam poem and that I am terrified to do that. You should also know that I hardly ever get nervous and I've only blushed once.

You should know that I eat turkey pepperoni and craisins and you should know about my dog. You should know that I hate mexican food and that I hate group projects. You should always remember when my birthday is, which by the way is July 6th, and you should get me presents even when I don't get you one. You should take me camping and bring the bug spray because I always forget it, and you should bring your guitar so that we could sing songs around the campfire. You definitely should not force me to go to institute. You should clap when I do a flip on the trampoline because you should know it took me eight years to figure it out. You deserve to know that you should keep your ringer volume loud on your cell phone at night so you can be awake when I call you in the middle of an anxiety attack. You should catch the spiders in my room and never tease me about it. You should write valentines with me. Or to me. You should know that I hate sitting in the back but for some reason I'm sitting there because I sit where the teacher puts me. You should know that I really didn't want to be a bucket list item. (I became your bucket list item)

You should know that I hate the name Alicia but love the name Alice and I wish I could be Alice. Alice the brave, Alice the wonderful, Alice the wanderer. I'm attached to Alice just like I've been attached to every boy who said I was beautiful and every dog that ever licked my hand. Can I be Alice in my dreams? Maybe then I can walk the wet, shining streets of Paris and throw my hands out and call this place her home, where she'll never leave and always welcome the girl who once used her name to impress people.

Remember me, 

Forget me,

Tear me to pieces.
I'm sorry for lying.

Tempt me.

Kalli Paige

Unfinished Sentences

Really, I don't think that you are going to

It is just so fantastic that you decided

The cherries on the veranda are really

Coffee cake and coffee in the

I'm afraid you don't have long until

Can't we do anything for his

I think I'm in love with

Your nose is touching my ear and I'm

Can you get a book called

You always reminded me of

He would be so perfect if

Honestly I don't remember the

I seriously can't finish the

I regret that I

Only two more

You are

I love

I will

Feel

I Remember

I'm sure it was intermingled with a dream, the sensation of a touch. I have an active imagination and I'm sure
I remember more than what actually happened. I remember knots in the string I was pulling on and frayed ends of a rope. The sand under my toes was full of shells that seemed to disappear when I searched for them and footprints in the sand came from seals marooned on the shore. I breathed in sea salt that poisoned my reality and I remember the boy who never glanced at me. My joints throbbed with the burden of waves hitting limp limbs and I collapsed, becoming a meal for the always starving jaws of the waves.


The tears run down my face but I don't remember the dream.


I told everyone that night but I don't remember the kiss.


Of course the phone rang again and again. I didn't want to answer it. My second grade self cowered at the phone that lit up every five minutes. Orange light, orange light. I turned the ringer off but it just kept ringing and I couldn't do anything but watch the caller ID on the screen. I don't even remember if it ever stopped.


I remember staring at letters on the billboard and wrinkling my forehead to make out the scribbles that seemed to form letters. The incompetency I felt. The permanent wrinkles remind me, the scar on my eyelid reminds me. I look at my face and I remember.


I remember your fingers interlaced with mine as we innocently swung them down the street. Whenever I crush a soda can I remember the embellishment on your heel that you wore down the road. You asked me if I took choir and I remember you considering it. Maybe it was because of me. I remember the yearbook and potential marriage offers made in childish games. I remember the fear and I remember the absolute resolution in which you spoke. I can't remember what I was afraid of, and I don't remember your face.


I stared at you through the screen and pushed you away faster than you had crept up on me.

Symbiotic Relationship

I'm always impossibly attached to the things I can't hold on to.

A turquoise pair of earrings I got from an Indian shop.

Pearls that found their way down the drain.

A dollar coin that the vending machine spit out.

A part of me is distributed within the 

gutters of New York and 

in the inches of hair snipped off

and hiding in the corners of hotel rooms.

I 'm sure he'll keep his part.

I'm sure it will be some sort of treasure.

But that's how the attachment always starts,

always with trust. 

I loved that dog. 

They took that dog away from me,

and she was the only one I could relate to.

Oh, she was wonderful.

There's somebody else who took a  piece,

and ate it. 

Right in front of me.

He boiled it and ate its tender parts.

Too many of my attachments are leaving.

Leaving as treasures and with my own treasures.

The parts of me I've sent

are filling a void in somebody else

and digging a deeper one in my heart.

Telling A Lie

So you want to play devils advocate.
I can't blame you.

Start simple, with your mouth. Curl your mouth around the snarling words like you found them in an encyclopedia. Form each syllable with precision and an unwavering tongue. Echo confidence and part aggression. The words are the truth and the words are your mind. The words are what you know and only what you know and their grand entrance must be grander than their sister's.

Slowly unclench your stiff knuckles and relax your hands. Never wipe palm-sweat onto your pants--cleanly wave them to portray emotion. Don't overuse them though. Don't touch your face. Don't cross your arms. Don't cross your fingers, in front or behind. Don't fix your tie. Don't zip your zipper, twirl your hair,  bite your nails, tuck in your shirt, don't, don't, don't. The key is nothing.

Convince yourself. Not of your rottenness or of your falsity. Convince yourself of the truth. Relate the nonsense to your frontal lobe slowly and with detail. Illustrate a novel of experience to accompany it and erase any previous drafts. This is why, this is how, this is when. Release your superego and capture your inner id, allowing all inhibition to escape and find a new owner. A fire in your brain, a stove in your heart, a cold, icy look on your face. Don't twitch.

Lastly, engage your eyes. Control the dilation of your pupils. Apply a glimmer to them that is beyond passion and  that portrays truth. People can see mischief in there. If you can't control your eyes you can't control your lies. Do not, under any circumstance, allow them to glow or light up in anger or frustration with yourself or with another, unless they are alight with the burning flame of truth.

You have the lie, you've birthed the lie, you are the lie.

This could have been a lie.
Alice

Hey,

I just wanted you to know,

 that I'm claustrophobic and it isn't helping that you are standing so close to me because I can feel the heat of your palms reaching out for me and I am somehow frozen by the warmth. I'm so frightened of you that I can't resist you and I'm terrified of  your capabilities and wants and needs and of you. I really can't imagine holding you for longer than a few seconds but I can't imagine life without your arms around me. The details are minor, but love is embedded within them. Like the thread hanging off your shirt. I hate that thread. I hate that dangling red rope swinging under your arm but I dread the moment when I'll have to pull it out.

I'm dreading you and your words and your sentences like I dread my AP tests. Exactly not like my AP tests are how I long for those words and can't go a day without them.

Scrutinize me and tell me I'm boring, normal, not-likable and I will stare back at you with warm eyes and willing feet. Throw me in a gutter. Tie me to a moving car. Lock me in a basement and never feed me.

Whatever you want dear, whatever you want.

Maybe it's just the love I'm afraid of.