Space Ship Pocket Star

Crashed and burned
the charred remains of that nostalgic trip not even worth poking with a stick—

I made a pie chart of pros and cons of my life. The pros outweigh the cons by a standard american mile. Yet, I still have the itch of not quite right in my bones.

Drink coffee, slept like shit
as I tossed and tumbled across my sweaty sheets for six hours before showering and finding myself here at the keyboard

I had strawberry ice cream with a ripe banana and slivered almonds for dinner
I saw a man that should know by now I will never want to fuck him
but he's a smart enough man to know that I am a nice enough girl
who hates to say no, so he keeps calling

I push out against the sky, I breath against my skin
and this dome overhead holds me to my body and I am grateful for the wind in my face
and the smell of the road as the day bakes the concrete and the jasmine, roses, bay all blend together into a hot mash of floral gasoline and the reverberations of my mind settle into the drone

of wheels on pavement
and bugs on face-shields
hot air and solitude blend together
mix with the wind

I am alright
with all of that
and those choices I made
before I learned how to say no

I learned them now
and I am pretty okay with
who I am in life
flesh against bone against hot road

and breathing alive, I can do all of this
living
I want all of this
living

ice cream and motorcycles and roses and lovers and lost moments
found in pockets of memories
stowed away like marbles
in jars full of prizes

I've got the quarter machine blues