my head is empty.

i am so tired.
i'm also kinda in love with one of the school counselors, mr. samson. this une petite probleme.
i am really tired. and i mean really, really tired. my brain and my body feel dead. but i don't want to sleep.
i'm not going to write anything...i'm too exhausted to think of something clever to say.

so here's a poem i wrote last year. it was the first piece of writing that i was really happy to have written. like a new direction for me, i guess.

rust like raspberries

he’d ride his heavy truck
through the damp grass
to where i stood with tangled hair and tired eyes.
he’d reach a sunburnt arm to roll down the window,
and his eyes would sparkle with a vaguely wicked grin,
and he’d just sit there, all sideways,
and look at me for a while.
his lips would part and he’d let out a heavy sigh.

so raspy yet so smooth, he’d talk me into his soul,
and i would give in, as i always did, and climb into his rusty truck.
he knew i didn’t smoke, but he’d still hand me a lighter,
and i’d lay it on my palm and stare as if it stood for something.
i knew he didn’t like to say much,
but i’d always wait for him to spill.
he never did, but i’d sit tight and hope
that my silence would pry him open.
i’d become anxious in my attempt at composure,
and so i’d ask about his wildest dreams.
“baby, i don’t dream,” he’d say,
and i’d turn to the window and bite into my lip.

he’d slow the truck down and put his arm on my shoulder
and chills would run down my body
and i’d feel so hot and cold all at once,
and i’d be so scared to look into his face; scared of the deep brown eyes,
the corners of his mouth, the scar at the top of his left cheek,
so i’d keep my eyes on corn fields bruised with dusk and bent with the breeze.

he’d brake smoothly to a halt and walk around the car in slow strides.
whenever he opened my door, he’d always pause for a moment
and take me in with a deep stare without a word, and i’d grow tense
and bury my hands in my hair and stare down at my knees.
he’d chuckle and reach those sunburned arms out to let me down,
and we’d catch fireflies before finally falling to the ground.

i’d awake in my bed
with wet cheeks
and pollen in my hair
and i’d make chamomile tea
without ever lifting my eyes
and i’d wait
for never.