you can’t imagine what you have evoked
the cigarette falls down still sparkling bright
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

in waking once i dreamed you were my own
in dreaming my delusion was revoked
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

i remember last month it always snowed
i remember my descent into love
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

by sailors and locals my skin’s still stroked
i’ll long for your touch till my passion dies
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

the quickest infatuation ‘er provoked
must have been my mine, just eight days to fall full
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

this island does not freeze but rain has soaked
my ugly face and masked my tears for you
you can’t imagine what you have evoked
(i changed my brand to what you always smoked)

 

Rachel Knight, ~Feb 2010

 

While looking for a villanelle I wrote a few months back, I came upon this one instead. The note I pinned to it was an awkward little snapshot of my 20-year-old mind. (Most snapshots of me were awkward in those days– see the above photograph, bloody microdermal and all.) Then, I was embarrassed by the poem’s sophomoric nature. The vulnerability of its narrator didn’t faze me at all. Considering its artistic inefficiencies, its emotionality was probably the reason I held on to it at all. Today, I think it holds its own as a first attempt at the restrictive form. But would I share it, knowing the myriad ways it could impact my reputation without truly reflecting me as a person? Hahahaha NO.

It’s finals season out here in Tutorland, so I’m far too tired to pen a motivational essay. Clearly, there was a plot twist at some point this evening. An unrelated essay is already slow-cooking in my drafts folder, so who knows when this story will come to light? I can tell you that my change of heart involved both sincerity, and Oscar Wilde’s incarceration for being Too Damn Gay for England. It’s almost like I chose this URL for a reason or something. Goodnight for now, friends.

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