#pour me shitfaced into your car i feel like you own a comforter extremely dysfunctional only in surface details like which person was the

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[mittdajklert]

[Party

by Kim Addonizio]

I know we’ve just met and everything

but I’d really like to fall apart on you now.

I��d like to think you’re the kind of person

who’d refill my glass all night, then pour me

shitfaced into your car and take me home with you

so I could regurgitate salmon and triple cream brie

and chocolate strawberries into your toilet,

and then you’d cook me a little something –

I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who cooks –

while I rambled incoherently about my loneliness.

I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe

you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed

and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter.

I feel like you own a comforter. I also somehow sense

that your family was extremely dysfunctional

in a way that differs from mine only in surface details,

like which person was the black hole

and which the distant, faint mark in space

that might have been a star. I feel all that.

I feel kind of, I don’t know, like my inner space heater

and TV and washing machine are all going at once.

Do you own a coffee grinder?

I have an ice-cube tray. The last ice disappeared

a few months ago, into the freezer mist.

I miss that ice but once the mist gets hold of it,

it’s gone for good. Unrelenting mist. Many-headed

mist. Who knew mist had undone so many.

I feel like my underwear would fit in your silverware caddy.

It’s just a feeling, though. I could be wrong about that.

Could you get me another drink now?

I think we have chemistry. I really need a lab partner.

Could I just, you know, let my molecules separate

while you keep an eye on the burner? The flame’s kind of fickle.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t go out.

[m5xw3ll]

Party

I know we’ve just met and everything but I’d really like to fall apart on you now. I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who’d refill my glass all night, then pour me shitfaced into your car and take me home with you so I could regurgitate salmon and triple cream brie and chocolate strawberries into your toilet, and then you’d cook me a little something – I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who cooks – while I rambled incoherently about my loneliness. I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter. I feel like you own a comforter. I also somehow sense that your family was extremely dysfunctional in a way that differs from mine only in surface details, like which person was the black hole and which the distant, faint mark in space that might have been a star. I feel all that. I feel kind of, I don’t know, like my inner space heater and TV and washing machine are all going at once. Do you own a coffee grinder? I have an ice-cube tray. The last ice disappeared a few months ago, into the freezer mist. I miss that ice but once the mist gets hold of it, it’s gone for good. Unrelenting mist. Many-headed mist. Who knew mist had undone so many. I feel like my underwear would fit in your silverware caddy. It’s just a feeling, though. I could be wrong about that. Could you get me another drink now? I think we have chemistry. I really need a lab partner. Could I just, you know, let my molecules separate while you keep an eye on the burner? The flame’s kind of fickle. Here’s hoping it doesn’t go out.

- Kim Addonizio, 2014

[bearingthewaters]

Party

Kim Addonizio

I know we’ve just met and everything but I’d really like to fall apart on you now. I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who’d refill my glass all night, then pour me shitfaced into your car and take me home with you so I could regurgitate salmon and triple cream brie and chocolate strawberries into your toilet, and then you’d cook me a little something – I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who cooks – while I rambled incoherently about my loneliness. I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter. I feel like you own a comforter. I also somehow sense that your family was extremely dysfunctional in a way that differs from mine only in surface details, like which person was the black hole and which the distant, faint mark in space that might have been a star. I feel all that. I feel kind of, I don’t know, like my inner space heater and TV and washing machine are all going at once. Do you own a coffee grinder? I have an ice-cube tray. The last ice disappeared a few months ago, into the freezer mist. I miss that ice but once the mist gets hold of it, it’s gone for good. Unrelenting mist. Many-headed mist. Who knew mist had undone so many. I feel like my underwear would fit in your silverware caddy. It’s just a feeling, though. I could be wrong about that. Could you get me another drink now? I think we have chemistry. I really need a lab partner. Could I just, you know, let my molecules separate while you keep an eye on the burner? The flame’s kind of fickle. Here’s hoping it doesn’t go out.

[bisexualshakespeare]

[ID: screen shot of a poem. source

Party by Kim Addonizio

I know we’ve just met and everything but I’d really like to fall apart on you now. I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who’d refill my glass all night, then pour me shitfaced into your car and take me home with you so I could regurgitate salmon and triple cream brie and chocolate strawberries into your toilet, and then you’d cook me a little something – I’d like to think you’re the kind of person who cooks – while I rambled incoherently about my loneliness. I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter. I feel like you own a comforter. I also somehow sense that your family was extremely dysfunctional in a way that differs from mine only in surface details, like which person was the black hole and which the distant, faint mark in space that might have been a star. I feel all that. I feel kind of, I don’t know, like my inner space heater and TV and washing machine are all going at once. Do you own a coffee grinder? I have an ice-cube tray. The last ice disappeared a few months ago, into the freezer mist. I miss that ice but once the mist gets hold of it, it’s gone for good. Unrelenting mist. Many-headed mist. Who knew mist had undone so many. I feel like my underwear would fit in your silverware caddy. It’s just a feeling, though. I could be wrong about that. Could you get me another drink now? I think we have chemistry. I really need a lab partner. Could I just, you know, let my molecules separate while you keep an eye on the burner? The flame’s kind of fickle. Here’s hoping it doesn’t go out.

/end]

um. <3