I Am The Bobby Pins
I am the bobby pins you find in corners of your room that seemed empty and clean yesterday.
I am the color of your walls we chose together. I am the gold paint for your ceiling we couldn’t afford.
I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once our bed that I used as a table.
I am Governor’s Island where we had our first real date and our last good date.
I am Super Bad Brad that sings outside of Crif Dogs in Williamsburg on Thursday nights. I am Crif Dogs.
I am the furniture in your bedroom and the dishwasher we found at Ikea for $99.
I am the rug on your floor I stole from my last roommate.
I am that really nice face wash I gave you that you’re probably running out of about now.
I am that guy, Daryl, on the L Train that sings Maybe I’m Amazed.
I am the bottom shelf above your desk where I used to keep my nail polish.
I am ice cream and peach Snapple and Lactaid pills and whiskey and the French press.
I am the way I folded your shirts and paired up your socks.
I am the stamps we carved and printed on your door and the chevrons I painted on the front of it.
I am the heart shaped pans you bake your pot brownies in. I am pot brownies.
I am the reason your Netflix still recommends medical dramas and sad independent movies. I am Weeds.
I am the pasta maker, the ice cream maker, the mixing bowls, and the orange cutting board.
I am your moustache wax and the cup you keep your toothbrush in inside the medicine cabinet.
I am the sheets on your bed and the bathmat and the towels you still use.
I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for this time last year. And I am your first month’s rent on the apartment you still live in.
I am all those naked pictures of me you claim disappeared from your hard drive.
I am the blue umbrella.
I am Albert Camus. I am Jon Krakauer. I am F. Scott.
I am the reason you have a bed because “grown ups don’t sleep on a mattress on the floor.”
I am the name of your imaginary brewery.
I am Trader Joe’s.
I am your skateboard.
I am the northside of Williamsburg (but only the parts above North 7th).
I am all my clothes in your closet that you’ve been saying you’ll “mail tomorrow” for weeks now.
I am Terra Blues. I am Bleeker Street.
I am the puppy store by the bank.
I am Peru. I am our trip to Peru we would be on today. I am the money you haven’t gotten back yet for canceling our trip to Peru.
I am the fourth of July. I am air conditioning. I am the next apartment you’ll live in that actually has a window.
I am coconut oil.
I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.
I am the bobby pins.
A | A | A
Nobody actually expects you to act like an adult for a while.
“What are you going to do with an English degree?”
I’m finding it hard to muster any sympathy for this asthmatic leatherneck. Instead, there is only contempt.
He noted that during trial, the women (we made up three out of the four mockers) mumbled to ourselves in between questioning witnesses.