![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Do you guys remember my beloved Stellabelle? Stellabelle from my rip-roaring adventures in London, not quite two years ago? Back when I was young and mostly carefree? Back when I believed in sunshine, futures, friends, and the opposite sex?
Do you remember her? Probably not.
I thought so.
Well, here's your introduction. I googled her name because I miss her and I haven't spoken to her in a couple of months. I've been like that lately. Last I heard she had moved into a brand new place with her honey and all was right with the world. She deserves it. Anyway, Stellabelle is a writer, a poet, a philosopher and I found one of her poems.
Enjoy:
originally posted here
To Cigarettes
by Nicole Hefner
Truth, I said, truth,
even though I loved lying.
No, P. said, screw you,
you’ve got to dare.
Whatever, I said,
and you were in my mouth,
out behind the Steak & Ale,
under the red eaves,
over the hot cement, oily puddles.
You were in my mouth,
and P. said,
It gets better,
and maybe I thought
she was talking about life
or algebra or figuring
out tampons or kissing
with our eyes closed.
It gets better,
she said, and I didn’t
know she meant you—
how you would become
my morning, my
afternoon, my just one more,
my with a coffee,
with a beer, my
after heartbreak, after cheesecake.
You took me over, baby.
Came a long way, baby.
Took my breath away, baby,
and when I wanted to leave you—
because I never stay—
I had to burn the house down
to lose the smell of you.
Now I stand,
under the Marlboro moon,
cock-eyed, angry and naked,
waiting for a minute
when I don’t want you.
Do you remember her? Probably not.
I thought so.
Well, here's your introduction. I googled her name because I miss her and I haven't spoken to her in a couple of months. I've been like that lately. Last I heard she had moved into a brand new place with her honey and all was right with the world. She deserves it. Anyway, Stellabelle is a writer, a poet, a philosopher and I found one of her poems.
Enjoy:
originally posted here
To Cigarettes
by Nicole Hefner
Truth, I said, truth,
even though I loved lying.
No, P. said, screw you,
you’ve got to dare.
Whatever, I said,
and you were in my mouth,
out behind the Steak & Ale,
under the red eaves,
over the hot cement, oily puddles.
You were in my mouth,
and P. said,
It gets better,
and maybe I thought
she was talking about life
or algebra or figuring
out tampons or kissing
with our eyes closed.
It gets better,
she said, and I didn’t
know she meant you—
how you would become
my morning, my
afternoon, my just one more,
my with a coffee,
with a beer, my
after heartbreak, after cheesecake.
You took me over, baby.
Came a long way, baby.
Took my breath away, baby,
and when I wanted to leave you—
because I never stay—
I had to burn the house down
to lose the smell of you.
Now I stand,
under the Marlboro moon,
cock-eyed, angry and naked,
waiting for a minute
when I don’t want you.
