pizza4sluts

poems by allison staulcup

0 notes

Stale Pizza

When you said pizza was your favorite food what did you mean and how did you mean it?  Was it just another line to put in your letter to tell me you’re fine and I’m not and we’re the same, but you’re different.  And you got out, but I’m still stuck.  When you said you haven’t eaten the deep-dish pizza of home for quite some time and you would like to try it again, soon, was that just to cover up the life you’ve now started that didn’t work out and your desperate need to try the old again just to remember the taste?  Because my life isn’t flavored the way you like it or I like it or anyone else.  I have an ingredient that can’t be defined by my bakery.  Where I was cooked was the same place as you, but I’m a botched batch and you can’t handle that.  All alone in my pan without the fingers of a man to mold my crust, make me something more than what I’ve become— cold, stale and starving.  

Filed under poetry classic stale pizza

0 notes

tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

I can’t say I remember anything before Kindergarten.  I don’t know if it was the structure of school that helped me retain these memories or what, but I can’t really come up with anything before the age of five.  But what I remember is the teacher putting shaving cream on our desk and having us make designs and shapes with it (I loved this, but apparently few people did this in school).  We would receive a huge coloring book when we learned to count to one-hundred.  There was a play kitchen and we would play house.  I would always be the “mom”, because I was tallest.  When I was in fourth grade a girl would tell me she didn’t like me, because I never let her play house in kindergarten.  I have no recollection of this, but apparently I was the kindergarten bitch.  What I remember most is the teacher would gather us on the carpet for story time.  We had assigned spots and the boy who sat next to me would always call me a liar.  I would say, “My Dad’s going to take me to McDonald’s tonight!” and he would say I was lying.  It would really get under my skin, which I’m sure was that small child’s goal.

0 notes

This is a Personality Test.

I’m trying to get rid of the eyes,

because they keep reflecting me

and I’m tired of seeing myself in 

the mirror and being the only one

who likes it.  

I’m sick of seeing the words fizz

from your mouth and stick me in 

the mind.  You tell me I’m the 

only one who can’t see me, well,

I’m the only one who can be me.

Filed under poetry personality test