Peach-Pit · 208 pages
Rating: (17.8K votes)
“Oh...I remember you...You're that weird cat-eared cosplay-kid!
You called me a cospl...
How'd you get all the way up to the third-floor window...
Because I'm a cat.”
“You know, drinking milk doesn't make your boobs get any bigger.”
“Stupid weirdo! Liar! You filthy cat-boy-!!”
“Don't touch me without my permission. Mr. Little Boy”
“Gya!! Stay away from me, weirdo! I'll press the burglar alarm!”
“we all make assumptions about the world—based on individual experience and cultural background—that affect our judgment of how that balance should look”
“Old Spice
Every Sunday afternoon he dresses in his old army uniform,
tells you the name of every man he killed.
His knuckles are unmarked graves.
Visit him on a Tuesday and he will describe
the body of every woman he could not save.
He’ll say she looked like your mother
and you will feel a storm in your stomach.
Your grandfather is from another generation–
Russian degrees and a school yard Cuban national anthem,
communism and religion. Only music makes him cry now.
He married his first love, her with the long curls down
to the small of her back. Sometimes he would
pull her to him, those curls wrapped around his hand
like rope.
He lives alone now. Frail, a living memory
reclining in a seat, the room orbiting around him.
You visit him but never have anything to say.
When he was your age he was a man.
You retreat into yourself whenever he says your name.
Your mother’s father,
“the almost martyr,
can load a gun under water
in under four seconds.
Even his wedding night was a battlefield.
A Swiss knife, his young bride,
his sobs as he held Italian linen between her legs.
His face is a photograph left out in the sun,
the henna of his beard, the silver of his eyebrows
the wilted handkerchief, the kufi and the cane.
Your grandfather is dying.
He begs you Take me home yaqay,
I just want to see it one last time;
you don’t know how to tell him that it won’t be
anything like the way he left it.”
“If we want to give our children what they need to thrive, we must honor their basic nature- boyish or girlish, introverted or extroverted, wild or mellow.”
“Another round later and I was undeniably drunk. I could feel my head swimming and was yelling "INK INK THAT'S THE NOISE A SQUID MAKES", while laughing hysterically at myself.”
“You lose track of time when you're deep in conservation with an otherworldly being made of pure Loric energy.”
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