Seeking Damage
I envy all the freaks
the careless
the risk-takers
Particularly the vulnerable
Those not debilitated by fear
If you wear your flaws well
You become interesting
It’s no fun
to be the wallflower
the shadows are less engaging
the silence is too loud
I’m looking to be destroyed
by those who do not see me
If you wear your flaws well
You become interesting
The hills
the essence of dreams and disillusionment
coated with brown vinyl seating
the aroma of rejection over diner coffee
travels to my window
every morning is a chance
to become someone else
stone walls greeted with a side of familiarity
a running receipt of regrets
a night on the town alone
is a dance with the devil
why roll the dice
when we just end up back here again
meet a stranger at the counter
go home with your neighbor
the one who’s a writer
tip your waiter as you call your mother
time is running out to feed the meter
an eager observer
inhaling a dry city
with all the smog and pollution
Its sadness and its thrill, the luster of a pearl
hoping she will acknowledge me
as I wait behind her patiently
walks through Beachwood Canyon
Hollywood appears much larger from here
her stature stares me down
throughout the romance of the bougainvillea
stands the ceaseless silence of the hills
Vibrant red lights of Capitol Records
shine through my window every evening
soon I cannot sleep
without the sound of cars passing
on the 101
hazelnut
woke up to spider bites and his hand cupping my breast
the grind of fragrant coffee beans
makes anticipating a jester amusing
make sure to open up the kitchen windows
morning light hits differently in LA
off to the Farmers Market
for fresh French baguettes
we never travel for breakfast
we hardly ever leave the cottage, together
riding up Beverly in his vintage convertible
catching a glimpse of my own bliss in the mirror
nihilism interrupts with its flawless timing
the top isn’t down
fitful encounters, the rest disregarded
behind those cottage gates in Koreatown
exists a reality where we both fell asleep
next to someone
at the deli he stood, mesmerized
the limp shrimp on ice mocked my presence
half a pound ordered
back to his urban chateau
my arm extended as to steady the wind
just enough compression to stay present
“kill her, kill her”
was the song stuck in his head
reopen the kitchen windows, savor the light
he broke and buttered my bread
a bowl of cold shrimp between us
“my French friend says buttered baguettes
with shrimp taste just like hazelnut”
in these fleeting moments of delight
an obscure breakfast with a shadowy lover
hazelnut is heavenly
even when it just tastes like shrimp
Reoccring dream
I want to lean into the sun
And tell myself I’m free
Were you always on the run,
Or was it just when you saw me?
Is there any stronger love
than the one that’s in my head
It forever holds me down
like the stranger in my bed
clinging to every word
on this imaginary thread
the birds get lonely too
when you remove their beds
running back to sleep
to meet you in my dreams
the only place it seems
that you will never leave
Hope lives and daydreams in Los Angeles. It took her 15 years to start sharing her work… with anyone. She’s currently working on a collection of non-fiction short stories and poems about her love affair with LA, all the freaks she’s met all along the way, and her undying commitment to romanticizing her existential dread. To connect, contact her via email athopearjomand@hotmail.com or find her on Instagram @hope_arjmnd
RESURRECTION mag 