Dear Reader,

I made this per-zine for both your own

perusal and as a way to attempt to

organize my own complex sentiments

surrounding high school. I have

graduated, and come this fall I will be

moving to Chicago to chase after my BFA

in Writing. Since high school has

ended, I feel lighter as if I am no

longer burdened by my own disdain or

insecurities.

People tend to romanticize high

school because it is weirdly binding to

be able to say that you were stuffed in

a building with your peers and you made

it out alive. Already, I am

encountering barely-former classmates

who are citing high school as the best

of something, whereas I am still trying

to make sure that my graduation wasn’t

a joke and I don’t have to go back

there.

My least favorite time of day used to

be lunch because I couldn’t deal with

the ugly din of my school mates yelling

or the fact that the cafeteria smelled

like day old green beans. Thus, I spent

most of my lunches cooped up in the

Starbucks down the block making lists

in my journal about what I would do if

I ever went for coffee with Bjork. I

survived high school by dreaming up

elaborate scenarios about my life after

high school, and now that it’s

happening in real time I have no idea

how to feel. I don’t know where I’m

going, but I wrote all these poems so

maybe that’s a start.

I

11:20 Wonder

Have you ever watched your own heart pound?

Or screamed just because you cared?

Have you ever felt so magnetized towards another

that you can speak without a sound?

I used to equate nirvana with ambivalence,

as if siphoning away my empathy would finally

bring me peace.

Nowadays, I let myself sprawl.

I reach for porcelain hands without shying away.

I let myself get scooped up and spun around.

When I smile, I let my teeth show.

Some nights are so inexplicably electric

that you know your blood is fire rather than

gasoline.

It makes you think that maybe life is one

everlasting David Bowie song.

So fuck it,

why shouldn’t you sing along?

advice to those girls that are all elbows

and pixie cuts

When your mom tells you that you

shouldn’t join the Gay Straight Alliance

because “someone might think you’re gay”

shrug your shoulders and remind her that

she’s the one who wants

you to “participate” anyway.

When your first girlfriend buys you your

first cup of coffee

don’t confuse the euphoria buzzing

through your veins with love

rater than espresso.

Later, when she hands you your first can

of beer and it feels cold and tastes like

cat pee,

your eyes will sparkle and slosh about as

she calls you beautiful.

But don’t believe her when she kisses

your lips hard and desperate

then says “it was just the booze”.

You can be pretty without the stoli, but

it’ll take a couple years

for you to stop wanting to detach

yourself from your one and only body.

When you get so lonely that you would rather have canyons between your ribs

than feel anything at all,

spend the day in bed watching movies with

Winona Ryder in them;

because her voice sounds like cold comfort-

and you need that right now.

One day,

you’ll bleach your hair

and read books that serve as the inverse of

your world.

One day, this will feel like a dream.

Until then, don’t stop fighting.

Hug your stretch marks,

scream when you’re angry

and know that you have a voice that deserves

to be heard

Loud

and

Clear.

State Parks with Bjork

I want to go camping with Bjork.

We can sleep under the stars in nylon

cocoons.

We could talk about metamorphosis

or where to find magic,

after all these years.

As we pass a fifth of whiskey,

asking all the questions that seem so

startling during tea.

Like:

Are you scared of sharks or dying?

How’d you get past 23?

Where’s your favorite hill in Iceland?

We can make pancakes in the morning,

or play pretend in the creek.

Making friends,

with deer or mermaids-

whoever gets up latest and will help us

pack.

As we drive home we’ll sing Bruce

Springsteen

and think about the connotation

of two swamp witches travelling together.

Mutual Weirdo's

I want to see the world with you,

even though I can barely leave my room.

You make me so much less cynical.

I call you when I’m drunk or tired and your

voice stops the world from spinning.

I want to spend the night with you,

our limbs tangled up like tree roots.

I write to feel in control but with you I can

feel my fingers letting go

palms facing upward ready for new hands to

hold.

I’ll be brave and stop fighting

let myself get wrapped and swirled with

another human

even when I feel like crying

and running back to the cheap motel room in my

head

where I keep the apathy and whiskey.

Humans hurt each other, but they also make art

and mac and cheese.

I don’t think it would be so devastating to

trust them.

Cheesier than Pizza

I will never be cool, I just want to feel better.

I spend my whole life in the same bat-sleeved

sweater.

Maybe one day I’ll have the courage

to slip a garter of violets around your hesitant

knees.

You say that you have nothing to offer,

save for self loathing tendencies.

I beg to differ, darling girl

you’re the only 10 I see.

Mulder and Scully

I want a love like two special agents.

I want to hold hands and fight crime.

I’ll wear pant suits and run down the bad

guys.

Propose a theory and I’ll just roll my eyes.

People say that making art predestines you

to an implicitly lonely life.

They tell you that if you see a U.F.O it’s

really just a smudge in the sky.

But these people lined up to see the fiji

mermaid,

a monkey corpse and a fish stitched in two.

'Cause they wanted to succumb to the magic

of the ocean.

A believer and a skeptic make a kick-ass

team in trench coats.

They shouldn’t work so well but they do

maybe it’s magic or unresolved sexual

tension

but it makes me think that love could be

true.

Just because I’m prone to being cynical,

doesn’t mean I don’t want to believe.

Gradu-waiting

I could never be a coke head because I already talk

too much,

whenever I am nervous all the words tumble from my

mouth.

I don’t even know what I’m saying

but I can feel my lips moving

and hear my teeth click-clacking like typewriter

keys.

The other day in French class I suggested talking

to the moon

whenever you are lonesome and confined to your

room.

But I was trapped in French class,

so I just looked like a loon.

I always carry notebooks because they make me feel

safe.

Even when I was little I was so neurotic

about my choice in paper products.

I tried to write about pizza and I thought about

the ocean.

I tried to write about pizza and I thought

about the ocean.

I wanted to be a seal instead of a Girl.

Now I’m 18

and I want to be a mermaid

whenever I grow up;

in the no longer distant future.

It’s weird to feel sad about the moments

you’ve been waiting for,

but when you carry a notebook you haul

around the past.

So when the time comes you can’t retract

your statement-

no Takebacks.

Sad Gurl Siren Song

It’s desolate and fucked up at the same time.

Your faith in humanity is curled up next to a

tampon wrapper on the floor of the girl’s

bathroom.

All the should-have-saids are lurking through

the halls

dodging bells like bullets

and sneaking out just to feel profound.

Your revolt is in your cup of coffee,

disdain and splenda,

every morning.

Walk late into class,

your knees are knocking

hairy shins questioning this reality.

Because yeah, it can be beautiful.

When It’s 2 in the morning and the world is

dozing

and the record whispers while you fall in love

and the record whispers while you

fall in love

with Dead Guys on T.V.

Come morning, it’s just jarring.

Every sound is a needle or a zit

you’re dying to pick.

The scissors are dull, just like

your classmates

even if you’ve seen eyes that have

cosmos inside.

You are dealing the duality.

but that doesn’t mean you like it.

What's your Damage, Heather?

She’s got spun gold flaxen hair with minimal split ends

tamed by a velvet bow;

the color of coagulated blood.

She tried to be a Lisa, a Jenny, or Marie-

but she was Heather ever since she was 3.

Her lipstick was blush pink but waxed with a violence

a craving for power, a viscous lust to succeed -

beat the world into submission.

Straddle it.

Breed.

Her eyes they were hazel with a haunting serenity;

as the spellbound boys accentuated her vanity.

Her friends, why they adored her-

together to the end.

Slice the palm with your aunts rusty silver pocket

knife-

lick your palms leave a cotton candy lipstick hue-

bind the Truth with spit and hemoglobin.

Stifle the thought that this should be you.

Walk behind because your mom calls you “pensive”

Hold back her hair after lunch on Tuesday’s

reassure her through self deprecation

wonder

why?

The loudspeaker crackles grey and invasive-

students we have most unfortunate news

Heather Chandler is gone,

Such an unfortunate passing.

Wear your best blacks and go home to console

your fellow classmates

though a morsel of your rotten conscious is

exultant

ding dong

the Witch is Dead.

Drive Thru Blessings

May you be golden like french fries

and resilient like a burger in the back of the

freezer

that refuses to thaw.

When you kiss may it burn hot like an oozing

slice of pizza

and may your lover look at you with the same

jubilation

of the man in at the door in his underwear

who’s just waiting for the pizza part

of a pizza Netflix marathon.

May this love be malleable like gummy worms

and keep you warm like a 99 cent cup of coffee

on a cold winter’s night.

Awake and Dreaming

Everyone deserves to dance to their favorite records in

their underwear while giving themselves whip lash with

their greasy hair.

It’s okay to forget to shower and binge watch T.V. and

pet dogs in the street.

It’s okay to be excited and let your eyes light up and

runyourwordstogether because you love something so much.

I am sick of passivity,

I’m tired of coping, I’m ready to start living.

I want truth and beauty,

I want a love to lament.

I want to stay up late at night because I’m talking to

people who peek into my soul and like what they see.

The world is indescribably wider than high school makes

it out to be.

It’s okay to smile,

even if you don’t have the words to express

that weird feeling in the bottom of your stomach

when you feel yourself grasping that elusive state of

Okay.

Bedroom Eyes: Songs to Dream to

1). Lost in My Bedroom-Sky Fererria

2). Oblivion- Grimes

3). Diamond Mine- Hop Along

4). Tweaker Kidz- The Aquadolls

5). There is A Light that Never Goes Out

(Smiths Cover)- Dum Dum Girls

6). Keep on Moving- King Tuff

7).Full Dogs Bomb the Moon- David Bowie

8). I Found a Reason- The Velvet

Underground

9). Heartbeats- Knife

10). Heaven or Las Vegas- Cocteau Twins

Thank you for reading! If you would

like to give me any feedback on this

zine, or just talk about fun stuff

and David Bowie don’t hesitate to

contact me!

EMAIL: rjaccola@gmail.com

WEBSITE:

www.swampwitchdreams.tumblr.com