My name is Chelsea. 22, post-collegiate life. My weaknesses include craft beers, bearded men, and the Oxford comma.

There was this kid in my seventh grade shop class who thought he was a real “gangster.” He more or less tried to act like a mini Eminem (no pun intended). One day, at the end of shop class, his baggy, low-riding jeans just fell down to his ankles. I think I was the only one who saw. He and I made eye contact. Neither of us said a word. After a few moments, he reached down, pulled up his pants, and walked off (In my mind, to go consider buying a belt).

The moral of the story is: don’t let people who try to act “cool” intimidate you. They’re just as big of idiots as the rest of us.

(Source: postbluebeats)


Melanism

I want to wade into the blackest night.

The cool distance breaking against me like

The slow-rolling tide of the Lake.

Stars surf- waterbugs flickering on the meniscus.

I want to swim in the midnight

Blues of depths met by my treading toes

New moon’s sky and the river road

Blending into the same hue

Until I lose touch with which way is up.

I want to catch pneumonia from the hooting of the owls

And drown in coyote howls.

I want to float

And absorb the darkness.

Or maybe I want to it

To absorb me.


I invented a superhero

Last night I watched both Iron Man’s and Thor and when I was in the shower today I invented a superhero complete with a name, back story, nemesis, a mission and even a brilliant woman associate with whom he exchanges witty, flirtatious banter.

This is what normal people think of in the shower, right?


Beach House

Propelling my suitcase onto the vintage mattress,
I realized too late that I should have held my breath.

I coughed and choked as I dug through my belongings
In search of my insipid inhaler,
(Which I had almost left out in the car, if not for Dad’s reminder.)
So I tucked it for safe keeping in between my pink beach towels.
Ah, that’s where it went…

I clutched the smooth plastic to my face
and took a deep and refreshing gulp of the cool vapor.
My sputtering settled with a welcoming silence.

The smell of dry, sandy wood washed over me,
The air was hot and extremely stale,
And the old-fashioned air conditioning unit in the window
Was missing a knob, so I had to settle for an antique ceiling fan
With two pull-chains
Like metallic garland.

The dust from the fan spiraled slowly around me like snow,
Caking the already-dirty wicker furniture
With a blanket of soft filth.
I smiled a small smile.
The thought of freezing snow at the beautiful coast seemed like such an oxymoron.

I then braced my lungs for another attack.
My inhaler would be getting a lot of use these next few weeks.
But hey,
That’s what you get from these Carolina Shore beach houses,
There’s always a little adventure beneath the charm.