Tell Me Analysis
Tell me how much I make you suffer. Tell me you are sick of me. Tell me you hate my guts. Tell me why the trees turn green. Tell me what heaven is. Tell me what a grocery store is, what a dog is, what the word red means. Tell me what night is like in Copenhagen, what death is like in China, how it feels to swim in the Sea. Tell me all the places where I need to lose weight. Tell me not to eat. Tell me a story about Splenda. Tell me to try a tapeworm. Tell me you love me and are very sorry. Tell me about all the other women you’d rather fuck. Tell me to do it like that. Tell me, no, not like that, are you stupid? Tell me I am too ugly to be married to you. Tell me to get off my ass and get a job. Tell me how much you love me. Maybe start a church. Tell me about dogteeth. Tell me about acid rain. Tell me how twins swallow each other in the womb. Tell me about the weight of oranges. Tell me I am lucky you don’t walk out on me. Tell me to stop playing the martyr. Tell me it is time to grow up. Tell me: you can't be a baby, now, not anymore. One day you'll have to learn how to walk in big girl shoes.
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Tell me I am so much stupider than all the other girls.
Dreamboat I meet him in the supermarket, where he is buying cans and cans of Coca Cola. Hey little sparrow, what brings you to the beverage aisle? He is a dreamboat, but
His eyes are the whole ocean. How does even that work? Does he turn himself inside out daily? Or does he float on the sea of reason, the sea of ignorance, the sea of loneliness, the only sea that always leads back home? He's the kind of man girls pluck daisies for.
He's the kind of man you could lose yourself in, but don't lose too much of yourself, if you know what I mean. What I mean
is,
That's the kind of man who wants to make you his own.
Tallahassee Valentine In America I travel South on carbon wings until I meet another pair of arms. He lives in Tallahassee, FL. where he is an orange picker for Tropicana.
He feeds me oranges all day, until my blood is made of their juice.
There is no water in me, no lake beds anymore. This is when I know I am his. He is always talking big, about fire and horses.
One day, he promises, when he has the money, he is going marry me and we will start our own country.
Florida is where the sun never goes down.
It is the country of oranges. Where I can't be haunted by anything.
I tell him the reason I stay is all the palm trees remind me of my youth. But there are no fireflies here, no highways4miles to stitch the path that calls me home. He says he will not stay without me.
He begs me to never leave.
He tells me, if I leave him he is going to die. I say: You sound just like my father. He tells me to stop rolling my pain out like a firefly, like a cigarette, down my arms, my hands, down the cracks of my feet. What can I ever say to him?
My blood is full of Tropicana oranges.
I can barely even open my own eyes.
I hear his voice always: it is his voice that comes out of my pores, that comes out of my mouth. Archipelagos of sound.
I am a soldier dying miles away from his home country, although, in truth, I have only gone south,
Pulled like a bird, filled with the first man I ever loved. I wanted to stay because, the Palm trees remind me of home. I am a housewife drowning in honey.
I am a tanager, a red wound, I am the Eve to your Adam, the peachy keen to your jellybean, your Tallahassee valentine.
I am a little girl with bootblack heels who has never learned to say no.
Tell me I am so much stupider than all the other girls.
Dreamboat I meet him in the supermarket, where he is buying cans and cans of Coca Cola. Hey little sparrow, what brings you to the beverage aisle? He is a dreamboat, but
His eyes are the whole ocean. How does even that work? Does he turn himself inside out daily? Or does he float on the sea of reason, the sea of ignorance, the sea of loneliness, the only sea that always leads back home? He's the kind of man girls pluck daisies for.
He's the kind of man you could lose yourself in, but don't lose too much of yourself, if you know what I mean. What I mean
is,
That's the kind of man who wants to make you his own.
Tallahassee Valentine In America I travel South on carbon wings until I meet another pair of arms. He lives in Tallahassee, FL. where he is an orange picker for Tropicana.
He feeds me oranges all day, until my blood is made of their juice.
There is no water in me, no lake beds anymore. This is when I know I am his. He is always talking big, about fire and horses.
One day, he promises, when he has the money, he is going marry me and we will start our own country.
Florida is where the sun never goes down.
It is the country of oranges. Where I can't be haunted by anything.
I tell him the reason I stay is all the palm trees remind me of my youth. But there are no fireflies here, no highways4miles to stitch the path that calls me home. He says he will not stay without me.
He begs me to never leave.
He tells me, if I leave him he is going to die. I say: You sound just like my father. He tells me to stop rolling my pain out like a firefly, like a cigarette, down my arms, my hands, down the cracks of my feet. What can I ever say to him?
My blood is full of Tropicana oranges.
I can barely even open my own eyes.
I hear his voice always: it is his voice that comes out of my pores, that comes out of my mouth. Archipelagos of sound.
I am a soldier dying miles away from his home country, although, in truth, I have only gone south,
Pulled like a bird, filled with the first man I ever loved. I wanted to stay because, the Palm trees remind me of home. I am a housewife drowning in honey.
I am a tanager, a red wound, I am the Eve to your Adam, the peachy keen to your jellybean, your Tallahassee valentine.
I am a little girl with bootblack heels who has never learned to say no.