These two poems by Lyndsie Conklin examine the little things people hold onto that mold their core memories. The scars, the song lyrics, the old photographs found while moving, the tiny pieces that make us human…
by: Lyndsie Conklin
ADDING SONGS TO A PLAYLIST (YOU PROBABLY WON’T LISTEN TO) I’ve filled my list with love songs, melodic memories of some fantasy where we confess poetic triads— no one loves me like you do because your love is just binary code. Yet I still add this upbeat joy to the unplayed queue, assuming comfortable silence is so overrated and you want to fill it with presence, a fragmented sense of myself singing the tunes straight to you. Wanna hear your voice out loud, wishing the same things the lyrics melodically, magically convey. A pink dream were I hum along, and I wish I could feel your face. But I don’t. And you won’t listen to the cascade of anthems telling you why I keep adding more tunes.
BALLAD OF A BOY, WHO GREW UP IN THE ‘90S Innocent boy, corrupted by wheels, cigarettes, lime-colored Mad Dog, and grungy, punk rock anthems, valiantly wear your scars, infected and riddled with temporary stitches, which you’ve mistakenly achieved in the attempts of your derring-dos, half pipe tricks, and drunken heroics. Temporal blurs of controlled chaos, riddle you down in brotherly dares, high ambitions, and Volvo cruises down some California highway waiting for girls to nervously observe the shenanigans of your innocence. Baggy, bleached tees and worn, stained high-top Converse kicks, cannot hide your rebellious desire. Nor can the narcotic numb or high summer humidity reddening your freckled cheeks and spritzing beneath your faded flat-bill cap. Your freedom is beyond a facade, painted with runaway dreams and a swallowed fear only whispered to the hours in your lonely bed, or scribbled in a composition notebook, formally used for school work and tattoo design, cover art. Play your song, and bang your head only artists, your band of brothers, know of the societal mutiny surrounding a former, innocent boy.
Lyndsie Conklin (she/her) is a Montanan transplanted to Colorado, living with her husband and cat, Beans. She enjoys getting outside, being a cat mom, breakfast foods, Diet Coke, oversharing Type 1 Diabetic memes, and writing poetry and erotica. Lyndsie attempts to find romance, beauty, and darkness hidden within the little things while highlighting these little, gross beauties within complex, current topics, such as mental health and LGBTQ+ and women’s issues. Lyndsie holds a Bachelor of Arts in English from Western Colorado University and a Masters of Education in Higher Education Administration from Post University. Some of her work has been featured in Soupcan Magazine, The Sleeve Magazine, Pile Press, and Dreamer by Night Magazine.