a love letter to snacks

Dearest Snacks,

You know who you are, and this is why I admire you so. It's not your sweet melt-in-mouth goodness, or the crunch that's come (oh!) unexpectedly — it's that's mellow feeling you hollow out inside me that magnetizes me to you without a fight.

But, Snacks, it's clear to me that perhaps our love affair is lopsided. Perhaps I need you more than you need me. Perhaps you can just as easily find another unassuming girl who could get swept up in all you have to offer — and maybe she'd have no guilt in indulging you. I think you actually said this to me once, that I liked you more than you liked me, and then you swiftly exited through the backdoor. I found it rude at the time, and I honestly can say that I don't know why I'm even bringing that up to you now.

I apologize. This is a love letter for Christ's sake. I was going to say for Hershey's sake or Crunch's sake, but I decided to go for sincerity and got the Lord involved. Even just then I would have substituted Lord for Truffle or something insanely perfect, akin to Christ. Or a something like a Whatchamacallit.

This, my darling Snacks, is a love letter. And I love you, Snacks. I love you so much.

Dammit. I feel like a fool for how long I've loved you, stood beside you as you taunted the chubby kids with your soft exterior, and smooth as butter (and sometimes butter) center. Loved you as you made me feel bad about myself. Loved you even when you stood on the top shelf, just out of my reach, but not my sight. You're cruel, but I love you anyway.

I do, Snacks. Please, please — I beg you. Don't leave me ever. The sun couldn't set without the moon there to step in, just as I couldn't live without you. Don't ever say I can't have you. Don't try to make me enjoy you in moderation. I will have all of you or none of you. Anything else would be too painful. You agree, don't you, Snacks?

All or nothing when it comes to you, Snacks. I won't have it any other way.

You understand, don't you? I'm sorry it has to be this way. I love you too much, and maybe, just maybe, that's my problem. But, I won't talk to anyone about it, Snacks. I can only console this imminent grief with more of you. Treat my disease with that which will make me worse.

Let me know how you feel after reading these prose, and if you feel the same as I, either leave me alone forever, or meet me at the Jewel. Aisle 5. You know where to find me.

Love forever, or never,

Brigid E Marshall

i'm a memory

i pace inside daily, and sprint outside come night.
i wake you up when sleeping
there's no escape
im wrapped around your throat tight

there are no words spoken
no feeling of air exiting your lips
i cannot be pinpointed.

there are blades of grass. they are lime salted
margarita mixed
you think about them in a blink
and then
they're gone

like me, but ever present.
so not.

i drive a fancy sports-car
it goes incredibly fast
so fast you might miss it

feel the blade of grass, that one
yes
that's her.
the one beneath your big toe.

can you feel it?
no

i whisper gently to you
lulling you to bed
until tomorrow when there is nothing
for you're surely dead

there are sheep above you
count them
one. seven. nine. four. noon.
you'll be up there with them
dead so quickly soon.

i live inside your heart. your brain. your candy-coated skin.
i live inside you until there's nothing.
and no one knows i was therein.

i cannot be pinpointed.
im a squiggle on your notepad in the middle of the night

count them.
one. seven. nine. four. noon.
there is no deciphering my meaning.
it'll all be over soon.