Maybe This is Obvious by Megan DiBello

Intimacy isn’t just found in bedsheets, or between the space between mouths, it meant behind the earlobe where only secrets are kept through small tugs of listening to small breaths between where we I lean my head down like a half moon shifting through night and day, but really always present.

And when there

I only know what the river tastes like

How salt become my favorite condiment

And how the fish of skin can’t really scale

Like a playwright once said, he likes a good watercolor blur of characters

Where you can explain the form as your past your present or your future

But still understand how two bodies fit together that have never touched before

Like we’re ready to do the work on accepting passion as a reality

On our old bookshelves of life touching bodies of a different era, language even, and oh how those bodies sang tunes in a chord too minor for even Chopin to play through the keys

And maybe not everyone sips from the same glass of wine

There are even those who after a bottle is done have red chapped inner lips

And some, that fit back a cork in the bottle —- not to preserve the wine, but to recycle the evening

It’s as if it’s not about the sex, it’s about the emotion I have after, like a sheer silk curtain passing the frame of a door, transparent glass, at ease when you pull back it’s body onto a hook and it stays a while, loose like a curl falling off my face, and all the while still, confident before the nights breeze, this curtain let’s itself be held as if the shades are up, the lights are on, and not even a person standing with binoculars could ever feel as sexy in a sheer swoop of passion, playfulness, and persistence

As if we met negotiating over furniture we both want something we can write a story about — what you pay isn’t really the worth it’s what’s kept in the drawers behind the wood, carved into, like love letters from childhood unbound—

A true relation is like dancing with your feet in the dirt. Where what’s dirty can always be cleaned but tonight, the taste of the music isn’t Rhye, but bourbon by your bedside, with a large ice cube (of course), as,

And now, with my passionate Gemini, you, are the kind bandage on my right foot of cut glass, kneeling at my bedside caring about my cramped toe, you are the balance in motion to our raft, the person who takes a notebook out in a bar, who cares about others sorrows as if his own, the lover of art as if it was a real person, as if to say you would name your child theatre, playwright and director, watching them outlive the 7 basic

story archetypes plotting our real storylines staging right through every staged left comedy tragedy, rags to riches, Overcoming the Monsters (even if they are really our own) Quest, on this Voyage to Return and rebirth.

For some reason sex is an art, and even within our embraces, we are sourcing the wood upstate, refining it, breaking it down to its core to create the foundation of our canvas. Who are we without folded sheets, a duel bringing together to end with a kiss. But what role do I play in this? Are we both the protagonists trying to source a location? I felt for so long that I would never have a place, but it’s the sourcing, the build, and our creation of the art, which ultimately is ourselves.

It’s funny how cliché the art imitates life quote sounds, but yet in a relationship cycle, it’s all real, it’s all how we find each other, write our story, or even rewrite it, whether it’s at 5am alone, or on the streets of NYC crying, just wanting to be loved more than anything able to be written or held.

Eating Alone by Megan DiBello

at work now

discussing eating alone

i am the only woman

who will sit at a table

drink a glass of wine

eat alone at a table

in a restaurant

one woman says I

will drink and not eat

the other woman says

I will drink at a bar

with food only at hotels

are women that scared of

being alone?

one says, well I always

have someone to go with

i say, don’t you have a neighborhood

bar or restaurant where you go alone

can eat something and drink

they say no

we always have someone to go with

the conversation ends

where one says,

i just feel bad for people eating alone

like yeah, the other says, what weirdos

My Life as an @ Sign by Megan DiBello

With the dawning of technology it seems more and more like I am becoming a physical @ sign. We are just one snap chat away from a snapchat birth of a celebrity who names their child the @ symbol. Maybe I should call up Melania, ask her to steal my speech, and give her some sweet tips on her next PR Move?

I started to think me AT something. What is my AT? With the passing of Price the king of symbolic namesakes I begin to wonder if i had to change my AT what AT would I be or would I even choose to have an AT if AT all?

As my dad always says, learn from history as not to repe--at it. So, Here I Go dialing up information from Smithsonian, Wired, NPR, you know smartass publications to dig up my At, and will I ever find it or AT?

For the Fact: Invented in 1536, but didn’t become popular until 1971’s dawning of the electronic push towards internet and faster computers talking like Italian New Yorkers with their hands and fast baby fast. Here is a clear mix up mash up of lies tales and unfounded truth. Let’s Un@ this.

Called the “snail” by Italians and the “monkey tail” by the Dutch, @ -- Not sure I want this nickname, but I guess small and curious could be worse.

thanks to e-mail addresses and Twitter handles. @ has even been inducted into the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art, -- I wonder if I started doing yoga more regularly how I could be the first human actually curled into symbol into, let's say pain YoGAT?

The @ symbol is cited its modern use as an example of “elegance, economy, intellectual transparency, and a sense of the possible future directions that are embedded in the arts of our time.” -- who doesn’t want that to be their bio? I mean watch out Hillary, I’m becoming the first email @ symbol, what about the first female @ symbol of poetry, i mean people, i mean this maze makes for A very exciting offering

Tomlinson his name is Tomlinson who doesn’t remember what he wrote in that first e-mail. But that is fitting if, as Marshall McLuhan argued, “The medium is the message.” For with that message, the ancient @, once nearly obsolete, became the symbolic linchpin of a revolution in how humans connect. --- okay, so let’s think about this, if that email was still living on a server farm far far away, would it be downloaded printed and be a current installation at the MOMA too? Instead of a Star would Tomlinson get an @ symbol on his walk of fame? And for McLuhan, he’s just a little Canadian genius isn’t he? I mean Aren’t you Marshall? We all loved you in Annie Hall, right…Proving them wrong (air punches)

The elevation of the @ sign from symbol to icon. -- Now, not to bring up Prince again, but could you imagine if Prince thought of himself as one to have originated from the @ symbol and then therefore created a career out of such? Oh wait, he did…

Conduit Conduit Conduit! Now that I think about this massive existential symbol rationalizing I am trying to create, I remember now that I have always told people I feel like I send messages too, between people, not called controlling, but rather, called giving advice, leader, teacher, advocate, insert thesaurus look up here-- But really I'm no different than the @ symbol sending messages between different computers.

Forget feeling like a comma, as if I am the one who separates the names of senders and recipients from the names of their machines.

I feel like I am the one that isn’t commonly used in computing I am just the one doing the corporate computing daily. And believe me there is no confusion of the fact that I don’t belong in Corporate America being a creative, I stick out in all black as a creative using a survival job as well in the sea of suits in midtown, really it’s a way to pay off debt and invest in living, traveling, cc’s, etc.

Much like a bad virus or parasite, our culture thrives off of the User @ Host complex, which happens to be a revelation towards moving toward something or connecting with something, mild duh?

If Tomlinson had patented the ‘@’ symbol “the only preposition on the keyboard”, as he said, then maybe we all wouldn’t be known by our symbols, but what the meaning is behind them. Sorry McLuhan-- I am too much the message and not the medium (even though seeing spirits is cool).

Dear 30yr old Megan, by Megan DiBello

I'm proud of you. Well, actually I'm not. I'm upset that you never focused on yourself more yadda yadda old news. And well here are 30 things you should be proud of, be grateful for, have learned these past 30 years, because at least half of your Gemini self appreciates you even when you don't:

1. If you want to get a Phd go get it. Why are you wasting time working a corporate job yah dummy?

2. Stop drinking. Not only do you waste so much money on it but yah know drink some water eat something will you? We know you like to be social but, you can't throw a party in your bank account, only with it, get it?

3. You're not fat. Stop thinking that you're overweight or not skinny enough. Be honest. You're lazy and love to complain, amiright?

4. Just because you don't have a large group of close friends doesn't mean that you're a loser.

5. Thank you for allowing yourself to relax and binge watch online shows and not feel like you're missing something cooler going on... Even though you still do.. Well baby steps as Bill Murray once subscribed to..

6. Your bed your bed your bed. Tempurpedic! Yes it was expensive as fuck, but hot damn that Shit is comfortable

7. Be grateful for your sister. Love your differences. But admit it she is the best damn friend you'll ever have.

8. On second note with the sister love her and all perhaps close the door or create rules around shitting in your house or in the shower...smell is TBD

9. Dear George the frenchie bulldog pup aka chicken, it's been one month since you ate my bed, and although you don't know any better. I guess I will allow you to lay on my bed and look out the window at God knows what going on in queens

10. Megan you didn't do your installation, WTF?! Well hey self, I need pushing too, I am searching for a guru... Or at least I'm telling myself that

11. Love... Yeah skip

12. Dating... Yeah skip

13. Marriage... Yeah skip

14. You're pretty smart to live the last month of your 20's sober, I mean remembering, I mean sober, I really mean without carbs, I mean, who needs late night pizza...Oy

15. Goal statement what ever happened to that?! I Megan DiBello promise to accomplish X by December 31st 2016... Yeah get on it

16. Save your money stupid

17. Can you finally get out of debt please? You've been dragging ass on that one chase CC for like 6 years. The only one you're fooling us your credit score

18. Keep drinking coffee. Who wouldn't it's delicious, duh, this one's for you marvin

19. Stop smoking. The nurse two months ago did tell you your lungs will rejuvenate if you do. I believe her, but damn isn't it good to lay in bed and smoke?!

20. Dress in all black, forever, thanks.

21. Keep writing lyrics Lucy! One day someone will buy your songs or even listen to them. Your solo project will rise out of the hums recorded on your phone the lyrics in your notes section and hell the dust from your keyboard.

22. Always fucking travel. That equals always fucking travel. AFT it's a new thing. Forever. Or at least once a year. But take small road trips. Meet new people. Write about them. Capture how their voice sounds by secretly recording them. Yeah, take risks.

23. Cook more! Why the hell would you eat out all the time, when you have no idea how old or fresh the food is, or if the guy cooking the food just touched his ass or had a fight with his tattoo artist and well yeah ass tattoos suck so he is putting all that negative energy in your food. Aka just eat at home more and that doesn't mean take out at home.

24. Figure out 11-13, yah know the love dating marriage that whole thing. Don't be a corporate suck hole who works and works and never finds someone...aka those who date their job...

25. Write more! You wimp! You have like hundreds of poems, where's that book at girl?

26. Tell your parents you love them more. It's true and you're not angsty, I mean bitchy sometimes, but hey, they did raise you so.. You can blame it on them, just kidding! What's a Sunday dinner?!

27. Don't take Shit your dad taught you as false. You're a leader and not a follower. You're the best and the greatest. Fuck the other noise.

28.  Always say what you feel. Never be in denial for being open and honest. Perhaps try and work on being less dramatic or expansive with your hands, but hey, fuck it it is who you are

29.  Always tell bad jokes. Who cares if people laugh or don't get it. You get it, you laughed. And you can't make others feel things it's like a bad relationship...

30.  When I was 17 I told myself I wanted to do 3 things, okay 4. I wanted to graduate college early, I did that. I wanted to get my mfa, I did too. I wanted to land a great job, I've had many jobs, but always what made them great were the people, even Geffner I guess, and fourth, I wanted to fall in love. See the biggest part about that is myself. At 30, I finally realized that I needed to love myself more than anything.

I wish I had wanted more at 17, and looking back, Shit, I've done a lot. So to 30x2 that's 90 more years, I thank you megan, one heck of a job kid.

Love Over the 59th Street Bridge by Megan DiBello

This was the first time we had driven in the car with just our voices as our music

Our phones were dead and perhaps we both needed the quiet time

Finally arriving on the Lower East Side we fed off our friend Allen’s energy as we circled onto Ludlow.

both getting a second wind we went dancing with the Balkans

Restless to go to Arlene’s Grocery I am remembered that it doesn’t matter where we are, I just love him

as he is calling me darlin’ on Stanton street as if David Allen Coe wrote his song in response to our partnership

But you don't have to call me darlin', darlin'

You never even called me by my name

Stationed on stanton street I remember him saying, "I'll call you what you want” as he kissed me outside the venue—

I want that everlasting gobstopper love

I want the love spearmint gum gives you when it never loses it's flavor

I want that love that fills you like an Italian dinner on Sunday's and makes you sleep well

I want that love that holds me all night like we on a ship at sea not some titanic shit but some necklace shit because we wear each other like we are lost at sea like we can be digested by whales and sharks and we come out that digestive track like we haven't been shinier than Pinocchio

I want love like my moods are predictable like birthdays or cake or how the flames will always go out no matter how many times we relight them

I want love like driving fast with the windows down and you know the wind will take your arm like you're Rollin with the homies outside of the car

I want love like waking up on Christmas and expecting nothing but family

I want love like wearing the same shoes every day and how they mold to your feet, become the last thing you take off at night

I want love like I know how to order for you from the menu and it's hard to date taste buds at different hours of the day but I know your late night eats where they set up a table in the back of your mouth

I want love like the last drag of a cigarette before bedtime the last in hail before respiration the last thing to touch your mouth

I want love like cut off shorts above the knees where you  cut off a season to adapt to a new one

like starfish like solar we are rechargeable who needs that bottom half of that leg anyway

I want love like I know the album you'll put on in the car the points where you air drum your favorite solo and too bad they don't make drum pads for steering wheels

so yes, I will call you what I want, and you can call me what you want

But you don't have to call me darlin', darlin'

You never even called me by my name

My Last Uber Ride by Megan DiBello

I got out of the cab, at my house, and barely said thanks.

The night started off smelling like too much weed and him trying to suppress his anxiety.

Have you ever felt the feeling of, I wish he would just love me? No? Well you’re lucky. If you said yes, well, you’re in lucky, and turn to page 3 in my heart, page 4 is wondering if I really love someone else.

Perhaps you will find a mess of notes, random ideas from a poetry reading or travels on the G train.

Perhaps you will find really sad ink. Eh, when one is sad, it’s easy to anthropomorphize everything as sad, with a pulse or not.

Like telling a child that touched the oven it was hot after the fact, or telling the child I told you so, or telling the child you should have listen to mommy, this is how I felt laying in my puffer coat in the back of an UBER (clearly he didn’t delete his app).

We started it up again.

It’s like my parents car, some piece of shit they keep investing money into, when really, who are these people? They used to lease the top cars and make the dealership fix the issues or return the car for a new one.

Now, much like them, I keep investing my emotions into someone even when the gas tank is empty I fill it, if we need to go on a road trip with the car, I will tune it up, when we are happy, I will make sure the radio works or iphone hook up because the windows need to be down, and goddammit if they don’t work, well, I have the mindset that they can always be fixed.

Even the greatest relationship analogy won’t fix someone's sheer destiny to disregard their truth as the ultimate truth that everyone should deny. Like time. Like 2017 technology. Like social media, like have I taught you nothing? You know I can see the last time you were on FB right?

The saddest part is the person whose own truth is so murky like a stomach after a night of too much beer and pizza and damn, who knows what the bathroom will be like tomorrow or shit even in the middle of the night, eh, I digress, you get the point.

I tried playing the I am sorry, it was all me game, I confessed I am opinionated, I lead with my ego, I like to go out to too many events, i IT”S REALLY ABOUT US, I WILL LIVE IN A SHIT HOLE WITH YOU. And he said, it’s too late, like whattt, like are you getting married? Maybe he is? It seems only the logical of ideas.

I saw him again for drinks, and when I dropped him off in the cab I felt like waking up right when the heat comes on, warm and cozy and even the dance I do into slippers, turning on the hot shower and stepping into the shower right as it hits warm, my body will refuse to be cold… righhht. Anyway, you get what I mean.  It was a bathwater transition in realizing that even the water turns off, there is that gap in moments where you have to reach for the damn towel and thus, cold even for a moment. That cold part of me is yearning for his “somebody” to really be me, but why? I recall old childhood yearnings of wanting to be wanted and understood like hey mom, why the hell did you buy me BLUE jeans when I wanted BLACK jeans, DON’t YOU KNOW ME?!

I am not a victim.

I cause most of my own problems leading my life from emotion and not logic.

And then we got drunk. Well I guess I paid for us to get drunk.

It’s really sad I know this, but it’s the only way he tells the truth.

That Samantha Leon song of, he only loves you when he is fucked up, soooo true! Get it GURRL. Think about it, take down all walls of childhood abuse and bullshit and when do you get, ding ding ding vulnerability, thank you alcohol for being that one minute muse.

I also feel that getting angry at my ex is like getting angry at customer service. Even though I can see him it’s as if he is miles away, and I can’t understand his non-verbals, and everything he says lacks context. I never signed up to be a translator of another language especially the language of his emotions.

Fuck Decaffeinated Coffee by Megan DiBello

I used to have a friend who would drink no joke of a drink a half calf. Not the baby cow but fucking half caffeine half decaf.

What a joke of a drink.

I once heard they use strychnine to decaffeinate the coffee.

You must have used this with all of your invisible goals, unrealistically real intentions, and my replacement of you for my own personal space.

They say women are bad with personal space. Proximity. Yes i randomly stop on the street and people walk into me. Yes I talk loud in quiet spaces. Yes I run on a crowded sidewalk. Yes I always make friends with people I sit too close to.

I broke up with you like caffeine from coffee. That Shit is low. It has no purpose in life but to be a warm liquid. I hope now you only drink decaf. I hope it never gives you a morning jolt. Never wakes you the fuck up and you still take naps at work. I hope you fall asleep on your train ride to work and end up at the end of the line. Is this a memory from last night or the morning? Doesn't matter. It's probably the same time anyway. You're like a times ozone that never changes fucking sand into glass the never melting ice cube, just completely fucked things.

Fuck. I speak it so much let me define it. A year and a half ago it was a 22 year old for you. It was a pretty girl on Facebook you saw as a recommended friend. She was a band aide to Drew’s band and that adhesive was like fucking wood glue. Every pun intended. Only through the door of your 85 year old quasi uncle did I really try to formulate who this nurse who loved me perfect fucking circle song from my teens really meant. It meant that you thought since your ex wife left you after she slept with 5 guys that no woman, outside of your whip and chain controlling mother, could ever be good again.

Truth be told not every woman has two kids no job and zero aspirations. For almost 2 years I lived with someone going through a divorce when I single successful and 29 didn't get a ring like those on Instagram didn't get a fancy dress or have a raging party some here off the shore of Bali on a yacht. Fuck yes. But no. No pun here, only the truth.

I lived in a world for almost two years giving hope to an alcoholic which was like another drink. Good in the moment total shit after you passed out and came to on a random stoop in the east village.

I wouldn't say I'm an actress I wouldn't say I would even listen to some director in a studio somewhere in queens, no, I'm just nice. Which is the shitiest thing to be. Sad to know deep down wherever the fuck that vague comment leaves your mind that you know it's a diaphragm to singers it's the bottom of your belly button if your regular or it's like me menstrual cramps if you classify as any gender if gender exists or participates in monthly bleeding.

I haven't even began to tell you the real story. Night of endlessly drinking coffee awake to find someone who might never exist again or perhaps just drank too much fucking whiskey.

But believe me if you see a set of good looks on the street. Long hair. Skinny jeans. Tats and well anyone that's a hipster think twice, they could look pretty from the outside but they sure as hell could also carry 8 years of baggage enough for a family to buy move buy and travel state lines.

Never trust someone who drinks decalf, and that's all I have to say about Strictly that

We both wear watches // That have no battery // So that time // Always stands still // For us by Megan DiBello

We are like licking mole from a plate and when it hits our palettes we want chocolate and the truth is all of its ingredients -- we are not a Mexican sauce we are more than that -- we are a Mexican dish

We are like black jeans living outside of a boot Like just threw on your clothes because you rush to show that it isn't your skin's fault it wants to hang out with other skins

We are like don't have sex for either of us We have sex for both of us. It's not about you or me when our bodies speak lost in translation, and I can't believe that all these years later I finally get what that means I mean of course I learn this the night I go to bill Murray's sons restaurant-- I think in Spanish maybe translate to French back to Spanish to say in English, the context is different, the meaning just isn't the same

Sex is like cooking you say It's the time we spend together pace in the kitchen music of me typing letters for your secretarying the shit out of English to help you and your company

But we be like ova

But we be like donzo

But we be like hasta luego

It's my fault. Me and My emotions. Not everyone can deal with them. Like my ex. No, I'm done talking about him, now that's the truth. The truth is in and around the time of my period I get mouthy. Like my brain sits on my tongue and goes Nah, No thanks, let's give the roomie a try, and then up on first base is What the fuck, and on second base Who the fuck cares, and on third base is When did I say that?!

Then you get a package dropped off at your local haunt. Pick it up. Open it. And you say fuck. Even though I've been a goddamn bloodhound he thought of me. Shit. My ex just got me flowers I hate because they die. Much like our relationship always in bloom with the flowers and out with the last soaked up droop of water.

Listen, I wasn't trying to date. I wasn't trying to meet someone. I wasn't trying to be Ammiel Alcalay translating the Sarajevo Blues while Semezdin smokes in the room and doesn't give a fuck if the window is open and only if the translation makes emotions like what is that called when language gets stuck in the hawking hole of before translation.

I might have loved him. But for the good reasons. I was sober. I was awake. I was fed. I was in bed. I was staring at his half shaved face. I was under the covers. I was resting my head. I was looking into his eyes. I was cliche. I was filming the scene in my head. I was photographing the moment. I was there. I was with him. And, now I'm not.

My friend frank said it best last night, sometimes it takes time to share your emotions with people.

So. That's my story without really any details about the story. Add in a company, a lonely woman, an entrepreneur, a New Yorker, a food truck, money lost, Mexican products, hating jobs, losing kitchens, greenpoint, poetry, yelle, lattes with extra shots, mole, and well, that's the unofficial unwritten bio of the last two weeks.

This is like food being plated for you. There are no seconds. There are no family style. It's eat what you're given, until it's gone.

New York Woman by Megan DiBello

I'm a New York woman

There is no where else to go

I'm a New York woman

And I can walk for days

Flat boots or heels

Take me anywhere

To rushing to running

The show

I'm a New York woman

There is no where else to go

I can walk and eat

Smoke cigs on the street

I can dress in all black it's my uniform

I'm a New York woman

There is no where else to go

You Can't mold this chick

I'll never conform

I'm a New York woman

From Closing deals by day

Drinking the night away

I am A New York woman

Living the sustainable artist way

I am a NY woman

There is no where else to go

6'4 tall and thin by Megan DiBello

If he could be my tom hanks my john cusack then by golly I would say yes over a latte on ice skates walking through Central Park on a stage in front of a mic watching a movie in a theatre relaxing on a couch waking up to his eyes we can grow old like dial up log in facebook message me run downtown to me catch the last train to me believe in me and sing to me by the staff the bars the notes to me be my bass clef when I am feeling treble clef and you fill my belly when hunger for your body and not for the digestible if you can pun with me baby you are my belly ache of laughter an overnight sleep over to the academy the Grammy that plays records backwards and can't make you sleep the good looking cabbage patch kid the invisible splinter to a thorn bush you would burn down if it laid an atom on my finger to a partner to dance my arms and let me tell you the direction we play tango we play salsa we play on the beach with transparent waves and I wear you like sand in my hair at the end of every curl and you give me a piggyback ride and we race back to where we wrote our names in the sand and all I ever wanted to be where the water sets into your letters and I wish I was grammar to your life maybe even add some punctuation or keep you close through paperback or hardcover times and even still the binding and be the bare sewing needling to be undone i still remember what book store I found you in what aisle I saw you sneeze in before I said God I have this feeling that you only feel when you kiss someone when you wake up in the morning the linger of their lips lay next to you like a good Chapstick like expensive red lipstick he is there with his eye already awake on mine.


I've never met him. No really. He exists in a pre wed expectation. His show is already on syndication. This isn't the pilot. This isn't the drop of his mixtape. His album release. His red carpet moment. His Warhol 15 minutes of fame. His viral video moment. His billboard rolling stone top 10. This isn't his 5th week at number 1. This isn't his first raise. His big break by executives. His endorsement with Nike. His facebook and Twitter verified followers. His weekly countdown on why he is the greatest on buzzfeed. His image of the week on Instagram. His favorite restaurant with the burger he loves on the thrillist top 10. His five star yelp review. His Google ranking to number one. The ten dollar cost of his name SEO, no, close but only by one vowel. His catching the trains on time, n to the 4/5 just missed the next train with w sick passenger. He becomes the mayor of 36th avenue in queens and doesn't ask for a universal key, but a civil coffee in the morning. He is sponsored by Brooklyn lager iPa and American spirits. He puts the skinny in skinny jeans. He gets drunk and asks me the same question twice thrice. He can build plan and plot a house. He is every funny cat video on his feed every amazing spectacle he will ever see. Tagged post to be thought of kind. Shows friendship but is scared to put in the first hand. Recalls his past with nightmares about his future, can't call it over unless the paperwork is complete.

The eight months started as helping a friend. Someone I knew less than a year ago. Let's call it 9 months. And yes, he had a child in that time. Forgotten all about me. Maybe mused on one of my song lyrics I had sent him. Rarely people come back after you leave them. My mother says never go back, things end for a reason. A mother a friend literally everyone was telling me the same things. It wasn't something I hadn't heard before, especially from her.  He could lie better than lying down.

LIKEADEMIC by Megan DiBello

My boyfriends mother says that I say the word “like” a lot

That I am a part of an ongoing epidemic of “likers”

Even her student teacher she says is obsessed with “like”

I tell her it’s our internet generation

“like” a photo “like” a post  I “like” you

she points out 5 times in 3 minutes that I say the word “like”

I wonder if I said the word “love” a lot how she would feel

If I put that extra step of emotion

If I tried a little bit harder to “love” something

Dedicate something to “liking” it a lot

Like in Annie Hall when Alvy says,

I don’t just Love you I “Lurve”

Even in Europe you don’t “love” your

Sandwich “like”

you “love” your lover

His mother says to me, well I can

Correct your grammar, we are

Close “like” that

I hope you understand

“like” we are family

Why does naked mean forever? by Megan DiBello

i want him like a good bookstore

like taking the pages to the sheets

like if you’re going to take my pants off mean it

like this book isn’t on consignment

like a new release relationship

like an autographed book

like signing your body to me

like if you want to kiss me mean it

like my red lips become yours

like avant-garde movies and indian food spice

like this is what i want and i am saying it

like why are you torn by a love you didn’t want?

like if this is what you want then why not show it?

is it just you America who hates sex but loves

a good tease

you know the binding is sewn in, right?

like a good thread count of hair follicles

just leave the book open on the bed

without the cover on

with all the alphas exposed

From Virginia to New York by Megan DiBello

sorry i’m sorry you had to cross the state lines

sorry i’m sorry for state lines you've crossed

i fell in love too many times

for moments into months

yearnings into years

talkin’ tears i can’t confront

he smokes cigarettes in the shower

and I talk a million miles an hour

he drinks a beer when he drives

and I thank god that he’s alive

changes chords on his guitar

like I change clothes into night

but cleans up like a suit just hemmed

and I clean up like a black new dress

i fell in love too many times

for moments into months

yearnings into years

talkin’ tears I can’t confront

sorry i’m sorry you had to cross the state lines

sorry i’m sorry for state lines you've crossed

he kisses me when he leaves in the morning

i lay next to him as we sleep

he taught me how to be a ninja

i taught him how to think again

i want to drive around in his car

dancing singing’ like rock stars

we are as rich as they come

decent income and totally fun

we've been friends for so long

damn may be the rest of our lives

i like pieces of men

like breaking off states

to form a new continent

thought I fell in love

with a man who understands

that I misunderstand everything about him

The Irish Corporation by Megan DiBello

He never captured me

Barely by laughter

Barely by kissing

Barely even our bodies bare

I was never in love with this person.

He was like dating the captain of the circus

For when even the tiger or elephant or city mouse auditioned they never could

Feel what it's like not to be chosen

They don't live by their mothers

They were taken

He, carries around his mother's brush

Wears her morals as rationale

Names the blame in his life in

Every signature of hers on

Checks for him

This isn't what love feels like

I've been living through a divorce

Where I reaped no benefits of the marriage

No ring

No big party

No dress

No vacation

I want to claim my own alimony

I want all of the songs we've written

To represent the children we will

Never have

When you have to start putting

St, nd, rd next to your name

You know you’re a reference in a story

Not the good one

The index one

Perhaps the forward

Perhaps the preface

On our last day we saw each other

I gave him a disposable camera

Told him to take pictures of loved ones

He can hold on to

Not digital

But printable love

I always noticed by the way he never took pictures of me that he wasn't really in love with me. by Megan DiBello

He never captured me

Barely by laughter

Barely by kissing

Barely even our bodies bare

I was never in love with this person.

He was like dating the captain of the circus

For when even the tiger or elephant or city mouse auditioned they never could

Feel what it's like not to be chosen

They don't live by their mothers

They were taken

He, carries around his mother's brush

Wears her morals as rationale

Names the blame in his life in

Every signature of hers on

Checks for him

This isn't what love feels like

I've been living through a divorce

Where I reaped no benefits of the marriage

No ring

No big party

No dress

No vacation

I want to claim my own alimony

I want all of the songs we've written

To represent the children we will

Never have

When you have to start putting

St, nd, rd next to your name

You know you’re a reference in a story

Not the good one

The index one

Perhaps the forward

Perhaps the preface

On our last day we saw each other

I gave him a disposable camera

Told him to take pictures of loved ones

He can hold on to

Not digital

But printable love

Become Your Own Borough by Megan DiBello

I’ve traveled miles

Through the metros metropolis

A Members only club to the

Cyclopes of the tunnels

Breathing everyday a journey

In the beheadings of bank accounts

Not even a Cub Scout who marries a Girl Scout

Can wilderness the cookies out of this going door to door there is no donation big enough

I travel miles sharing stares and hand shakes with those who can't say my name but can just say what my face is in their eyes

Caught up in the dialectics of directions everyone has their inner imperfections

To wake up and walk this way to the paver of the pathway who must lay it down to walk it not raven the steam of a roller can erase the wrinkles we mask in a day

And who are we to become

Walking the morning shuffle

Like an ancient cakewalk

The piece is in the prize

The victory is in time zones

And crops grown

In photosynthesis to the graves

Of every Monsanto crop

I wish what we become is

To the defeat of the mass grown

Where is your inner corperation?

Stuck in your molars

A Knights Templar might help you get it out

A doctoral candidate may debate

You on your origin like 3 suns and two moons

And where do we draw a line on Mars

And who are the real aliens and can you recall

How most extra terrestrial extra scientific extra outer realities are the ones we live to love to become

Drowning to a decimal place

We survive off the venom like a

Stuck note on an organ

The pitch to our bite

Fights deeper than a bruise

And lives longer than a muse

Like the last of the Magdalen's

Dear mary full of governing of sorrows

I take thee till Wednesday

Wherefore art thou smile

Even when the day is done you

Can't make an eyelash stick

Like smoke dissolving in air

Even death has a birthday

That isn't remembered

National to all saints a day remembered

Like a card for your christening

My body sleeps inside the letters of the

Alphabet I don't get out on the wrong side of

The sentence I get out making new words

I get out having syllables

We make relationships to make sentences

live lifetimes to form paraphrases

get married into theories and hypothesize

till we prove that our bodies scientific method

not an allegory or a cave but rather we live inside

syllables like a jaw drop and oh how

sexy we can all make a jaw drop be

There is reproduction in the jawbone and to

Sigmund's dismay I don't think singing

is the same because neither my

mother or my father can sing

So ask me my inner cooperation and I'll tell you

I don't wear symbols I don't wear colors

I am international and I am

every labor every worker every factory

every subway rail that Carries us all like

birth canal to survival I am a wire transfer

a quick pay a venmo a dollar

And what is it all worth?

Dear vacation

I can feel your sand

I can drink your drinks

Here is the key to my house

You're welcome to call it home

What is it to be a strong woman by Megan DiBello

What I ask of everyone in this room is to turn to a woman here and say thank you. Not because this is what she “deserves” but rather, out of respect for yourself.

Every night when I went to bed as a child I was told by my parents, Megan, you are a leader and not a follower, you are the best and the greatest.

Little did I know what my parents were telling me were mantras, goal statements, fuck it, confidence statements. To this day I say that confidence is my religion. And empowerment is a personal power I give myself. Many in this room have heard me say, you are your own best business card. But that shit is real. People don’t meet you and your baggage of your past or your bank account. They meet me Megan, crazy hair and all, with a firm handshake, direct eye contact, and firm stances on business, equal rights, and art.

The real make it happen megan was formed long before she made art films in college, hid in the corner of the Poetry Project awaiting her turn to read, leveraging negotiation skills convincing teachers this math class was redundant and I needed to take the higher level, before she was running creative agencies, leaving to live in other countries, flying to Colorado with only a suitcase alone, writing about men, talking to poetry legends, challenging even her liberal graduate school to be better, managing all inclusive business events, creating communities for all adults to learn.

I want to talk about strong women and what does that mean for me. I want to talk about My mother who sacrificed a good job for her children, My grandmother who sacrificed her life for a better love story, I want to talk about my best friend Alice, while once getting bullied in a school yard of nannies stuck up for herself and I commended her for her voice carrying in a crowd of all women, My friend Dana who while working at a bar would challenge a bad tip and fought for equal pay, not by putting it in a patron's face, but because her face isn’t on a dollar bill, and perhaps men should think differently, My friend Lane a woman who has challenge all odds working her ass off with a single mother to being top of her class in college and now working at a top publishers in New York, My friend Phantasia a woman who had had her baby taken from her at 9 months and soon after was challenged by making another tough decision to leave her husband, an alcoholic. All of these women are strong. All of these women are my friends.

At times I think kindness is weakness. At times I think people without opinions are weak. In reality, it is me in those instances that is weak. My purpose in life is for everyone to believe that within them is a doer/maker= is the natural poet they always needed to be for themselves.

I have been lucky I never have known a world where my opinion has not counted, not because society has told me, but because I made it count.

So can everyone say with me, “I am a leader and not a follower. I am the best and the greatest.”

I am not afraid by Megan DiBello

by Megan DiBello

I’m not afraid of

I’m not a fraud offffff

Happiness out of abuse.

I’ve been living my life ehh

I’ve been living my life ehh

Stuck like the unflossable

I gottta Keep loving my self loving my self ehhh

I wrote this riff a couple nights ago in a bar bathroom. To be honest, I love kitchens and bathrooms for talking and ideas. But I want this to be the last piece I write from pain. It’s not who I am. I am funny, make bad joke, I am successful, I love adventure, now I know this sames like a Dating profile, but to be honest, it’s all of this that is actually lacking in my personal life.

See I signed up for acting classes, to stop acting. When I go to work I am fun-loving megan, when I come home, I am serious, I’m scared, and I’m in pain.

I am not telling the whole story, but the below is a recent account of my own personal timeline, re: why the above comments. So…

I looked up what it means to be in a domestic violence partnership. Domestic violence by definition is: violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or partner. I answered 90% of the questions with some samples below. I’ve also read several accounts of women who couldn’t let go until their life was nearing death. I admit that I don’t want that life and tonight, is my constitution of letting go.

Hey, did your partner ever….

  • Insult you, demean you  or embarrass you? yes

  • Look at you or act in ways that scare you? Yeah

  • Make all of the decisions without your input or consideration of your needs? yes

  • Tell you that you’re a bad person? yes

  • Act like the abuse is no big deal, deny the abuse or tell you it’s your own fault? Yes always

  • Destroy your property or threaten to themselves? Yeah, all of the above

Now I am not an idiot. I saw the red flags.

Now my story isn’t one that I haven’t told before.

It’s one I have lived many times, with the sheer acknowledgement

of “I am better than this” or as my dad says “I am the catch”

How it will Redefine who you are as a person

What you believe and what you allow

Now, most of you I know are like, yeah, bullshit,

you’re full of bad patterns with men,

and the story, has always been the story,

and has the story even changed?

But I have never told the story of letting go.

letting go for the right reasons

The story of unacting,

An just acting like me.

Now, I don’t give a shit about selfish

I think hey, at the end of the day,

You think alone, die alone, it’s not sad, it’s true.

As I told him the other day, his violence is really

Just towards me because I am there, not because i caused it

Now from life coaches to quasi cult like self improvement classes

What i learned from all of this is

If you think your story is of the addict, the abused kid, the alcoholic, the low self esteem then that will always be your story

And It goes on.

As my adulting has evolved I have started to believe what my parents say is true,


people don’t change.

My dad has always taught me that life is an evolution of self, and you want to be with people who EVOLVE

Ever since I’ve been a kid I‘ve been musical, loved ideas, and loved the idea of opportunity in people. Shit, my WHY of WHO I am is, to cultivate others so that their voices can be heard.

But, what about my voice. See I read the trades.

I research the shit out of things I don’t know.

I always try to be a leader and not a follower.

I’ve read that great leaders put others first

But, I am fucking sick of that, and I am letting that go too

Some people at work the other day said, the problem with this company

Is that we don’t let people fail, and I was the guiltiest one of all

Oh, did you read that emails, hey can you respond to the client,

This is a priority!!

But in a domestic violence situation, as I have learned about recently.

The only person you can save, is yourself.

Now I have kept many things hidden.

I don’t cry on social media, I barely even tell my family.

But I’ve been analyzing how to make myself happy from joining social sports, aka i am not a sports person, or acting classes. I asked myself why do you binge watch tv and film?

It’s because it’s shit I can see myself staring in.

And I have recently decided that this is my time to stop making excuses

stop preventing myself from what I really want.

A good friend told me recently, that it’s not about quitting your job,

being a waitress or broke to have art,

there are other ways, and if you believe in it, whatever it is you can make it happen

My life has turned into driving on a fucking freeway,

yeah the freeway is called fucking

and I see billboards of my talent one rockstar,

one in a rom com, one in an indie film,

one fashion designer clothing line extradinate,

And then the goddamn ghost of Mr. Robert Frost prevents me

from choosing a direction.

The obvious direction doesn’t involve abusive men.

The obvious direction is me being and doing what I love.

I’ve dated the counter-cultured, those who are seeking a personal revolution

Hey buddy, just you wait, the only culture i want, is the doing out of intellectual

And physical happiness and no i don’t want to write another

voyeur without a title, I don’t want to write about your bullshit i want to let it go

So did my partner ever make me feel like I am...

I’m not afraid of

I’m not a fraud offffff

Happiness out of Abuse. yes.

I’ve been living my life ehh

I’ve been living my life ehh

And I am not stuck like the unflossable, and shit maybe i should date a dentist, kidding.

I gottta Keep loving myself loving myself ehhh

And start performing the act of letting go..