Author: Alexandra Naughton

Alexandra Naughton is the author of I Will Always Be Your Whore and My Posey Taste Like. She is the editor of Be About It and can be found on Twitter and Tumblr.

I Will Always Be In Love (Day 5)

I got dressed up and walked around Oakland with no purpose. I got dressed up and thought I am giving this coat a test drive. I got dressed up and walked alone and then finished a novel while sitting in a mausoleum. I got dressed up and took the train and wandered over to old haunts which were closed early for Sunday and looked into the windows and saw the reflection of my outfit. I got dressed up and went out and didn’t know where I was going and it didn’t matter.

Broadsides from Alexandra Naughton’s I Will Always Be In Love are available for purchase for $5 and $10 and every broadside purchase gets a secret link to the eBook before it’s released. Broadsides and eBook designed by Youssef Alouiu of Paper Press Books.

I Will Always Be In Love (Day 4)

Feeling like the finest nun in the convent.
Feeling like everything is god, like I want to marry everything.

I Will Always Be In Love (Day 3)

Sexting via pataphor. Can you handle my allegory?
Get your dictionary out babe, I’m flirting with you.

I Will Always Be In Love (Day 2)

I can’t take a hint. Blind for nonsense, and eyes vulcanic. Feverish cheeks swell and my face illuminates yours. I want it to unfold but I won’t make it this time.

Oily glaciers swirl, and burning air, climbing up steep trails of those pebbles. Swaying, stumbling, swallowing with a closing throat. Like you blew the pilot out.

Surveying to compare, conjure: a statue, swan, palm, Sunday afternoon with crosswords for covers.

I Will Always Be In Love (Day 1)

Alexandra Naughton
I don’t make out with dead boys anymore
because they don’t kiss back.

What am I even saying.

What does it mean when smiles
turn into the ones with hearts for eyes.

Like context clues. Like one of the most useful things
I learned in school.

I’m having auditory hallucinations, full length conversations,
good as gospel.

What’s it like to not read into everything, like how something feels or just how you thought of it. Or just how you felt when you thought of it.

Broadsides from Alexandra Naughton’s I Will Always Be In Love are available for purchase for $5 and $10 and every broadside purchase gets a secret link to the eBook before it’s released. Broadsides and eBook designed by Youssef Alouiu of Paper Press Books.

3 Poems by Alexandra Naughton

a pretty young some would say attractive some would say fuckable some would say a lot of things but this is not the point it is only to establish a theme.
she wants the help, but won’t settle for feature, sideshow. scratching for bylines and passing gingerly over collected bodies, disfigured, wet with crumpled sugar, mystery boxes at auction.

not aspire to be tangible fruit, a game that sells, aesthetically inferior. a soft individual, picking tropes. there to assist. the only purpose is be sweet, to assist.
Manic pixie dream girl. Manic pixelated dream girl. Manic pixie mean girl. Manic pixie C.R.E.A.M. girl. Manic pixie I’m not your girl. Manic pixie ice queen. Manic pixie drama queen. Manic pixie queen bee. Manic pixie colony collapse disorder.

Manic pixie break down.
Manic pixie break down.
Manic pixie break down.
Manic pixie break down.
Manic pixie break down.

Manic pixie depressive disorder. Manic pixie you don’t really know me.

Manic pixie scream girl. Manic pixie no one’s dream girl. Manic pixie don’t pin me down girl. Manic pixie everybody’s it girl. Manic pixie I’m the shit girl. Manic pixie male protagonist and the real girl. Manic pixie am I real girl.

Some things I did and thought about and observed on my way to and from the sex toy store


Walked down a busy street running through several towns, passed a building painted yellow, orange, purple, with something written above the door in gothic script. I really wanted it to be a spiritual or joyous message because of the exclamation point at the end and the birthday cake paintjob of the building but when I got closer I saw that it just said ‘The Sink Factory!’ which would normally be satisfying but I have been feeling like I’m on a pilgrimage of sorts, searching for purity or something, and I was looking for inspiration in gothic script.

Wanted to smoke the last half of a spliff I started earlier at home. I walked quickly and got in front of this Berkeley hippie looking dude in a ‘no fear’ tshirt and waited until there was enough distance between us and lit it, but by this time the untrodden area I was walking in had become strip malls and Thai food places and I passed by a family with two kids getting into their car parked in the parking lot I was passing by and hid the spliff in my hand until I had passed them.

Passed an old white man with white hair and a white mustache wearing a Members Only jacket and a black ball cap with the word ‘Compton’ spelled out in the same letters as the sign above the door of the place I had wished was a church.

Used my phone to get directions on how to get to the sex toy store but as I got close and figured out where I was I exited out so that the weird voice on my phone didn’t say ‘you have reached your destination’ before I walked into the store, notifying everyone passing outside that I needed to googlemap to get a vibrator.

Got carded at the sex toy store by a lady putting away dildos. She told me that I have a young face, then told me to let her know if I have any questions. I said thank you to both things. When I went to the counter to pay for the vibrator the same lady checked me out at the counter, like she took my money for my purchase. Told her I didn’t need a bag and put the vibrator box in my purse.

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Jesus’ Son

You don’t come with me to TLA video to pick up Jesus’ Son.

Michael recommends the movie to me at the cafeteria at Johnson and Hardwick along with Four Rooms and something else, but Michael really loves Jesus’ Son. He feels like it describes his personal experience in life so far. He watches it and he feels like he knows the wandering main character, like he is a similar soul who has seen him in his sorrier states, who knows the kind of shit you don’t want even your friends knowing about. And I have a weird older brother crush on Michael because he can do a trick where he shakes his hand really fast to make his fingers snap, he lives in an old brownstone near the art museum, and he’s already been to drug rehab.

We get grocery store sushi and eat it in your dorm room, sitting on your bed but feet apart.

You turn on some twinkle lights. Check out this Moog lighting.

I laugh.

My roommate’s always talking about Moogs. He hears them in everything.

Yeah, I laugh. Put on the movie.

You sit back down and we kind of sit close together. Our hands at our sides. I can smell your laundry detergent or the Bounce sheet or something. Your hair looks kind of greasy.

The movie feels cold. It is cold outside and it is cold on the TV screen and you want to watch a warm movie. You are complaining and it’s kind of killing it for me, but not all the way.

I am eating a salad from the salad bar in the cafeteria, dipping my fork into the dressing before I plunge it into a lettuce chunk. Michael is looking at me. You’re not like these other girls. These other girls, they look okay now, but it’s just makeup. They’re really just plain. It matches their personalities. These girls will get older and they won’t look good. They will look old. Their faces will droop. You’re not like these girls, you’re beautiful. You have regal features. You sparkle, like in a lot of ways. You will always be beautiful.

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We Should Have Fucked
When We Had The Chance
(before we got involved with other people)

I am texting you. I am walking through Golden Gate Park with Thomas and the sun is just going down.

“I’m sorry I told you, but I had to tell someone in person,” I say. “It makes it more real. Makes me feel like now I have to do something.”

We get to a corner and wait for the light to turn. I look down at my black boots and touch the smooth plastic of my flip phone inside my jacket pocket.

“Do you want to hug?” Thomas asks. I nod and feel myself crumbling into the weathered fabric of his denim jacket, crying and melting like brown sugar. Thomas holds me for what seems like the amount of time I try to brush my teeth and I’m holding his shoulders and looking up at the fading light streaming through the big branches. I step away to wipe my cheek with my index finger and take a deep breath, letting the misty saltiness of the air hang in my throat.

I flip my phone open and let my thumb glide over the smooth keys forming letters and words with t­9 technology. “Please pick me up. Please. Take me anywhere.” I type to you and press send.

“Is it really that bad?” Thomas asks. “I know he’s… weird, but can it be that bad?”

“I’m texting someone right now to pick me up, to run away with me,” I tell Thomas, fidgeting with a dusty tissue in my pocket.

“What about your job,” he says.

“Who fucking cares,” I say, staring at nothing in the distance. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t breathe.”

“Let’s sit down,” Thomas says, plopping carefully onto a park bench. I root through my carpet bag for nothing in particular and feel the fog moistened wood through my sundress. I flick my phone open again and see the orange envelope on the screen indicating that I have a new message.

I read and smile.

“Let’s get married and start a publishing company and we can be the opposite of Tao Lin and Megan Boyle.”

“Maybe make out first” I type back and send. “We’ll be better than everybody.” Send.

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