frozen sun morning

Monday morn,
flowing alertness to the half-masked sun,
fighting to sit in an impossible chair.
At least I woke up with someone in my bed.

trace of sane

In this dream I an dancing.
Dancing, twirling

not worrying, refreshingly washed.
My mind scrubbed clean of apathy.

That is the dream, though.
Remembering that freedom is the scar.
I can fly! I can see my body and I am not
naked but who put clothing on me?
It's me I feel outside of me!

I swear. although,
me, up here-I struggle to
remember one moment
from the next.

What was I saying?

I'm watching myself below myself.
floating with my back pushed against
the inner dome; a painted cathedral ceiling.

Hovering inside, above
painted ballroom in Russia.

The room is lit by chandeliers, a bright light,
thousands of small white wax sticks lit by humans;
but a real light.

Robbed of tears hard to find.
Nothing heals but numb
In my dreams nothing is relative and I feel alive.

You take me There.

Empty Sick Spins
Tired of trying to make myself care I fucked myself over.
The pain goes everywhere except to the emotions
these emotions they hint at in movies

Thudding bruised calf (contusions, bruising blood
purple hard swell muscles
Shoulders tighten towards one another and press on
my spine, bad nerves twitch and decay
My head is too heavy to hold straight and my vision is imperfect
gray-scale patterns I recognize and respond to.

I need a nap from this body and a trip to my mind.

Leftovers, just wanted to finish this poem I started it over a month ago

Can language lie in the eyes?
What does it mean? Where will it go?

A blend of brown, gold & experience...
You stare at me with intent but you don’t let me see it.

I turn listless, answerless & volatile.
If there is an easy answer I will not ask the question
If there was an easy answer you would know not to tell me,

It's my own bad nature
I am the one who started this puzzle, made it fractured
a million tiny pieces begging to be reassembled
a million tiny fears add more pieces,
they cut me deep in the chest.

I dream of you with no closed doors, no broken pieces
Under a blanket holding me...
Calm and easy I quiet my own voice

And the puzzle and the hell and the tears and the apathy,
they all melt under the heat of the blanket and the only pieces
that I need to worry about is your hand in mine.

Love will teach itself to me when I am ready.

SHOWERS

A good clean rain
shampoos the soul.
Down into my face and hair
it weighs my outer shields in,
makes my outsides glow with caution's light,
I carry more weight, walking, trying to
find my door to my home.

Things are not gray they are scrubbed
An apple ready to be bitten into, it shines
And thats how I feel like life today.
Like walking in the rain.

6 years wasted 10 lifetimes sacrificed, 10 years...

6 years wasted,

10 lifetimes female outer genital cutting
and pre teen urges for a labial circumcision, (shh baby they don't know IT, yet.)

6 years wasted believing you wanted this shape,
thin hips, high cheek bones, red lips and curly hair, nay,
a 6 inch dick to match it
and a par of stylish shoes.
MAry Jane black, with heels m female entitiety
Shall no pull off voluntarily.

6 years wasted

and 10 lifetimes and dam, I am not a Saint,
I have not gone back to sinning yet,
but have low ezpectations
for the next 6 years, hell, even I can go fuck myself

draft 1.

What’s love?

When you catch yourself smiling at a picture?

When your heart breaks over and over again?

Maybe—from a far distance,
or in close proximity?

Is it when you finish your first love poem?

Or discover your faith in someone who holds you tight,
instead of from a mirrored creed?

What’s love?

Any.
Way

space shot

Politics get watched like porn
Tension might as well be sexual
and I can not keep up with who's
on top of whom and how.

Mad tea party/thunder & lightning

I welcome thunder & lightning as companions
comforted by the madness of opening the window
I wish I could invite them in, sit down and chat at my mad tea party
I feel we've been good friends for awhile.

sedatives are working against me
did someone spike my zanax?
i should be the one sleeping not
CEOs of pharmaceutical companies,
and boys who have hurt me,
and all you folks who voted for Bush

I'm the one left with the side effects
I'm the one who has to clean the mess
I'm the one who can not forget it ever happened-
I'm the one who is fucked.

naked morning

Naked morning,
vulnerable to my own scrutiny
The heavy veil of night's hope
fails to cover me another day.

There is no indent, no mark
proving space your body was beside me.

There is no
Soft body-gone
you never lied down or looked at me.
The best part was falling
in your lap, against you,
feeling you want me.

Feeling wanted intently,
with potential.
This morning it hits me-
I never believed my own bad intention.

philosophy #2 (up for 3 days watching season 1 of golden girls)

Today my boss told me to be more upbeat-


my cat dared me to tell him to go fuck himself


my friend lost his dreams because he loves his wife

the economy fell 100 feet and no one wants
to hear me say, i told you so, today.

the voice in the mirror said
Remember me? you are supposed to be
staying young...

circling below my eyes, black stains of living sink in to
make bad thoughts of dying
and bad lives and bad results and, one day,
I'll feel OK, again.

philosophy #1

Sex is hot gold melting down bare thighs spread open
staring upward moonless dark ceiling rushing steamy moist
face and neck and ears and hands finding and feeling, reaching and smoothing

Love is hearing someone elses' screams for help
And knowing you're in the right place at the right time.

defending him #1

He is not an Empiricist, he is
an Intellectual.
He is close to a Saint, but
a fucked up guy (sexual).

incident report #2

self Respect?
Respect what?
you're full of Ideas but no Idea
getting Sympathy not style.
Christ.
you talked the talk always you not naive Enough

But can that ever meet up?
to the Fact all the time
now you're Desperate.

you're a walking, rotting ghost
it's you, now, who people look away from.
The drug, desire, make some sacrifices,
The need, the fire...
What? What? do you see

incident report #1

I'm sick of having answers,
I'm sick of having rhymes.

I'm sick of childhood friends
growing up to be junkies
blowing crushed prescription lines.

address change

I live in the stacks of paperwork-
unfiled flesh between numbered files.
Still functional here, still active.

I got lost looking for my government ID-
wound up between the inbox and the miscellaneous file.
If you scream according to date
If you laugh before its due
You can live, you can pass.
You can work, you can breathe.

you can get a phone call and forget what you wanted to say

Attempt No. 1

I'm not broken so don't buy me
I can't be fixed so don't be a hero
I can't be fixed and I'm not some novelty
My strangeness is not your flavor of the week.

sadly a travel diary

IT WAS SO DARK IN FLORIDA
Coming back, when the flight attendant asked me if I wanted a drink I made eye contact, held her gaze expectantly and said "No, thank you. "
IT WAS SO DARK IN FLORIDA
All I felt was the weight on my back, the weight on my back on my nerves: skull to toes
I don't fall down I stay up with this weight on my back, carrying this weight on my back...
Weight on my back weight on my back carrying luggage, carrying Grandma, carrying Guilt.
I've just been carrying a lot of weight on my back weight on my back why do we keep the old weight on our back so long?
IT WAS SO DARK IN FLORIDA
The sun hasn't looked the same, since.

Where Is The Village?

The Village isn’t how it used to be. After watching another 60’s movie, I’m caught up in the romanticism of idealism that once flowed through New York City. People weren’t always driven by success, but by passion and conviction. And now living for an art is a cliché.

Those grungy, old apartments for a couple hundred a month that were more like salvation habitats, now go for thousands and are more like dorm room frat parties.

I didn’t know the Village in the 60’s and I hardly know it now. I’ve written it off, like everything else as being overpriced and overexploited. I am envious of a time period I’ll never get to experience. A time period where everything was happening and opening up with such immediacy right in front of you, that you had no choice but to be affected. You had to respond some how: petition, protest, create, destroy, shoot and hit, yell and run. You were touched even if no one had any idea what the next day would bring. Everyone still felt the change and heard all the different voices. Nothing could be shut out. Is there a voice now? Is there conviction now?

I roll my eyes at a handful of protesters on the sidewalk and shrug after seeing snapshots of D.C marches. I don’t understand soldiers fighting proudly. I feel that I was never taught honor and ownership. I hear of another friend’s friend signing up to go overseas and I can’t figure out what they are fighting for. What they are fighting-- I understand. But what ideals of ours are they protecting?

I’m in a state of indifference that I can’t shake. A mask of success- big lights and name brands covers me, but inside I’m still waiting to get hit with some kind of mantra or religion that will fuel me into overdrive.

Is the simplistic answer of ‘it is, what it is’ really a way to sum our own time period up?

I’m living in a time where there is no voice to hear and multiple voices causes a headache. Ideals aren’t being broadcasted in living rooms anymore, they aren’t being shouted through megaphones into silence, but screamed into crowded, congested traffic where no one can hear. Where are our Martin Luther King Jr’s? Where’s our campus-wide news-covering protest? What is our revolutionary soundtrack?

If I want to hear anything, I’m going to have to turn off my television and go outside to the streets. Find the voices myself before my indifference turns into total neglect.

My Mistress

I cheat on this blog with another...so sorry.

http://me-vs-tv.blogspot.com/

Melt Down

When I let them out-- finally,
my tears are smooth and hard.

I feel like a baby again,
crying about what I don't understand,
about what I don't have,
crying about feeling helpless.
In need of outstretched arms
to carry me far above the ground.

What a drink and cigarette won't fix
--my own despair.

The wind is getting harsher
and my jaw muscles are strained
from holding everything back inside of me.

The crosstown bus must be trapped
by a garbage truck and UPS.
Of course.
Immediate escape costs 7.50
by yellow cab.
Emergency- I can't let go,
not in public, the sidewalk
is too naked a place to be fully exposed.

I dig for change and leave a bad tip.
The cabbie doesn't care,
he wants the sad girl gone.

The keys are in my shaking hands,
and I don't pause after entering my apartment.
I reach my room and
without turning on a light,
place one hand against my upset heart,
and the other against the wall,
just to remind me how to stand.

My eyes close and
the tears fall,
my voice is cracked and worn
when I speak again.

Never gave it up

Note to self:

Never trust anyone
Never take anything
Never get comfortable
Never get over it.

Never knew what happened
Never knew a plan
Never known a whisper
When a scream can mask the pain

Never gave a dam,
Never left a thing
Never gave all or nothing
Cause I don't need any thing