Love starred (starved?) Belly pain.

zanny rush Limbo
Quiet, morning Lights.

Complete and light,
on Love-life smug lips

I'll survive this day, I will,
to Be with Him, Tonight.

९ वायस आउट

9 ways in and 9 ways out
I'd like to show you
all the things you make me care about.

1 to your soft eyes
and 2 for the sadness they've seen
3 for all of your touches
4 my body is blushing serene.

5 for the minutes I wanted you bad
6 are the seconds I count to when sad.

7 is for when we talk about life,
we kiss today for there may be no heaven, just strife.

8 shows up on a black rolling ball,
if it drops in the hole too soon, babe,
don't worry, I'll hold you, don't fall.

9 is for every way in and every way out,
I can't run, I can't hide
Not from the 1
that knows what my numbers are about.
The night is strong, The stars pull bright
Serotonin seas of tears are lost for the night.

sing through the rainy days

I don't need money or cocaine;
I just need somebody with a good heart to tame.

Ophiuchus

Pull me from the ocean
Kiss me from the Coast.

I don't know, know what
I'm supposed to do

I Burn, and I Burn
and it's all because of you.

love 1

love is about breaking barriers that stopped you in the past.

she spins fire in the night

Fire in the chords of the keys of the New Year's Piano and fire in the depths of the mind, It is perfect, I am a living, breathing, loving and affected THING of this earth,

---gjgvh

New love, holy thoughts
We are strapped together
Freinds forever.

december 16, 2010

Dear Grandma,

I missed you today for the first time.
I really wanted you here to talk to.
I had something important to ask you.
For once, I had something.
Why now, and not during all those slow moments we waited for you to die.
Each minute around you after your mind had gone and you were a shell of a ghost of a memory of my role model, my nurturing true mother, my everything, my explanation of how I am the way I am and I sat there looking into your still breathing eyes searching for just one thing to tell you and all I reciprocated was silence.

Dear Grandma,
I went to La Salette tonight to cry for you, finally.
I expected the lights turned on for Christmas and it was going to be my first time seeing them, special!
Do you know I live here now, by La Salette? I heard you used to love it and bring older members of my family here.
My eyes were so black with heroin I could not see the lights
Maybe that's why I haven't been seeing you,
I know you were watching me thought there were not even lights

Take the reigns with me.

In the dark afternoon I hunt alone, my path foggy yet seamlessly unwinding,
In the dark afternoon I ponder it all, my own self an equation too blinding.


I'm just looking for someone brave enough to take the reigns with me,
That's right, you know it, pull back, go forward, be my baby.

I'm not searching for someone who can say the same nice words I've heard before
I'm looking to hear those same nice words and have it sound
true, important, and really for me me, forever more.

Hand over hand, we're driving fast to a destination straight and far from where we were last,
Hand over hand, pull the reigns hard with me, just to tighten my grip don't let go.

Hand over hand, hands so I can be stronger, I can be focused and my feet won't leave the floor,
Hand over hand, so in your eyes I can be remarkable, I can be a magician and open that door

We've both left so much behind, it's a wonder we met each other blindly.
You react to my hips, my curves my uniqueness like it's been created for your body.

We've both got so much to receive in this world, it's no wonder every time I'm surprised,
that it's you who is that finds me, and I like the way you do it, better every time.

I'm just looking for someone to take the reigns with me, it don't
have to look picture perfect, and there's no forced smiles to be drawn
Simply grab me, pull me close to you, and we'll both be composers to this song.

Take the reigns, oh, take the reigns with me,
it don't have to be picture perfect just be ready to be free.

Hand over hand, we're driving fast to a destination straight and far from where we were last
Hand over hand, pull the reigns hard with me, just to tighten my grip don't let go.

I'm just looking for someone brave enough to take the reigns with me,
That's right, you know it, pull back, go forward, be my baby.

Take the reigns, oh, take the reigns with me,
it don't have to be picture perfect just be ready to be free.

North Star Sighting

white russian revival-
joyous! rhythmic! gracious lips
effortless tongue waltzes-
heart warming soft hair body warmer
Oh, God to be one for a whole night.

new friend

You tell me this is a new beginning
but you must close your eyes so you can't see I'm stuck at an end.

You tell me this is all friendly,
but when our lips lock there is something we choose not to comprehend.

We are lovers of love, romantics of the past.
We want our life happy and we want it back fast.

I can't blame you, I do it, too.
If I could make up chemistry with our gaze I'd do it all for you.

Tossed like a Skipping Stone

I was Tossed like a Skipping Stone
right in the pale moonlight.
I thought my soul was lost, but it was my Soul that threw the me into the night.

I tried to save myself
by Drowning in my Fears

I tried to pay my dues, by facing my own tears
(I've been swimming in them).

I was Tossed like a Skipping Stone
someone whispered I'd be all right.

I was Tossed like a Skipping Stone
I sank and floated through the night.

The wind chilled my skin but my body was not there.
The darkness froze my senses but I felt enough that bare.

I was Tossed like a Skipping Stone
and I made it through the night.

I was Tossed like a Skipping Stone
discarded, reborn when it was right.

Notice to Ease elucidate an Embrace

There's something dark in Him.

I see it and I still don't care.

Rather trusting of bold Strikes

First taste daze &

and buyers without Wares.

The spaces of this man's mind I don't understand are villianized,
I allow his hands to guide the waltz,

Our eyes meet briefly acknowledging we hear the same music.


And our bodies move together and the story starts and I .

I focus on writing it perfectly, do anything to keep the story going.

I make a blunt motion and take more of his weight on me and I
I akwardly adjust my body to his.

I don't get scared, I don't fight it. I don't expect it. Each time.

Love and life I learn so deeply, my persistent student heart drives me to solitude.


I strain to adjust my body to his, she to he, my joints buckle, bones brittle.

There's something dark in him.

I just need to be held so I can make this story work.


Because the fight is keeping me alive.

I mock the hope I am infested with

Waiting, patient peace dove in my heart blushing with
the dream to beat pure and free one day.

I'm fixing the problem of only seeing the good in everyone.

By provoking the darkness I struggle to be free of; Love predators.
It’s love like a cause to question every beginning
e living, unfolding predestinations grasping for Breadth.

lighting a flame to see where my compass is pointing me (in progress)

I light my candles
At night to sleep,
It protects the fortress that-
you left for me to weep.

I kept a light on for you,
thought you're smile would come through the door
I think I see why people pay to laugh
And why poets compose memorable words that are recited, every more.

Each night alone alone felt like a week.

I thought you were a knight
And I was your princess
but I was your sky and i followed you away from the stars
because you promised to be my compass

I needed direction
I know it was a lot to ask
But we spoke of love and our family
every night you made me dam sure you would last

I pray for mercy, I pray to ease the pain so- excuse me if
the sound of sleigh bells leaves my face full of tears like rain

Jesus and I, well, we had a falling out just before
And the first time was not late last night
when so much fear came upon me,
the bible fell from my hands right to the floor

I thought this candle had burned down
And my life was hopeless to the core
I thought the last of my matches
would mean I've become a widow, ever more

This little island of mine
only stretches and expands so far
The land is like quick sand, I'd take any thing consistent... even if I am promised endless tar.

This might be true, and-
you might be right
I might as well just love that I love-
and think today I should be in love tonight,

So, drop your axe, old flame
Stay cold and bereft of my warm heart
The day you chose to stop going towards love
and straight to worship was when we should have part.

by the Slow transfer of the moon to sun's light

Before the Dawn,
there is goodness in us all,
our sleeping beds,
our pillow cocooned heads
retain the last images of our dreams before we wake.

Before the Dawn,
unconscious humans, united in peace
connected by similar journeys,
those stories that humans never speak.

Before the Dawn,
evil intentions are separated from sight
by the slow transfer of the moon to sun's light.

Before the Dawn,
we are all innocent, all possibilities
limitless, one urge important, clear.

Before the Dawn,
beginning beautiful light of the day shyly finds its way to my cheek,
Life kisses me good morning.

Eyes and body half aware of sensation,
mind uncluttered, unabashed- there is only one need:
and The moment I wake there is Love.

Waterfire Stories: 9/11/2010.

Waterfire Stores: 9/11/2010.



I do not know what life is. It must have something to do with a traffic light reflected on black water beside the white fire and a child in a stroller and the popcorn-flavored smell of smoke. I do not know what love is. I do know how it feels to walk hand in hand with you inside the echo of an ancient tune with the moon almost full and the fire I long since thought had died coming alive somewhere inside me. -Kenneth Slaughter

6 months- t be posted

The first 6 months were nothing
I guess I forgot that punchline, well...
the hardest part for me to open myself up to you was
just bargaining time in your eyes

The first 6 months were nothing
Then the next 6 months were hard
These 6 months have been interesting
and the next 6, well, if I am lucky
Will be held by you in some regard.

Forgive for trespassing on your
times that missed the mark
the first 6 times you kissed me
Were times that lifted me, hard,
it was not easy., but thank God
I awoke aware.

To how the first 6 months were amazing. and
all the days in front of us could be shared
In months I ay be all alone or I may be tired and done.
I just want to be in love with uou.
And you take it so very hard;;

IN PROGRESS!!! Amnesia is a Lunar Cycle

(IN PROGRESS)

The Night sheds my sorrow
My minds empty when I wake
My trust in God and nature's whole,
For one beautiful, selfless moment
I see the beauty in all the world before I completely wake.

I am open, I am living I am still your
princess for you to take.
I'm left alone to wake and dream for
Your strong arm to
reach, and want me hot,
roll into each other and
be One Body again.

The Night sheds my sorrow
My minds empty when I wake
For one beautiful self-less moment
My palms feel freedom, the weight of power
to tune my fate

My morning breath exhales purpose
Bringing air to my mind
it's reminded me why
I am lying here-
why I hit PLAY and not REWIND.

Your heated chest pressed against me,
rising and falling to some time
I know those songs
are about me but
why I am all alone when your by my side?

But I'm too full of
hope and love
and your too full of losing yourself to me
you tell me to stop
touching you, like that's expected, like
I won't be sick with shame.

of Loving, loving you

You must be a magician
And this love must be
a trick. Why is something
that I took the course to nurture,
blossoming inside of me, for you, just for you
a sickness, not a gift?

The Night sheds my sorrow
Erases uncontained hysteria
over mourning for passions call, yesterday no despair
How many sleeps
have I been washed in this-
Lunar cycle amnesia

How many more days can it help me
find a way, to see my purity
My mind's empty when I wake

Maybe you'll come to me
in my Castle where I Stay,
each day, the lines seep deeper
I've dedicated more to you-
I'm your Princess,
sadly growing old, emprisoned
to you, lovingly, love.

each
morning I pray you'll
Make me a lover, again, and at night I'll
press so rested so close to you.
The love of two people will mean
there is is nothing for Mother Moon to salve
and take from me,
just my dreams coming true.

evening Prayer

Come down
Come down
From the stars or
from the sea

Come down
Come down
Come down to me.

I need some salvation.
I need some peace.

Two eyes

God did not give us two eyes so it's Him you'd only see.
I wasn't born to be loved, but with time you let me free.

So, you have two hands and feel how much you can do
You're a healer, you're a symbol, you're a messenger of what is true

Let the tears fill my eyes to make two tiny silver pools,
stare deep deep within me and find I was carrying, you.

I mourn the long years of life absent from your side
I'm no fool I know a soul mate is a word, not something I can find,
There are things you do not question, there is a peace I cannot accept

You'd know this if you had more strings, not as a puppet or a pet
I was a Mother before a daughter, though a family was not repaired,
I did not have time for spiritual embellishments, there was no Father there.
I made up stories for the young ones, pretending his absence meant he cared.

God did no give us two eyes so it's him you'd only see
The eldest born protects the flock, thank God a blessing I did bear-
Brother, sister I made you strong no matter what happened to me
I would not have changed a thing, my love, except have you there.

Crossing this Threshold

I'm a creature out of habit,

I'm a song in need of shape.

Sure, the signs are right.

The doors been left Unlocked,

but you knock, anyways.

Oh, we are two of a kind,

But

We're much more than a Pair.

whatever the mirror reflects tonight

I know its one thing I will bare.

post-Termination initiation

This hole gets heavier as

it drains, the silence relieves some pains,

the nights, they darken, they dilate

shorter- when no one complains.

The less in me the more there is to hide,

I mourn not those I see but what I

felt inside.

Sweet, sweet are your lips-

I taste them fondly when I close my eyes.

Will this, too, leave my mouth, my taste

like that first bloom breeze, this memory shakes me Whole-

Gentle moment, missing friend

this time please stay for awhile?

I Am dangling this in front of you,

thought it's not what I wish to admit;

I've learned to suppress these lustful thoughts,

but without them, will I exist?

heart Concussion

heart Concussion

limp wrist protest

sullen thoughts

Remember, I'm a mess

There's a pill to be happy

There's a pill to be strong

There's a life to Conceive

and a Confession to be sworn.

he Plays guitar

The quieter I am the

faster he goes the Farthest he

is away from his inhibitions, concerns

I stay quiet because even if

I don't need help badly he

is so concerned for my

welfare and conscious of

my presence when I just

want to look at him.

I guess I would need my

own room, too. A room

where one could not

just "open the door"

onto your space.

It is hard to feel the

flow that way.

Scratch Ticket Baby

5 $1 1.00 for scratch

tickets give it a chance

How much money should be

invested to uncertainty?

4 chances a day - minus gas money

Blows luck through her lips with

her breath.

4 matching numbers 5, 9, 11, 7

If Probability were dependable

It would bot be psychiatry's math

Slippery 7's sing a chance.

A $1 1.oo more gets me a closer

what Signs are born from

Breaking Even?

Lucky 7 is a Mistress of the Muses

Laughing behind the numbers at a

fool's chance

Slippery 7s, mommy millionaire's

give birth without hesitation

You pay for what you play for

Breaking Even, Breaking Mind.

refreshMan

For a time,
i bloom to one piece.
In a shape of love.

home again

I see the road to home again.

it's course and cruel and hagged

i see the road to home, again.

It's lackluster, it's comforting smooth and hollow.

I borrow these painful shoes

from My Mother, they don't feel right

I feel as though they cause my feet to put one

footstep print in front of another

Creating trails, deep prints that never should have

been made,

be walked, by no creature, no poet, certainly no child.

last ride

I thought this was my last ride
I threw my shit away
I thought it was my last ride
I threw it all away

da truth

Pleasant, dark stormy nights with consistent, gentle rain is nature taking its medicine for manic-depression.

quote from "Paths of Glory" by Jeffrey Archer

"You are of the opinion that that clever women, the ones with degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, should be given the vote?"
"No, sir, that is not what I was proposing," said George. "I believe that the same rule should apply to women as it does to men. The stupid ones should get a vote as well."

slash

grapefruit-colored chopped comet spattered pattern
XANAX RASHES UP MY WIRST, EYES CLOTTED BY POT-STOPPED TEARS.

x evidence

There are stains on my carpet from sweat, fire, ash and tears.
My mirrors are cracked and my stories full of holes I don't like being filled.
The blood stains are the spots that never leave my skin.
The spots of exhaustion of yearning, different from solitude.
Seen behind my glares and indifference in short timed pools of reflections.

cyclical soul -bottom Numbness

Out of Respect
I exclude myself from my
Usual exclusion. The
carefully-layered, spine-breaking

diy-Dug bunker of cyclical soul-bottom Numbness
to breathe a sigh of relief

but the sigh is a stab
cutting me deep
I'm exhaling just because,
somehow, the pain is lenient, lets
me breathe.

Sadness and the Visual
embrace of your deep, watering eyes
pierces my mind whether my eyes are open or slammed shut.

I may be lost to you but
I let you enter and hurt me with
your unintentional memories shaped
like out-of-body streaming media.

twothousands

twothousands ut seems everyone is afraid of showing what they wrote lately in twothousands like a virus. That's why I wanted to put my twothousands together)
twothousands
my thoughts are strung out and perplexing
my minds signed, left on its sabbatical
won't be back to see the paperwork there are dishes to do and children to pet and in this fucked up situation I'd be blind if I was not upset.
Black op cops pimped out chameleons stenciled against once trusted pink walls. I am alone and in company but right now I shiver wondering what I'd do if it was you who was the one to find me.

waves

If
I'm on a wave of uncertainty you're a
slave to eternity we're all inside this
crystal ball frozen getting shooken up
stopped and dropped then the warmth
of someone holding
us
even in motion paralyzed
Not in my hands or yours anymore,
rolling around left for uncertainty on the floor.

The voices never told you

The voices are talking all the time it's when they're not talking and
its quiet i go with the flow make choices and relax, lean back on this sundial.
Twisted black and white sundial of mine.

a drop of oil in watercolor rainbow water

Oh beggars can't be choosers,
But choosers sure know how to beg.

My minds awrap round so many dreams,
Can I just live these life scenes?
Without all these swirling, burning visions in my head.

contact

Tiny, tiny tight woven tendrils
fierce, relaxed human contact at first light.
Delicate embrace chemical-laced moment
breath well spent, felt and drawn.

Destiny, Destiny!

Destiny, Destiny!
You play me every day like I'm a trip hop synth,
uneven melodies and strawberry jam sweetness.
I mirror my own string puppet show,
wanting to be graceful like strings can contort.

Destiny, Destiny!
The days are rolling fast off my tongue,
a violent wheel runs faster, runs me farther.
Sticky and sweet morning,
watery sunrise light a vagary.

Destiny! is a silly lost bird face planting my window at dawn.
Senses are mixed and subtle,
my sight is waxy and determined to be busy.
The line between slavery and freedom is warped.

Visions of conjoined twins

He waits in lines,
she waits in circles.

You're a junky wripped from my chest
Like we were conjoined twins sharing one heart,
one pair of lungs and you were the twin that had the mouth and
the smile and the face looking outward.
I just focused on the heart begged it not to stop for you, not for me,
I forgot it was mine, too.

I just remember sounds, non significant underwater murmurs,
concentrating on keeping you afloat with breath.

Ya, I'd like a flower for that.
Maybe a plant? Or we could go to the beach and collect shells?

Maybe one day you would actually walk my pace in public and look at me like
Im not some brand you trust but a person.

who thinks I want a diamond ring, a diamond dildo I don't fucking know, some stuff.
Still waiting for you to walk next to me in public
Or kiss me when I am totally awake

Or catch me staring at you, for once
You've never dreamed of me like I dreamed of you.

You happened without Me

You busied yourself,
rubbing my feet,
softening my step.

Adoring me, not in
love with me.

Worshipping me, while listening,
with the best intentions, does
not Solve a Dam thing.

I was determined to be made of steel,
to both Love you and Tough love you.

My head, my body could not do it
anymore. I never wanted to be frustrated,
it hurt
everything inside of me for you to disappoint me.

Day to day piled up to weeks and weeks.
They looked the same with you.
I was exhausted of resenting you,
sick from trying not to.

My hopes died and I gave up.
Empathy for you
kept me from breaking down.

My feelings for everyone and everything
paralyzed
and rotted away.

I dealt with it by keeping going.
I didn't think there was anything to
talk about,
my capacities concerning
you
had recently Died.

I just wanted to master this new
consistent family life embrace.
My whole spirit couldn't be the only
one
trying,
anymore-

you didn't notice?

... well, Fuck me.

Concrete avalanche

Distracted by distractions
It's loud in here, alone.

My thoughts are perceived and
expressed in sporadic shuffle order,
No matter how much power I put into it,

I think like an unreliable machine,
the batteries low, the content too complex.
Shuffle order my life, this day, this minute-how to fill it?

Last hour my life was over and this hour my life began and in
fifteen minutes I will be consumed by a latent,
Unplanned desire. Is it lack of will or lack of heart?

Come find me when you love yourself,
when you see as much love in You as
Love you have to give.

what I Decline to admit emotionally
solidifies and returns when a striking point is
identified. I am given away to the wim of
Pain from unconscious volatility.

Distracted does little
my fragile emotional nescience
physically tortures me without a source.

I was that tough, well, that much
in Fear that my
assumed- to- be- stable-sole-family partner.
Shattered me, hell, maybe focused me finally, illusions
shredded to shame you took the knife that sat between us
and cut and cut and tore and teared upon
the miles and miles of rope bridges I made, over time,
to walk to you, to get to you, to get you.

Bridges of trust were left open to you
My fault because I forgot I was not tough.
I'd been struggling for months to stand up
on my own.
For you, too.
Did you need me to be down to want you?

I was climbing, falling, assembling and maintaining all the time.
No matter what I did your hunger constantly spoke to me.

I wanted to feel safe, figure things out.
You showed no concern for me.
Sorry, I wanted to go on a date with you.
I wanted you to want me to feel secure, feel hopeful.
I pretended you did and often when I glimpsed you
were not going to sweep me off my feet or even consider it.
I cried.

I'm just a girl and I needed someone
that held my hand and took me somewhere.
And whose actions more than words proved to me;
Everything was going to be OK.

sister wordle

text line 1

dots ellipsis i-lip-sis noun omission printing text used words writing

created at TagCrowd.com

Just One Part

The hardest part- and I’ve realized recently that there is only just one,

is
accepting that we are all flawed.

It’s the outline of the human condition:

the basis for every good story-

needs the pain of the protagonist screaming into the bitter,
night air with no one returning her cries,
with not even one star blinking from above.

We need
the lowest of the low within each of us
to find
the deepest,
and the saddest
and the thickest
behind the low
in every
one else.

That’s when we realize we aren’t alone.

Even Alive in Wonderland missed perfection.

She had her fears and her constant stream of tears,
she wasn’t happy being too tall and
she wasn’t happy being too small.

The best rhymes don’t have an end.

The best part -and I’ve realized recently that there is only just one,

is
waking up from on top of the broken looking glass.

It’s remembering the reality that brought you to that first dream.

Then you stand up in your shattered pile
and let the broken pieces be seen,

You know you aren’t the only one
who has ever slipped down the rabbit hole.

Thanks Bukowski

I was shivering in a heated room-
- the best stories are a cliché from the start.

But before I begin I really must thank Bukowski

for unblocking me. Dead.

If he were here, he’d look up from the other side of the couch,
his hair shiny with sweat and oil,
cigarette burning down and drink freshly chilled,

‘You should’ve seen me in the 70’s, I unblocked a new pussy
every hour.’

I’d be uncomfortable but still smile.

No one (not even Bukowski) should say ‘pussy’ at ten AM on a Tuesday.

I’d tell him, ‘Well I always remember to pull you out during the hardest times.’

He would’ve been King of “That’s What She Said’.

I hadn’t written in weeks.

But I was drinking and smoking more.

And to him that’s all that a great writer needed to do in order to succeed.
The secret to his success was excess and fragment sentences.

Emily Dickinson had loneliness down to a science;
Sylvia Plath owned and operated hyphens.

‘Fall in love soon,’ he’d remind me. ‘The sooner the better so you can learn to loathe it.’

I added to my To-Do list.

If he were here, I’d shove him with my foot and light his cigarette.

“I’m here, thinking about my future…you should listen.
I could end up at a crossroads at the end of all this.”

His glazed green eyes would roll over at me.

“Babe, you need to pay closer attention,
no one ever said life starts and ends on a straight line.”

purple sleet

The dark is too bright the light too harsh from shadows
Dope sick empathy burns a fist sized hole in my lower intestines
Its like a bullet wound the size of a cannon ball
Mental health is a recreational habit
Let me linger, let my shell stay firm, let me stay and feel this
animal bouncing and shrieking on my ovaries
and cutting slits, reflectively, in my stomach like a paper snowflake.

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

crosstown bus

City lights don't ignite me
like they did
many early sunrises ago.

Instant gratification:
there's a stop requested please.
Stay. Still and Wait.

Sooner than later.
Just put the time in now,
to feel released.

Passion not in the way,
a dimming background fader.

We are all in the same
broken down subway cart,
running late, for that early meeting.

something i never looked at this way before

Sometimes the only hope we are given can?t be found in religion or faith
but in the ten-day forecast. Just as we have to believe that spring will come,
we have to believe that change will happen, and the bad will fade away and eventually
leave room for the change that we deserve.

Whether it be room for love, or forgiveness or a small but needed reminder of the good.
All my life I?ve tried to believe in the future, and put a lot of weight on the fact
that change is inevitable. And that time, the one thing we can?t control,
changes things.

At times I was begging for this change to come, and pleaded for some kind of difference in my life.
Living a life of indifference makes the shortest moments
last a tortuous lifetime. I know. I?ve lived that moment too long.

Other times, when I?ve faced and accepted the best and worst parts of myself,
I?ve begged for those moments to never end. And I?ve wanted to wade in the depth of those thickest moments,
and gotten carried away and lost by their weight and significance.

Love has a lot to do with timing. We all ask: when is it going to be time for me?
Am I ready for love now? We tell ourselves we feel ready. It?s all around us?love.
I?ll look at a stranger passing me, try to stare in his eyes, and want him to be the one.
I?ll want the search to be over, finally. And I?ll stop being so strong and so alone.

So detached and so seemingly replaceable. Love is supposed to be patient but isn?t this a little ridicules?
It looks easier, all around us, the way people just seem to
slide into shared lives together. I turn the bass up louder to drown in all out,
add another shot to my stomach. And cross another day off the calendar.

When will it be okay for me give all of myself to someone. To let him all the way in.
To let him know that he can?t live without me. That I?m worth big sacrifices with little compromises.
When will it be okay to be open and vulnerable and brave and fearless and no so hard, not so closed,
not so distance from the words I say, from the feelings I feel?

When can I show that I?m scared of being alone? That I dream of sharing my bed with someone warm,
who wraps his arms around me so tight, squeezing out any doubt.

I let go of the waiting game, when I feel like I?m losing. And instead I look up the ten-day forecast again.

My response to public question on the Internet

What is loneliness?
'Why' is loneliness?
'How' is loneliness?
'Where' is loneliness?'
'Who' is loneliness?



Best Answer - Chosen By Voters
Like shade like volumes lengthened to nothing to one drop of hair of DNA of prism like lightness of my former self alone left without Question.

refugee post

Unfortunately for "Express"

my two blogs I post news stuff on are shut down for maintenance.

Good for me, because I should actually, be writing poetry and not caring what blogger "Chip" thinks.

Here it is, reason #378 there is racism.

"Nappy Headed Little Mormon?"

May 10, 2007 | 6:30 AM
Category: News
Report This Post
Featured On: MyFoxBoston

Aparently, the "Rev." Al Sharpton has uttered a public "racist" statement against Mitt Romney's religion. What wil be the public response? What will be the press's response? (VB basically gave him a "mulligan" this AM, and instead criticized Mitt....blame the victim, VB?) Will his resignation be demanded (can you be fired as the sef proclaimed champion of the down-trodden?)? Will Jesse Jackson come out against him and his reprehensible statements?

My bet: Not likely. All "isms" are not created equal.

END OF POST.

It is hard for me to believe that this is popular opinion, FoxNews highlighted on their front page. "BloggerChip" is very enthusiastic about the Bush Administration and told me I should be ashamed at myself for making fun of Dick Cheney's quail hunting extravaganza all the while profiting from the countless "kids" he sends to Iraq to fire real guns, even now, because it is still so metaphorical. ______> should go write and chill and not worry and write.

back away and mean it

do not back away gently

it only makes it more ok

hidden in you, cloaked in honey sweat,

a mask of drained red wine.

yet i embrace the moment, clearly
dark gray to light blue to pink to light.

sky brightens tired eyes

gentle fingers slip down my side and find me.

do not back away gently,

it only makes it more ok

it only means now i know, it's a risk.

This is a path

with a lot of

trap doors

And sometimes

I can't see them all

This is a path

with a lot of trap doors

And sometimes

I don't know

how deep I am

This is a path

with a lot of trap doors

and there is no point in going anywhere

until I have a plan

evening hymn

The War in Iraq
is like a persistent alert
blaring like pre paid cell phone speaker music
from a high schooler exalted pressed against you like flypaper exterminating bugs...on the T.
No less... no more.

Internaly pumping, reminding me of my friend I got arrested with'
s Younger Brother.

-D-E-S-I-A-T-O that's his last name, for now.

He would have liked that.
Travis! No more everyone-told-you-sos
Just THANK YOU
for that moment you
trulyKept Our Blessed Nation Safe.

I'm glad they talked you out of college.

Peace is the prayer of the agnostic.

Night pavings

I have a short or non existant achilles heel, how poetic.
Pain has a new meaning with definition.
I'm rolling in herbaceous memories his head surrendering to my lap...
I'm in love with tear drops and shrugs.
'Night pavings', read the sign we passed in the dark, and I havent't left that road for good.

New Website

Hey

...check out my new website...

http://web.mac.com/dianalabrecque

:)

more writing on there too.
but not as exciting has here though.

Forecast

Sometimes the only hope we are given can't be found in
religion or faith but in the ten-day forecast. Just as
we have to believe that spring will come,we have to
believe that change will happen, and the bad will fade
away and eventually leave room for the change that we
deserve.

Whether it be room for love, or forgiveness or a small
but needed reminder of the good. All my life I've
tried to believe in the future, and put a lot of
weight on the fact that change is inevitable. And that
time, the one thing we can't control,changes things.

At times I was begging for this change to come, and
pleaded for some kind of difference in my life. Living
a life of indifference makes the shortest moments last
a tortuous lifetime. I know. I've lived that moment
too long.

Other times, when I've faced and accepted the best and
worst parts of myself, I've begged for those moments
to never end. And I've wanted to wade in the depth of
those thickest moments, and gotten carried away and
lost by their weight and significance.

Love has a lot to do with timing. We all ask: when is
it going to be time for me? Am I ready for love now?
We tell ourselves we feel ready. It's all around
us--love. I'll look at a stranger passing me, try to
stare in his eyes, and want him to be the one. I'll
want the search to be over, finally. And I'll stop
being so strong and so alone.

So detached and so seemingly replaceable. Love is
supposed to be patient but isn't this a little
ridicules? It looks easier, all around us, the way
people just seem to slide into shared lives together.
I turn the bass up louder to drown it all out, add
another shot to my stomach. And cross another day off
the calendar.

When will it be okay for me give all of myself to
someone. To let him all the way in. To let him know
that he can't live without me. That I'm worth big
sacrifices with little compromises. When will it be
okay to be open and vulnerable and brave and fearless
and no so hard, not so closed, not so distance from
the words I say, from the feelings I feel?

When can I show that I'm scared of being alone? That I
dream of sharing my bed with someone warm, who wraps
his arms around me so tight, squeezing out any doubt.

I let go of the waiting game, when I feel like I'm
losing. And instead I look up the ten-day forecast
again.

movie review for school paper

Catch and Release: Needs More Bait
by Diana Lee LaBrecque
An unlikely cast comes together in Susannah Grant’s latest light-hearted drama flick, Catch and Release. Grant is best known for writing feminist movies such as Erin Brockovich and In Her Shoes. Her newest film centers around Jennifer Garner’s character dealing with the death of her fiancé and about the kind of man he was. With emotional support from her alcoholic and uptight friends played by Kevin Smith and Sam Jaeger respectively, they all deal with life after death. Secrets unravel and the truth comes out about the people we think we know and the people we think we are. Playing the bad-boy love interest of Garner is Deadwood’s Timothy Olyphant. He’s the stereotypical black sheep loner trying to rediscover himself in a crisis. Juliette Lewis (The Other Sister) appears part way through the movie as the dead fiancé’s ex-lover.
Though the story line is just as enjoyable as discounted shoes, the consistency of the actors reminds the audience that somehow not every actor can pull off a romantic comedy. Garner’s performance is mediocre and unconvincing. It seems as if she really is confused by the mix of both drama and comedy in this film and never really picks one way to act, so she sticks with casual indifference. Quirky Kevin Smith is pretty reliable and predicable as the mourner who turns to drinking and drugs to escape. He can be confirmed as the comic relief whose one-liners break any hope of their being any sense of drama in a film dealing with death. . Lewis plays a vegan, masseuse with a kid who is looking for a father figure. Her character was over-the-top and annoying after her first scene.
Character development and chemistry aside, the story gives a nice escape on a Sunday afternoon. It could be considered a date movie but don’t look for true love to be seen on the screen—it’s more like the two main characters are saying: ‘I guess we can hook up cause you’re the best looking one here and I’m lonely’. On a side note, Garner should stick with her usual gigs of physical acting, and stay clear from movies where she is required to show any physical emotions.
There’s no real connection between any of the character but they did a nice job of pretending they didn’t notice the lack of talent in each scene. But as an audience member it’s hard to ignore the weak scenes and unmotivated dialogue. It’s good to know before sitting down in the theater that the movie is over two hours so that way you have plenty of time to get used to the poor acting and get more comfortable with the setting taking place in a house almost the entire time. Though it takes a while to get used to the weaknesses of the movie, especially the love relationship that really comes out of nowhere, by the end you still want all the characters to end up happy.
The preview did a very accurate job of making this movie look conventional and bad but it’s still almost worth seeing if you can’t decide what run of the mill chick flick to see. If Susannah Grant could have found at least one actor whose had more than five years of real film acting then maybe her script could have had a chance. But what she got stuck with was a good-looking cast that doesn’t know how to fully develop characters and a predictable afternoon snack kind of script. (You don’t really need it but it’s not going to kill your dinner, either.)
Final Grade: C+

Calf to cow, ashes to Atom

She still wants to live
Just not
in this world

He would have wanted
to live longer
in another lifetime


confluence over euthanasia
doctors arguing for a show
admistered his last anasthesia...
It was his time to let go

We all survive in oblivion
and before you return to Denial,
stay with me one more moment,

you can remember,

just for
awhile

Video site

http://www.black20.com/


I actually might do some freelance P.A
work for this company in the near future.

and then there were none

a smile is an acknowledgement
a parellel universe; one moment in time.
i'm here observing in this universe, unfortunately
He. sits across from me, intruder of pan irony
I just feel I'm aging, aging
a second passes and I feel every aspect of him
Chorus in ADegeneration
growing younger beyond his years in
animal magnetism
mammalian intent
Darwinism like politics limits his options more than mine.

Part Duex

(See 12/2004 for Part One of Ballad)

BALLAD PART DUEX:
SURPRISE! SEASONAL DEPRESSION
CAME EARLY THIS YEAR!

Ten shopping days till Christmas and
I’ve eerily been politely told
by both friends and family,
that I need to start being nicer to both
friends and family.

Starting to think it’s true when received
a late night drunken prank call
referring to me as a little bitch
who likes to suck dick.
(The latter accusation isn’t true)

Greatest epiphany in the world
when my somber grouchiness caused
by lack of global holiday cheer has
some how affected more than
my sleep and eating habits-
but has shaken my life as a whole.

Need to stop wishing for the first snowfall
and start praying for my own genuine smile.

I stutter and go into shock when
a passing stranger wishes me luck on an exam,
and it finally hits me like a hail storm:
I need to get my head out of my own ass
before New Years Eve if I want to even have acquaintances in 2007.

joey

If the Man Upstairs
is really there he resembles
this rapist that can still make me smile
If the Man Upstairs
is really there than he has the logic
for the Ever Abstract Grand Design
equivalent to a kangaroo
Humor that you feel drained after
I hide under a rock when it all seems too simple.

Just One Night

Tonight was just one of those nights,
when I couldn’t tap into my self
the way I usually can.
My confidence lingered in the doorway for hours,
and I couldn’t remember how to smile on the outside.

I was waved at and could only blink back.
But I promise nothing was wrong.

It was just one of those nights.
When I was back:
looking though the world in front of me,
like a snow globe, on the outside.
and I just couldn’t find the energy to even shake it.

I sipped the liquid in front of me,
begging it to give me its usual courage.
But it just waded, staring back up at me.
My mind moving faster than the music beat,
while my body sat – motionless–
heavy against the chair.

And my worse fear has returned:

– this one night will become two.

OK

You ask, politely mainly out of concern--
Are you okay?

I turn and say I am fine.
Fine fine fine. Maybe even good.
Since recently I can convince myself of anything.

But whenever I see myself in a mirror
I see my mother staring back at me.

And whenever I see a man
That I may want and feel something
Anything for…one day—
My best friend is there:
Quicker, faster than me.

And I know I shouldn’t,
But I wonder, is it me?

I know I’m good though,
I have the basics down.
How to charm, how to please,
How to make someone love
Me is easy, but how to make
It last is a lesson, I must have
Missed.

All you see is smudged eyeliner,
A sarcastic girl whose lost,
with hair that becomes knotted when
It’s down, a girl who stumbles when
She talks, who slurs when she walks.

But if my father taught me anything,
It’s that there’s a reason for it all.

She is the one who sees her biggest
Imperfections the loudest and can’t
Figure out how to silence them all. She
Hears herself screaming inside and
Often, wants to hide when she finds
Herself around the ones who choose to
Only see a puncture wound they’d
Rather not find a solution to.

She always tells herself to cry later,
Later, later, later. Any time but now.
And sometimes when she is sitting alone
In a bathroom stale she says loudly—
Why doesn’t mine come with a pen?
If an artist is creating something new
Every minute, why isn’t every corner
Prepared with her necessities.

She wants to write, she needs to explain
That she’s not so cold hearted but scared
To be open to a real solution that will quiet
Her pain, that will stifle her silence that
Will reconnect her with the mind she may be losing.


--The worst part if it is,
Is that she reminds herself
That she could have had him
If she really wanted,

And she’ll be kicking herself
Tomorrow, not over too
Many beers, too many
Awkward moments, too many
People who don’t understand
But the moments before she
Closed her eyes before the sun,
She realizes her teeth and brush were left
Undone.

mundane mystery

I'm an asshole
when I'm productive

I'm a drunk
to ward of the inevitable

I'm trying
to make you understand
I'm volatile, I'm an epiphany, I'm an asshole
and if your lucky

I care enough to forget your name,
to make you get bored of searching before you give up.
It's not interesting or even fair
but you've only lost something when you have to find it.

preparing to be miraculous

It's hours before
I'll meet this, child, the details
I know are skeptical and missing needed information
at best.

It's hours before
I'll meet this child
and his Mother all ready
believes I will get him to stop banging his
skull to the tiled bathroom floor, softly
accenting every fourth slam with exceptional
intensity.

It's hours before
I'll meet this child
and I prepare to be miraculous,

before transformation the cigarette burns
to a small, filthy nub between
my pointer finger and thumb
My lips quiver, I lick them rawer with my tongue

It's hours before
I'll meet this child,
my lips form words before I can acknowledge I may
not be talking to just myself, remember to breathe, please
Please god Give me this Gift One More Time.

Latest Assignment- write a poem about love

Being Forced

Being forced to write about love
is like being stuck in a basement,
while paralyzed, with a magnifying lens in hand-
as my first fresh, glass of whiskey spills and slips though a crack in the carpet.

It’s like only wanting to listen
to the eerie silence of a light, blue shadow
but being forced to uncover my ears
to a railroad spike cutting through sheet rock.

It is as if someone is holding my stretchy headband over my eyes
and isn’t letting me see the tiger.
When all I have ever really wanted-was to see a tiger.

Being forced to write about love
is like my sweaty, dirty palms grabbing the sharp edge of an ax
while tears and snot run down my snout
and then someone reminding me that:

all David ever gave me was a sweet potato for my birthday.

finding the trail

drugs are great
they open the eyes
i chew down on mushrooms so hard
i feel the liquid freshness roll down my tongue
piercing the center of the stem

i time myself
to know from what point i will slip to a
better view
I am marching, searching for the trail
the minutes are easy to count
at first
but nothing happens

Until i forget time,
and place, and me and I am
Pleasantly suprised
I live in this world I just don't
take much away from it until
I'm gone

I'm a little girl, again
and I won't come down the mountain to grow up,
like that.
so let the sky and the sea and the tide as their progeny
claim me as lost and I
will be found
whole and alive for the first time.

a wannabe

What do you do
when
you’ve met all the smokers
all the jokers,
all the wanna be cokers?
when
the new hot scene
is already cold and old?

Who do you turn to
when
the city beats you back,
beats you down
when you thought you were the one
with all the control
in the palm of your hand?
when
you miss feeling
larger than life during
those small victories,
that may, in the end,
be nothing?

Where do you go
when
you see that the rain cloud just gets darker and darker
above your head
while watching the soundless lightening storm
above the night sky line just exhausts you?
when
the glamorous dirt under your sink,
the dirt under your fingernails,
is the only sign left
that you once dug for your dreams?

What are you supposed to think
when
over and over again
you feel like crawling under anything
anything at all,
as long as it’s under and deep and far,
away
from where you are now.
when
you’ve been playing a part for so long,
so when the smoke finally lifts from the crowded dive,
so when the city street noise takes a minute to breath,
so when the need to have it all
dies down for just one brief moment,
and you finally, finally, finally
take a look in the mirror
you can hardly remember
when was the last time
you
played
you?

I know,
because sometimes
I think.
I think,
I know that
You wanna be loved.
Loved. And.
You wanna be.
And that’s it.

mismanagementspellingbee

To stay in the game I cover my mouth
to stay in the game I pretend to follow the rules
I strategize, compromise
Feign apathy when appropriate.
I can be this instrument, this well trained tool
I have been trained, bribed in small meek steps
Well,
when it comes to when they ask me
'What would you do if it was your child?'
like my advice is best because it's there,
I'd say, "You shouldn't have to ask if
you cared,"
But I don't I tell them this, I tell the good things
and they tell me lies and they only take him for a night a week
I feign apathy and they feign family
when they fill his head with lies
of vacations they will take him on
next time, and if they asked me what I would do I would
say I wouldn't need to try to act like
he is my son.
I would not hide him from the rest of my life like he is
some dirty affair
There are children hidden in pockets of buildings, in special rooms in schools
The lucky ones find an acceptable combination of medicines and rush to join the flock, march on.

humidity

the air beneath us wells up and rises sticky,
rising like a warning clinging onto our chests
the air beneath us makes our legs go weak
and we are pushed closer to make one and
it's time for good bye, dark the moon covered by
used up night rain clouds wasting in the moonlight
the air beneath us shifts as you spin on one foot
and turn to walk the other way
its your scent that remains that matters
its your scent in the air dressing me like armor
i can face the warning like a warrior
and turn around from this place, and like you
can walk away
ive been warned i may see you again

dry muse

In the future
I will have this all figured out
and I will have the time
to see how little it mattered

something sexy

something sexy
about remembering how well you write
and how well that did not change
something sexy
about feeling like an ass for treating you
like i was a coward
because i am brave, just
not at the right times in the way
that would make this all make sense
something sexy
about remembering the way your lips tensed and shook when
you waited for my response
it's in my head
it's in my mind
it's oblivious to logic
and when i wake, when i least expect
anything
it brings me to my knees

uninspired

For my birthday last year my roommate gave me
the gift that I asked for:
a word of the day calendar.
and i use it each day. and i read the word and
i tell myself I am going to use that word in a
conversation at some point during the day.
but i never do.
i mostly see the words as a kind of forshadowing
of what my day is going to be like.
today's word: solipsism.
meaning a theory holding that the self can
know nothing but its own modifications and
that the self is the only existent thing.
i didn't use that word in a sentence today.
i'm not sure i know what it means.
i can't know anything but myself as I change
and exist through time.
i haven't been able to write. but i am writing now.
I thank Bukowski. he inspires me. his poetry,
his alcoholism, his honesty. his death.
I was in the City this weekend. And all I had was one goal.
To find the Bethesda Fountain. It took me over an hour to find.
Its smack dab in the middle of Central Park.
I found Bethesda. (I speak like we are old friends)
and sat and sat. and watched and watched.
for over two hours. in the sun. and i listened and i didnt move.
and i tried to write. i wanted to write. so i did.
and i realize now how much i hate what i wrote. it might have
been good. but i know now it was uninspired.
Bukowski inspires me. Bethesda simply quiets me.
And I thank them both.

sophomore slump

Sophomore Slump
By Diana Lee LaBrecque

Maybe its because I am a romantic at heart
Hidden by a dark cloak of cynic bad dreams.

Maybe its because my mother is right and
All I need is a boyfriend…or maybe a job.

Maybe its because for some reason it’s still winter
And the groundhog likes to mess
With the seasonal depression in all of us.

Maybe all of a sudden everything feels like its
Too much to handle
Maybe all of a sudden everything feels like its
Not enough to fully hold.

Maybe I could just blame that boy that said he’d write.
Maybe I could just blame that bad mix of antidepressants.
Maybe I could just blame that lack of attention as a child.

But I’ve played those games before and
I’m still left with questions given as answers.

And that sudden rush of panicked emptiness
That needs to be filled with anything but lonely regret

Maybe its that damn fear that I’ll wake up tomorrow and
Want to be anything else than what I am trying
To be for the rest of my life

Maybe its that damn fear
that I should have woken up yesterday.
To shake myself from this slump

comment ramble on "Isaac's Dream"

meeting isaac's dream roomate of some one im waiting for
not like i go out and try to be seen but
you know people know you the best that know you the worst
and guitarists always say, hey jess, write me a title for this mess of words, hey jess, when you hear this do you get any ideas for a layout a life
a lyric a hit a pause i heard you can make a
symphony fit a collage?
and he tells me the story of isaac's dream
i repeat it like an idiot thinking it means anything
mortals die one death and artists die two
one for the body and
for what they never could do
so i hear a story of isaac's dream
so dark it inspires me scary i know
another story to repeat
at times
when people should know
what we all must know.

eyes extreme

(work in progress)

isaac's dream.
she said-with eyes extreme.
not some religious tale.
but a kid who drove cross country
in a dream.
and kissed its reality hard.
he met the life almost had.
but its too bad,
he was taught tragedy
with one eye open.