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.