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.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
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-
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 09, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
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.”
- 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.”
Thursday, January 08, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, December 15, 2008
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.
flowing alertness to the half-masked sun,
fighting to sit in an impossible chair.
At least I woke up with someone in my bed.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Monday, October 06, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, September 26, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
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
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
Thursday, August 28, 2008
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.
Tension might as well be sexual
and I can not keep up with who's
on top of whom and how.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
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.
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.
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