Saturday, November 7, 2009

Left here in the remains of what should've been
My head is filled with so much I could regret

But I cannot convince myself that this is
The end, the end, the end

Thursday, September 24, 2009

My Letters to the World that Never Wrote to Me

A collection of poems inspired by Emily Dickinson (and one after William Blake), and some not.


I. A Song of Experience

The end again and all I see is our world standing still.
For all those years you never saw — the wishes unfulfilled.
The wounds are covered shabbily, excuses running thin.
The end again and everything's two-hundred-eighty-six.

Your eyes close as you tune out — my sorry little pleas.
The end again and all I am is right back on my knees.
No fortitude from either side, I hide my lips in shame.
The wandering mind is cursed and blind in a variety of ways.

The alphabet's unceasing curse is running through the folds,
Of unwashed sheets and dirty feet and laundry two weeks old.
The end again and everything's exactly how it seems.
Recreate the exact way that all this came to be.

The end again and how the hell am I to make amends?
For things I said and tears I bled — your promises that fell.
In your absence something else developed in my mind.
Not so crazy — next to someone else who loses time.

These infantile words explain what eyes don't comprehend.
The rhythm's off, but I'm afraid of what comes in your stead.
The end again, to all who've seen this coming miles away.
You're incorrect, this is in fact — the way it shouldn't be.

I hate the way you force me back to thirteen year old ways —
Rhyming phrases, inbred names, and everything's the same.
The end again and nothing is the way I make it seem.





II. The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually

Disconcerting Pictures on the brain —
Sleep Never seems to help a thing.

Insanity touches — borders of My Senses,
Teasing symptoms yet uncovered,
Drowning — in a pool of Your Unrest —
Conceptually, the worst of these is This:

Inside-out — you see that I'm a Wreck —
Of Colors — in the world to be unchecked.







III. Redundancy

Ocean depths surround again —
Rock me in your waves.
I'm sleeping in my dreams.
Massive shadows dance in spaces yet unseen.
Your face reflected a million times before it gets to me.

Itching to be near the shore again —
Caught in currents not my own,
Yet familiar.
Slip and caress my thirsty pores —
Nothing is the same.

A green hue —
Inappropriate unto itself.
The weight of it all is suffocating.
Smile nonetheless —
For this is not your world...





IV. Breathe Me

I miss the opportunities,
That you presented.
Now every time I read your words,
I remember the resentment,
I used to feel —
At the sound of your name.
Blacktop breezes find their way,
To your face, and your smile is the same —
But my pulse isn't racing like before.
I know a touch might spark the thrill,
But we keep our distance.
Muted, but deeper, a dark river —
Through my lungs — I remember.
Eyes closed —the tender moments,
Float their way to the top,
Once in a while.
I flirt with thoughts of another,
Winter together, but I melt —
At the site of his face.
Light shakes itself,
And the pieces drift —
into my corner.


I love you both —
but not the same.





V. [Insert Here, the Scent of Loneliness]

I'm whipping back to darkened nights on charter buses.
Traps were laid so I would be the whore.
And she was so much nicer than I could hope to be.
Don't think about yourself and I'll be fine, he said.
But in the end he liked the things he could control —
I am left dumbfounded.
You're not that way,
You're not that way,
You're not that way...
Just tell me what I meant, and I'll deny it.
Please, tell me what I said, and I'll forsake it.







VI. Lucid

Sometimes I wander far beyond
the dimensions I’m allowed.
Beautiful words for their own sake
have cut deep into my eyes.

Do rubescent pupils
prove my penitence?
Reaching for sense
I find none.
Regret at weaving tangled webs
and no way out alive.

Pinching nerves to try to see
what I have done.
I'm dead, it seems, and funny
that I asked you such a thing.

A better answer should have been received before
I plunged into the black hole of twisted dreams,
Not meant to repeated in the morning,
unless you're one to remember everything.

Don't play sick games
if you're offended.
Scream and scrape the layers
off my scaly skin.
I was spinning, and seeing things
inside my eyes.
I try to tell you, too late,
that my brain is warped tonight.





VII. First — Chill — then Stupor

After great Pain — I, in Weakness — always lie.
This feeling as heavy as the sky — and winter wind.
After great Sorrow — I, in Strength — must never cry.
This thought, a moment crystallized — Forever.

After great Wrong — I, in certain Light — fall, head in hands.
This soul is damned, but was it ever mine — the question.
After great Crime — I, in prison Cell — wish for the end.
This heart, so hardened — Frozen Life, awaiting death.





VIII. Your Love had Stood — a Loaded Gun

Innocence does not Prove a thing to me —
You are Guilty — the Greatest crime,
Look at me with Empty eyes — and Apathy —
Diaphanous disguises — I recognize as mine.

Offer your Excuses at the alter — of Cowardice,
Your mask of Glass — Reveals nothing — when Broken,
Recite your Lines and bow — I bring up the Lights —
Careful, Dear — those Thorns bear Roses.





IX. ‘Twas Warm — at First — like Us

One Searing Yesterday chains me —
Caught on a Wall called Loathing.
My Fingertips are raw and Bleeding —
Clawing at a door called May.

Her eyes are Sweet,
Dripping — Boiling Sugar down her cheeks.
Sour Acid teases the back of My Tongue —
A response to Your Existence, but still —
I'd drop the Dagger — for those Two Words.





X. Broken Down

I see — Everything —
I hear Everything —
Thoughts and sound and — Noise.
Dust is gone and permeating.

Colors insinuate what I cannot — Reflecting.
Light is its own — Flavor, retreating,
Back into the Silence.
Ghostly images — surrounding your so-called Reality.

Pupils twitch at things unseen — Imagined.
Movie screens — Distorted.
The words you say translate into,
"I love you... kind of..."

Time stipulates Her own way.
She sees the here and now — and Always.
Frightened — seeing through — now it's relative,
Object to Things said years ago,
Forget what made Things relevant —
Subject to principalities unheard.
Unbroken.

I see — Everything —
I hear Everything
Dust and noise and — Sound.
These thoughts leave me permeated.

Stare at me — don't see a Thing,
It's always — always rubbing off,
The masks are Faded — rubbing off.
Disguises made of nothing I can see — Everything —
I hear Everything —
Sound and dust and — Noise — permeating.

It's all in me —
And now it's yours to show.
Do you like, or are you scared of things to come?
The end again and nothing's here at all.

Monday, September 7, 2009

I am not inspirational.
No one writes about me.
I do not inspire metaphors.
I am not beautiful.
I strike awe into no one's heart.
I am not even ugly enough to be exciting or exotic.
Maybe I strive to be awful.
If I am horrible enough, maybe someone will notice.

Monday, August 24, 2009

You write such pretty words,
Eloquent phrases drip of your fingertips,
As effortless as sweat.

You blink such pretty eyes...

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Every Night

I write you letters you will never read.
I pray that you find your way back to me.
In a little black book, in dark black ink,
I pray the Lord your soul to keep.
But I don't think that God exists.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

You say, "move on," but I'm not really moving forward.
You say, "move on," but what is there to look towards,
When I've left you behind?

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Touch Me

I feel my sanity slipping away. You, holding down my body as we watch my thoughts play across the ceiling like a bad ballet. My skin is hot against your own, your hand caressing my thigh, the small of my back. I feel the scratchy brown carpet through the thin white sheet we laid down like a picnic blanket on the beach. I feel exotic in my lacy black bra and panties, with you on top of me in your jeans, and my thoughts projected on the ceiling. "I'm melting," I say as my skin starts to feel as scratchy as the carpet beneath us. "I know," you whisper as you run your lips down my neck and across my chest. I'm not sure if you heard me or if you just saw the sensations dancing above us. I imagine myself as one of the prettier girls I know you fuck during the week. I let my pudgy stretch marks melt into the sheet and try to feel beautiful underneath you. The only light in the room comes from the hallway, slipping in through the cracks in the door, along with a muted bass line from the stereo downstairs. The light seemed sickly yellow before, but mixed with the music, it seems cooler, an almost sea green. It reflects off our skin, and I pretend I'm a mermaid. I imagine you must taste like the ocean, and I put my mouth to your shoulder to check. You don't taste at all like the bitter, salty scent pouring in through the door. You leave a sweet taste on my lips, like my clove cigarettes, but stronger. I kiss your shoulder, your neck, your face. I notice how your breath sounds exactly like the music from downstairs.

"Look at me," I tell you.

"What?" you ask as you burn me with your blue eyes that now look purple in the ocean light.

"You're beautiful," I whisper.

You laugh and kiss me.

I see the white sheet and the brown carpet and our empty plastic cups, and we're up against the wall. I know you're not as high as I am because you're too concentrated on my body, and I can't concentrate on anything. I don't even know how I'm standing up.

"Don't stop breathing," I remind you. Your breath and your pulse are weaving streaks of red into the ocean air. It occurs to me that if I were sober I'd find the color combination horrendous, but I'm too high to be anything but fascinated.

You ignore my instructions as you reach behind me to unfasten my bra. You accomplish the task too easily, but I don't care. I think to myself that everyone looks good in the ocean. Your mouth is on my chest, and the colors start spinning, and I'm laughing like a little girl at a carnival.

You're on top of my again. We're on the ceiling. I never did consider myself to be much of a dancer.

"Are you okay?" You brush my hair out of my face, and it feels like you brushed part of my cheek away. I feel my skin floating in the waves, with your pulse.

"No," I whisper. "I'm empty." I bring my hand up to feel the hole in my face, but my fingers are gone, too. The only thing I can feel is where your skin is touching mine. I reach down to undo your belt, and you just stare at me. I stop and blush.

"Don't stop," you instruct, and you bring my hands back down to your waist. I slip one hand in your pants, and I wonder how long you've been hard. You moan as my hand brushes against you.

You fill the room, all reds and purples, and I feel you everywhere. No matter how much you touch me, I want more.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Granite Eyes -- Imploding

You're in my stomach again.
You're there -- growing.
I felt you take root, and I've counted the days. I've named you.
I rest my hand lightly on my abdomen, and I feel you there.
My skin is bulging, stretching, wishing you were on the other side.
You're an ache.
You're there -- growing.

I fear the consequences of your final departure.
You'll always be inside of me. (This is not what I meant when I leaned over in the dark and whispered lightly in your ear, "I want you inside of me.")
But when you leave me, you'll still be inside of me. (But inside of her. Really inside of her.)

My stomach is boiling.
I take this as a sign that you share in my rage, in my hatred of her.
We are even more, in this fire.
We scare me, our murderous hands.
She is not safe.
Is this the price she is willing to pay for my tender moments? (You're mine. You're inside of me.)

I rise and fall, with my chest.
The high point, there is none.
But the valleys alternate... rage, despair, and rage, and despair.

Get out while you can, if you must.
But you're already inside of me.
And I know you're not willing to kill me.
But are you willing to love me?

(I love you.)

Sunday, June 21, 2009

The ache starts in my stomach. It slides up my esophagus, into my intestines. My chest is frozen, and then begins moving inward, crushing my weak lungs. Electric shocks burst through the veins in my legs. My shoulders tense, my fingers curl.

"Where are you?" I hear a whisper in the dark. I feel my lips brush together, my tongue does a dance inside my mouth.

I roll to my side. Tears slide to my lashes, and no further. The ache is like a black hole, sucking everything in, towards my chest. I'm afraid that I can't hold it all, I will burst.

Forbidden words imprint themselves on the walls of their prison cell. Pink flesh is scorched with words that have no language. Inscribe me with these. Fire burns and cleanses and leaves scars.

You are not my past, nor my future. You are everything, for all time. This distance causes this strange emptiness. The absence of your hands makes my skin reach out to you. Tearing at the nerves and muscles that lie beneath. The pain is growing stronger.



My heart has been replaced by an exquisite lack of anything that can be explained by science. Something unseen, but theorized. Powerful currents draw my organs from their proper places into knots and tangles.





"Please," the whisper comes again. The flesh, my tongue is dry. "[beep]" the forbidden syllables, forever trapped. The non-existence growing, please take these words as well.

Monday, June 8, 2009

A story.

once upon a time in a far away land there was a girl.
she was walking through the woods and found
a blue ribbon lying on the ground.
she picked it up and noticed that it smelled
like cinnamon, which she liked,
so she tied it in her hair.
she then proceeded to get very lost,
even though she walked through the woods every day.
but even though she was lost, she wasn't scared.
in fact, she kind of enjoyed being lost.
she found a tree with oranges growing on it,
picked one, and sat down under the tree.
she ate the orange, and it was delicious.
she decided to take the ribbon out of her hair
and tie it around the tree branch
to mark the tree so that she would be able to find it again.
she continued to walk through the woods and found herself at home,
no longer lost, but she had no idea how she got there.
and she never was able to find the tree again.
the end.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Take a chance?

Regrets are creeping up on me, but not the one's you'd think. Everyone deserves one of these, but I don't want one right now. I don't usually go out on limbs, but I don't usually do anything. I definitely don't usually do this. Is it my brain? My hormones, neurons, lying to me? I suddenly care so much as to whether or not you're thinking of me, and mere months ago we were strangers in the same town. And I just don't feel bad about this, and I don't want to.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Forget It

Grab my hand and kiss my fingers lightly. Lure me in with your boyish grin, but promise me nothing. It's alright, darling, I promised myself the stars. Your tone is interpreted so easily. Every word unsaid falls upon deaf ears, and I try so hard not to care. But all I see is that ubiquitous girl. I just want my moment, my season. Why am I so impatient?

Sunday, May 24, 2009

I am broken.

I think I'm crazy. I feel as if I could wake at any moment and my whole life would be just a fading dream. And that would make perfect sense. I feel like I could just start walking and not stop. Just keep going. Sleep is a sudden enemy. I look up, and the room I'm in feels strange, too much texture. My ears are ringing. There's too much noise in this place. Something is wrong. I have pain in my lower black and pelvic area. I urinate too frequently. My skin is dry. I have no appetite. All of these I ignore. My nose is running. My gums ache. My jaw is stiff. My ears hurt when I swallow. My throat is swollen. I can't breathe. I can't even read the words I'm writing. I don't know what my fingers are doing. They call it typing. My romantic relationships roll over me like the tide. They change their minds. I notice too much. Nothing is connected. What is this. Why is this happening. I've only been awake for 14 hours, 16 at the most. It can't be sleep deprivation. It happens when I'm alone, no one to distract me. The door is green. Why is it green? What is green? Why do I know what green is? Someone's at the door. Peeking in. Staring straight at me. Something. It reaches for the handle, but doesn't need to, it walks right in. What color when mixed with green makes magenta? Faces on doors. Cartoons. Not tomorrow. I can't do anything tomorrow. School seems so insignificant. Work seems like a joke. Why do I need a job? Doesn't money grow on trees? You don't need a job when you're a hooker, a drug dealer. If I scream will it hear me? Crosses. Pathways. Any way to get to you. Colors are ugly. All of them. They burn. I want to throw up. I want to be blind and deaf and mute. Blackness. Darkness. Everything seems stupid. I can't touch anything. I want drugs and sex and some intense electronic music. I want things to feel real. When I think nothing's real. Nothing exists. "Everything is 1's and 0's..." what if it's more than everything? This universe doesn't exist, but in my mind. I'm an amoebae. You're my gorilla. Want a banananananana? What is this? I taste fish. I want cream cheese. I want a stripper, a hooker. Please, just go away. I want. I want. I want. What happens when this body dies?

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

What if I am this ubquitous girl?

Awake in this world, but sleeping peacefully in yours. The mist creates a path where there is none. Lightly dusting my skin, smooth and cool. I lose my footing, but the ground isn't rushing towards my out-stretched hands. I'm on my back, rubbing alcohol in my throat. Burning radiates to my eyes. A message revealed by the heat in a language I do not understand. Forbidden words, and I am paralyzed. I never got to say goodbye.

Friday, May 8, 2009

An ocean.

We're on a boat. White sleeping bag on the floor. Refuse the offer for my bed, but insist I stay with you. And of course I do, as always, no matter how uncomfortable it is. We're in the ocean. It's gorgeous, so blue. So blue. Scuba diving, apparently you're experienced. And the same girl is there again. You and I are so close, but I'm sinking.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Pain

It hurts.
Everything you do hurts.
Everything you say.
An ache that begins in the back of my throat.
And radiates.
It hurts.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Blue on Blue - The Kin

"Sweet simple pleasure loaded with thrill.
The flash of your smile with your eyes on me."

Tu me manque. Jamais de nouveau.

Détruit dans la traduction.
Mon anglais m'échoue.
Ce langage fait pas mieux.

And so I revert.
Always back to the comfortable.
Always backwards.
And you're so comfortable.
And you're so awful.



Vous êtes mon tout.
Mais je suis votre putain.
Ne me pardonnez jamais.

I deserve nothing.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Curve Ball

"I live in the shadow of your fame.
Curious and eager to know.
Furious with nothing to show."

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
Cast out my iniquity.
Cast out my humanity.
Erase all that is bad in me.
Cleanse all he has had of me.
Amen.

- Prayer of a Harlot

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Smother Me

Why is it that you won't fade away?
You came so calmly to ruin me
You left so swiftly and ruined me
But your imprint is here
Your colors remain on my skin
Green and turtle-shell blue
And the fire within you burned me
And the fire in my hands renews me

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Ashes

Turning over and over and over
The smoke clouds my hazy mind

Monday, February 2, 2009

Maybe someday I'll write a book and this will all make sense.