Answer Your Own Prayers

2011-01-31T09:19:00.000-08:00

There's no energy or time or words these days.
You have to save everything for those apologetic looks and pleading hand gestures.

Innocence believes love to be a stimulant, to energize good thoughts
But you can't stimulate something that doesn't exist.

Love or no love,
You're not supposed to think about this stuff so often

2010-11-21T17:21:00.000-08:00

It seems the darkest when it's the brightest outside since the harsh rays make you curl your eyes in tight.

But it's still bright outside, no matter how many pairs of sunglasses you wear or how hard you press your fingers to your shut eyelids.

It's still bright

Your Driveway is an Interesting Place, I'll Give You That

2010-11-12T11:41:00.000-08:00

When I look at grasshoppers, I think of how your ideas jump from here to there and, occasionally, back again.

When I look at herons, I think of how still you stand while you wait for me to make my point.

When I look at honeysuckles, I think of how, sometimes, when you mean to be sweet, you don't necessarily end up as such.

When I look at bees, wonder how they make that decision to kill themselves.

Thank Goodness This Is Senior Year

2010-10-31T12:20:00.000-07:00

I asked you multiple times
And you responded with smiles
But not the kind of smiles people like to see
It's the kind that says
"You seem nice
And you seem like you're tough
But I don't want to hurt your feelings
So I'll leave my words up to your imagination
And try to be cute while you think"

And for years, I sighed while you've smiled
And I've let your lack of words be their own thoughts
Because I'd hate to read you wrong
Which is what I always do anyways.

And because I've always been on the other end of the line
Even when you haven't
And because I've always been a warm hand
Even when I've been freezing
I'm allowed to say this now

You're too late.
That wink and baby face is not enough anymore
And I'm willing to make you mad to get my point across
You messed this up
Not me
Because my eyes were always open
And you're only now just peeking
And squinting in the sunlight may be better for your eyes
But I need someone who is willing to burn for me
And that's not you
Because I've been burned and shattered and bloodied and grungy for you
But you won't even take your hands out of your pockets for me

2010-09-29T04:55:00.000-07:00

It is so strange-
Being brought back from the dead,
Especially when they say that's impossible.
Scientists know nothing about love.

2010-09-17T21:00:00.001-07:00

If I woke up in the morning and was blind, I'd be so grateful that I'd never have to look at this again

21 Years and It's Not Any Easier

2010-09-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

I don't need to be a butterfly
But I'd like to be something worth aspiring to.
Either way, what I'm saying is
I don't want to be here
I don't want to be with you
And I don't want your number in my phone.

I also don't want theses marks on my back
Or on my thighs
Or on my forearms.

There's this girl who looks at birds and says
"I could turn them into a sweet pair of earrings"
And I want to be the kind of person who looks at beauty and says
"I deserve that"

I don't even know why I held on to you for so long

2010-09-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

"I'm the best friend anyone could have asked for!"
You yelled at me through liquor lips and I nodded and said
"Yes, yes I know!"
And even though my eyes weren't as woozy as yours
I still felt my heart on my finger tips.
Only a minute passed
And then I was forcing your hand to my chest screaming
"This is where you are even if I'm not in yours!"
You seemed to like the answer so you smiled
And nodded
And said "Baby, we should go hang out with everyone else"
Only a minute passed
And there was Bacardi flowing from your tear ducts
With your accusatory hands waving in our faces
"I've never been able to trust anyone except you people!
You are all beautiful people!"
Not even a minute passed
With my head bobbing along to your heartbeat
And your toes curled cold around the back of my knees
And your voice falling low around the curls of my hair
"I don't trust you. I wish I could, and I want to, but I don't"
Seven hours pass
And you're on the other end of line
Calling my face awake from the puddle of salt water and drool
And desperation that has formed on the back seat of my car
So I didn't have to sleep in my lie filled bed.
"Morning pretty lady, ready to hit up brunch for some tots?"
And before I dispel whatever love I had left from my gut
Onto the forgiving asphalt beneath my (for some reason) bare feet
I can only think about
How I need to drink more on these occasions

I thought about a lot at one time and I got confused a little

2010-09-04T19:09:00.000-07:00

When I grab the limbs of the trees these days, all the leaves suddenly drop. It's too early for fall to claim it's victims, so I resign my worries to the diagnosis of me. And that's alright. I'll just try and avoid holding hands from now on. I'm used to suffering in this sense.

---

When my mother drinks,
She asks me questions about purpose and reason.
Why was she raped?
Why do I remember it so well?
How do I feel about my father?
And I'm not sure what to answer
So I tell her that it all happened
And we are all here.
And I guess that's really the only truth
Because how I feel and the reason behind things
Can change from one day to the next.
So I tell her
As our tears meet
(Her's willingly, and mine so goddamed confused)
That things are.
And for me,
That's enough,
But for the Bacardi,
It's not
And I don't want to talk about this in the morning

---

I can't talk to people about things I don't know about.
Because that would be a waste of both of our time.
And I'm already short on friendship, so I wouldn't want to go upsetting anybody.
So I ponder a lot.
Which catches the few friends I have off guard.
"She's not one to ponder, because pondering leaves no room for smiles
And that girl there is all smiles"
So I try to smile while I ponder
So that no one gets the wrong idea,
Thinking that maybe I've got something on my mind that I'd like to share.
Because I don't want to share questions that I don't know the answer to,
Like if I was raped or not.

---

I place my fingertips to my eyelids and count to three.
Because three's that magic number
That gives you time.
One is for "Ok, you're making a commitment"
Two is for "This is not the time to throw up"
And Three is for "When you open your eyes, no one will be holding your hand"
And your job is to still be alive when you get to that spot after Three
That's not exactly Four.
But when I get to the blankness after all that solidity,
I get to the uncomfortable state of not being sure
If I'm alive.
Or, put more correctly,
Wondering if not being alive would be better than this.
And that's why we don't count to Four.
Because that's the number where you ask yourself
If you'd rather be dead.
And we don't ask ourselves that question
Because sometimes the answer is yes.

---

When I say "I know"
I don't mean that I know how you feel
I just mean that I know how you told me you feel.
And I'm sorry to say that
I think that's all I can handle.

It's just a thought

2010-07-28T04:15:00.001-07:00

I'm not your sun, but I could be a star or two
And I'm not your ocean, but I could be a river for you

I may not be your dinner, but I could be a snack
And I may not be your suitcase, but I could be your backpack

I'm not your three piece suit, but I could be your tie
And I'm not your hideout, but I could be your alibi

I may not be your garden, but I could be a flower
And I may not be a thunderstorm, but I could be a shower

I'm not your new episode, but I could be a commercial
And I may not be it now, but I could be your girl

2010-07-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

With a willingness to grow
I threw myself to the wind
But when I opened the door
I followed myself back in

2010-07-16T13:56:00.000-07:00

It's like feeling ill
And knowing that puking will make you feel better
Except you don't know where best to do it
But you do know the process won't be pleasant.

So you sit there feeling ill,
For a day, or a lifetime,
Constantly thinking about maybe puking.

Again? Really?

2010-07-14T17:30:00.000-07:00

The
Click
Click
Click
Of my right elbow

And the
Rip
Rip
Rip
Of my left shoulder

And the
Thump
Thump
Of my excitement

Will almost
Always
Always
End in a

Thud.

And it's sort of a bummer that I can't share my extra heartbeats with the now silent lump of flesh that I failed to whisper to life.

Yea, sort of a bummer.

He Drinks Cider and Brandy

2010-06-20T15:07:00.001-07:00

I carry your photo in my wallet
Just so as not to mix you up
With someone you should have been.

Federal forms ask for your information
And for the answers to questions
You wouldn't even understand.

And that's OK.

I've stopped responding to inquires
And concerned looks from "adults"
With tears and sobs and heartache.

From now on, I'll just shrug my shoulders,
Ignore dates on the calender,
And say, "My dad's not dead, he's just an ass"

She Drinks Rum and Cokes

2010-06-17T20:05:00.000-07:00

I've got the sun and the sea in my closet,
But I still can't shut my eyes at night,
Or relax the curvature of my spine
For fear of the opening door.

Maybe we were born this way:
Worry eyed and twitchy fingered.
As natural as this may be,
I've never seen a girl cry in the wild.

I'm Sorry, Roommate/Friend.

2010-06-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

I had already handed my ticket to the man by the ramp,
Shuffled the hallway until I found my room,
And stored my bags and heartfelt trinkets below deck.
But I still found myself standing on the dock,
Staring at the ship as the other passengers yelled,
"Hurry up and come on board! We'll be leaving soon!".
I said, "I know. Just take care of my things and make sure someone gets them.
If you wish to find me if or when you return,
I'll be sitting in my same puddle,
Counting the flies that touch my water's surface."

They Said This Life Would Catch Up To Me

2010-06-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

It's not as if I don't have other options,
It's just that I don't like to be yelled at,
Though I'm not really sure who would do the yelling.
All uncertainties aside,
I know that my back hurts
And it's hard to take deep breaths.

Geology Rocks!

2010-05-30T18:37:00.000-07:00

When we hold hands,
The Earth trembles.
As romantic as that sounds,
It’s just the shift in the tectonic plates
That we tend to notice when we come together
Because we become more aware
Of our association with this planet.
And that heat we feel
When our bodies get to moving in the same direction
Is simply our recognition of the magma
Flowing beneath our “love”-soaked toes.
And that’s not actually
“love”
You’re feeling throughout your body-
That creepy crawly sensation
Is actually your nervous system
Remembering that water once covered this land
And we were all once dust and specks and nothing.
But that doesn’t mean that what we have isn’t worthwhile
These natural occurrences may not be from our own creation
But they’re still ours.

So I’m not going to tell you that I love you
Because those words aren’t what you want them to be
And I’m not the type to lie just to make you feel better.

I feel natural for you, baby
I feel gravity for you

Bozo Number 1

2010-05-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hello gray being,
Laced with orange and black,
And webbed toes that make you shake your butt
In a way that Ricky Martin would be proud of.
Your head and neck are echoes of evolution
With those eyes so uninviting
And your neck so curved-
Ideal for both water and air,
But simply awkward here on land.
You cock your head
Not so much confused, as off guard.
Just to make sure I understand our hierarchy,
You engage your otherworldly structure-
Your neck stretches
Like a child reaching for the cookies
And your wings widen
Like the opening of an exhibitionist’s coat
And you stand on your toes
Like a teacher erasing words from a chalk board
Because you’re not tall enough to tell me
Exactly how you feel.
But I’ve been there too.
I’ve arched my neck
In attempt to stare down the sun
And I’ve thrown my arms open
While explaining that I am hugging the world
And I’ve hopped up and down just hoping
For a chance to hit my head on a cloud.
I just never did it
With such a pretentious look on my face.

The Doc Says I'm Crazy

2010-05-12T18:06:00.000-07:00

When I dance to your music, my ankle hurts a little.
When you hold my hand, there’s a pain in my wrist.
When I bend to lay my head, my back cramps like crumpled paper
When I listen to you speak, my left ear buzzes a bit
When I go to laugh at your jokes, my lung feels as if it’s caught on a nail
When I try to cuddle on the couch, my knees swell beneath the surface
And when I stand on my toes to kiss you hello, I blackout for a second.
But baby, none of that matters, ‘cause for you
I’ll boogie all night long on a broken ankle
I’ll crack all of my fingers so that they can fit with yours
I’ll dismantle every vertebrae to put my head near your heart
I’ll put fly traps by my ears so I can listen to your monologues
I’ll laugh so hard that each one of my ribs break
I’ll bend my knees backwards just to keep in your direction
And I’ll live with my toes in the sky and my head on the ground if, somehow, it made it easier to kiss you.

2010-04-28T17:51:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t your roommate’s fault, I was the one who dropped your photo album. I was just so shocked to see how happy you used to be.

I'm just giving you a head's up

2010-04-26T18:41:00.000-07:00

When you’re dead-
Not like I’m planning or anything-
I’ll keep myself from crying
By telling myself that
Your decomposing body
Will one day help birth new grass

God, and that plaid on plaid you wear is making me want to vomit

2010-04-26T18:39:00.001-07:00

When you speak
I only hear jackhammers
Tools that break down my grip on reality
And my sympathy for the world
Won’t you just hush for a second
And leave my headache alone

A Blasphemous Claim Destroys Everything (Class Exercise 4)

2010-04-20T20:08:00.000-07:00

Actually, it’s after hours around these parts and
Boy, your beat box booms too loud.
Couldn’t you keep it quiet?
Do you desire decay of order?
Do you enjoy the idea of everyone eventually
Falling far from forming lines?
Go on and get your good laughs in:
Hinder us from holding honesty
In our hearts and in our eyes.
Go on and jest and joke about our justice,
Keep calling names and causing commotion,
Let your language call out lies.
Maybe making memories will magically wake you up
Not only to your nonsense notions of the norm,
Or to your obnoxious observations of others,
But possibly to the potential of becoming a productive person.

We'll call it a "Love Ruckus"

2010-04-07T04:43:00.000-07:00

When the sunlight slips back through the blinds and makes patterns on the floor
When we can open our doors again without fear of Mother Nature
When things come up from the ground instead of down from the sky
That’s when we’ll attack
We'll set out with our glitter gluey fingers and our marker marked up arms
And we’ll tie-dye the hearts of the people who say they don’t like to smile.

Assignment 2

2010-02-26T06:18:00.000-08:00

This doesn’t seem to be working right,
This thing I call my body.
Bits and pieces
That are supposed to follow orders
Are acting as if
They’ve suddenly fallen illiterate.
My hands twitch guiltily.
My lungs shut their doors.
My heart illegally downloads the latest techno remix
And tries to choreograph a dance to keep with the beat.
But maybe it’s the general who should be taking the blame-
A mind that can’t seem to focus on the literal
The exact
The real
And instead fills it’s time watching movies by dead directors
With soundtracks in upside down languages
Either way
No one is performing up to par
Maybe I should hand them their two weeks notice.

Assignment: Terza Rima

2010-02-15T05:56:00.000-08:00

I find myself standing in front of your white wall;
The one that you pay no attention to.
The same one that makes me feel so small,

So insignificant and empty and askew
In my own body, in my own mind-
Like I’m falling with nothing to cling to.

But it’s stare doesn’t seem to make you feel blind.
It doesn’t seem to make you nauseous
Or claustrophobic or trapped or confined.

So maybe I’m the one who should be cautious.
Maybe I’m the one who’s nuts and crazy-
Maybe it’s me with a guilty conscious.

I'm So Tired These Days

2010-02-10T08:38:00.000-08:00

You are exceptionally graceful. Your love and understanding guide your feet through an elegant dance that will someday lead you home. Your eyes are more open than even the sun's. To compare you to anything less than pure organic flexibility is to insult nature itself. You are one of the few who will make it until the end, and when you get there, you will shine unlike any of those before you.

I called you up once, but I never heard your excitement

2010-01-21T19:47:00.000-08:00

Your couch is permanently dented
From where we left our innocence.
Your table, permanently scarred
From where we changed our names.
Your door is permanently jammed
From when we became confused.
Your mirror, permanently shattered
From when we decided we hated ourselves.
And your hands are permanently unsteady
From your desperate attempt to hold on.
And your eyes, permanently glazed
From your new found lack of interest.
And though your house is busted,
And though your body is unresponsive,
I still lay myself on that couch,
And leave my bottles on that table,
And try to find myself between the pieces
Of that shattered looking glass.
And maybe you’ll come and sit with me
And maybe you won’t.

I wasn't joking when I said "I got this"

2009-12-02T19:15:00.000-08:00

My hands were building a house when you came along.
You asked if you could lend your back for support
And I instantly resigned my bleeding hands and sticky tears.
With stars in our eyes,
Our feet found their place in the grass.
Silence warmed our bodies as we laid unsheltered
By my abandoned project.
When it came time,
We were careless in our laughter;
That's the best kind of smile.
We paid special attention to our hands, though
And the placement of our breath-
Bring careful not to collide
Or entangle ourselves.
We did run into each other's shadows on occasion
And we didn't let that stop us.
Before we knew it,
We forgot about the sound of silence
And could only remember the sound of our breath
Bumping into one another.
Our eyes were closed
So the stars settled for falling on my calloused knuckles
And your unwrinkled brow.
Their weight made us sink and we became tired-
Our mouths gaped for air to keep our minds focused
As we shivered while we laid unsheltered
In the grass by my abandoned project

Twisted Parallelograms

2009-11-19T16:36:00.000-08:00

A half smile to the left which reveals your true cool confidence
A flick of hair to show that you’re the boss
I don’t share your fixated blue eyes
I don’t flaunt your layered, complex figure lines
You stole the simple, tasteful, carefree outlines of lips
And left me with grey on white, unanswering, and transcendent focal points on my face

And sadly
These lips are what I am most proud of.
My calves and thighs do not scream “I hope you don’t find I’m teasing”, “It‘s not really you that I‘m craving” as yours do
But they whisper “if you ever wanted me, I would never let you break”.
Your cheeks are sunsets while mine are strawberries.
I know your hands seek flesh and cash while they have been molded by shopping bags and colorful pens.
Mine reach out for the door knob of a place I can call home and the cheek of the one who loves me back;
They have been shaped by sweat and dirt and catching myself when I fall.

Yet you always seem to have your seat in the throne
Except when we follow the coastlines of your body to New York and Oregon,
Stopping at your shoulders, not quite reaching your head:
The rounded, flowing lines of our collarbones project beneath the fabric of our polos.
Something simple yet dangerously resilient and graceful.
Separating themselves from the rest of the body, jutting forward, in an act of defiance to the saying “we are but the sum of all our parts”.

We’ve always said we’re opposites
And I don’t have the heart to tell you about our shared wonder that you always look over.
So go on being daring:
Take your dear lilac graces and face the world with the sun in your eyes
And I’ll stand here and wait with the door left open,
My broken, yet steady hands are ready to guide you once you lose your sight.

Younger Sister, I'm No Savior

2009-02-23T08:44:00.000-08:00

I've smiled before
I have held a cup to my lips while holding a boy's hand
I've spent the night halfway outside and halfway in
And I've been a little here and a little not at all
But I've always come back
Resignation,
Even those times when I wasn't there,
Was never an option
So I'm not saying I'm better than you
Baby
I love that laugh but I hate when it's accompanied by a cough
If your hair ever straightened
Or your pearls ever scuffed
I'm not sure I would be able to remember how to hold hands.

Things I write when I'm falling asleep in class

2009-02-17T13:56:00.000-08:00

Sociology of War and Peace:
-Dear giver, my hands are bound to places I have forgotten the paths to.
-Hush child, you're pretty obnoxious.
-You just can't be her silverware. You can't be her carpet or her fish bowl or her fingerprint. It's not because you're not beautiful or gracious or amber enough, because you are, are you're more lifted than anyone she knows. But you can't be her table top because she is no one to be had. So stop closing your eyes and pick up your feet.
-It's like I've known your fingerprint all along.
-Hold your horses, because these are the times when we have nothing to spare.
-For once, I'm too tall to enjoy the surprise.
-Lose the shoes because there's no need to run. I'm seeking redemption, and you've solved it all.
-Carelessness out in the open. I still cannot be your apology.
-If you forgot how to speak, I'd let you read my smile.

Social Statistics:
-Your hips were not meant to bend like you have asked them to do. No wonder it's your mind against your body. Maybe try singing instead of yelling. I know your natural rhythm, but you just can't seem to keep the beat in your paradoxical mind. I'll buy you a metronome for your birthday if you're nice.
-Sometimes, I wonder if I touched the window on those below freezing days, would your window get foggy?
-You've got the cure, but, baby, I haven't even been diagnosed yet.
-I wish I could smile like a division symbol.
-There better be room left for this made up laughter.
-If you're so equal, why are you always tripping over your own shoe laces?
-You're full of red and green, you little gift giver you. Too bad she did your tattoos in black and white, though.
-It was my hand. Sorry I shocked you, but I was pretty shocked myself.
-Yea, I know I look like a movie star, but I just wish there was some genre other than horror.
-It's almost as if my hands began to crack even before I met you.

-Attention crisis= you've held my hand for too long. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't think this is an appropriate relationship for co-workers.
-If you could have grown up to be anything, you probably would have been a boat. And you would have been a good one too, since you always avoid stormy seas. You would have definitely been seized by pirates, though. It would have been too much of a shame to let you go.
-It never grew very big, that plant at the end of my bed. It did mature, though, and become a fighter for liberal ideals. I just really wish it would keep the rallies a bit quieter. You'd be surprised how loud a jungle in your room can be.
-Yes, I'm lethargic, but, honey, you're dead.
-Like a vetern on the ice, waltzing past children on new legs and people with no direction, it glides across the board. A love affair with the dry erase marker. Hating what it has to say but pleading for it to speak. Because your graces come so naturally, it's easy to slip up. Watch your aiming now. We wouldn't want you to kill your score.

"I fell in Paul's pumpkin, and I don't even care"

2009-02-10T21:15:00.000-08:00

If it doesn't happen soon, I'm going to do it myself.

The attempt at waiting is causing almost more grief than the act itself. Sad thing is, I don't think I'm eligible for that shot of redemption everyone keeps talking about. I've never bowed my head at the dinner table.

Maybe I can write them a letter explaining my word usage. But even then, I doubt they would understand. I've been attempting to express my words with their words for years now, but they've never seemed to get it.

I bet if I could dance, they would understand, but I threw out my equilibrium a couple miles back in order to drop a few pounds.

Assignment

2009-02-05T06:54:00.000-08:00

No Comparisons-
Green, unnatural walls curve inward for two feet. Topped with a fabric I don’t understand, this testament to coming of age stands tall even in the St. Mary’s air. It stands for everything the rebellious adolescent dreams of gaining when the law predicts that the mind can comprehend. Eye pleasing coordinations hide it’s natural beauty. I wish it wasn’t forced to conceal itself. Lyrics to the song of those who have already walked on don’t reflect the truth it pleads to tell. But still, it never wavers from it’s duty. An unsteady base causes the relic to dance in an angry fashion, and I can’t help but follow. I’m glad that someone has clothed it, though. Now it doesn’t seem so unruly.

Comparisons-
Your reflection is unlike that of your siblings, but that doesn’t make me love you less. While we find them behind doors unopenable, you stand proud by the welcoming bell. Your body is unlike that of shark skin, but follows the lines of a seal’s edges. What a shame it is that you have been betrayed by someone unknown. I still find your grace overwhelming. A crack to the side like a whole in the heart, but you’re not one to wear it on your sleeve. Your lengths are tattooed with words that mean little to me and even less to you, but you never let them slip. If you could dream, or if your dreams could be heard, I bet they would be filled with trumpets and ribbon for you would be the sort of dreamer who would smile and crave the laughter of others.

2009-01-31T19:11:00.000-08:00

It's as if we had our wings clipped from the start. Or maybe we've always had the possibility of flight under our wings, but we've never believed it. Either way, your words have never been stuck to the ground. You've made sure that they catch the wind and tuck their landing gear. Luckily we think the same; my words can do nothing but lazily roll along to places they don't belong.

I could only hope that one day you'll face me and allow your words to float instead of fly for once. And maybe I'll tell you that your wings are beautiful and unscathed and you'll tell me that you like the feeling of concrete under your toes.

I slid a note under your door to mention my gratitude.

2009-01-27T06:43:00.000-08:00

I told you not to cry. I whispered it to you in the least lethal voice I could muster, but maybe that was still too rusty for you. It's not that big of a deal. I'll just remember to talk with my hands next time.

- - -

Her name wasn't a boy's name. "Tyler" was a boy's name, and although she was named Tyler, her name was not a boy's name. People didn't seem to comprehend this, which is why she removed them from the world.

The positions and offices held were still there, though. The mayor, a stick branch, occasionally called together his strength to address the locals. Police officer bees were constantly on the lookout for trouble brewing, but were easily sidetracked by the songs of legacies.

It wasn't lonely in her world without cynicism. She fell in love with herself. A love affair of finger on finger and ankles to wrists. She could embrace herself and lose her circumstances in the way her heart beat against her palms.

She lived free from terms like "climate" and "critique" and "phosphorus", but she was not without enemy. An exotic dance with the the water's edge brought her jealous reflection out. Oceans and lakes are so insecure that they allow those who are not them to seek refuge in the waves. Tyler had only herself for she feared nothing but for others. The tides grew tired of a girl's curved, snowy radiance and eventually kept her reflection for itself.

But Tyler didn't care. Her name was not a boy's name and her face was not her entity. Nothing much mattered as long as she could continue to trace the lines of her calves with the backs of her hands.

Dana

2009-01-25T19:47:00.000-08:00

"Leslie"
Artichoke
Mittens
Lukewarm
"Traditional"
Peppermint sticks
The animated instructions in plane seat pockets
Binoculars
Canvas
Rubbermaid containers
Breathing masks
"California"

20776

2009-01-16T10:20:00.000-08:00

You bring the sky down to us who cannot reach. I heard you first in a nursery rhyme and imagined you only in the pages of the books on my shelf. But I've heard that angels only appear in the midst of devastation. I don't know what was more of a miracle- the fact that I was able to get back up, or that it was you who told me to apply ice. Either way, after I warmed my hands, I knew I was never leaving this home.

I was lucky enough to have you forgive my mistakes. I made a lot of them, and even when the concrete statues of home followed the wind to other places, you made sure there was a key under the mat. And you always made sure it worked first. You've always looked out for me. You've always looked out for everyone.

There were times when I thought you had chosen others over me, but you were simply teaching me to want myself. At least, that's what I imagined it's come down to. I've caused you to lower your voice upon times, but no bricks could have ever hit harder. You do serve candied apples with your razors, though, and maybe that's what saves us all. Or maybe it's the fact that, when I have dreams about falling, I'm always hoping I land at your place.

Or maybe, even still, it's that the gravel driveway is the softest bed I've ever known and the wind carries the sent of imaginary pineapples instead of chaos. You can't control the weather, but you do the best to control our futures. Thank goodness someone is trying, because it's obvious that we aren't. But, believe me, you make it aware that we can't keep this up forever.

It's a happy place we're in now. I feel like my smiles fit me and our silences are result of contemplation, not lack of words. Though I guess you and I never found ourselves short of voice. Whatever we've found that has brought us here, whatever our titles are in textbooks- I'm glad you wrote me down directions.

And I've always known that you were smiling whenever you walked away from us.

Morning Rider

2009-01-13T20:20:00.000-08:00

There are bubbles on your toes: they keep you afloat in the most hazardous of situations. Sometimes they burst, but one can only hope they still save your back from fighting with the ground. That cheeky smile you wear, full of grit and broken wind. You rock it for the ride. A face who has seen too much, with skin like the sand at the shoreline; it greets the day break with each rising. What amazing courage it takes to jump on three each time with a 'Thank you'.

2009-01-13T15:35:00.000-08:00

We wear no new shoes. That just wouldn't be fitting. Nothing about us is juvenile or inadequate or varnished or clumsy. We may not be glistening, but we're sure not damaged. We're elegant in only a way tired eyes can be. I'm a bit dusty and you're a tad smudged.

But man, I love the way you want me.

Seven Year Old Prophet

2009-01-01T04:06:00.001-08:00

Three O'clock in the morning and my eyelids are fluttering again. Light from the T.V. dances on my eyelashes and makes my eyes water from time to time. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, my skin begins to crawl from simple contact of the couch. Lucky, because then I know it's not a dream. At least, I hope it's not a dream again.

I would rather wake up alone for the rest of forever than to be awakened by that touch again. Maybe that's why I won't let you close the door all the way. At least, that's what all the therapists have said. I'll admit, I don't know myself, so I can't really say they're wrong.

Oh god, but his breath. I've never felt anything more like acid. When he said my name, I vomited a little. I couldn't help it. Remind me to grow up a bit more, and take those personalized letters off the wall. I'd rather just forget I've even been identified.

I'm shy. I think I've always been that way. Thinking that I chose my demeanor rather than it being the reaction to "trauma" seems to settle my stomach. But I'm not scared to admit that I am scared. I shrink away at your touch, and I probably always will. I lock the doors at irrational times and avoid the closet for reasons I'm not ready to say.

And it will probably always be like this. And either we'll learn to deal with it and things will be OK, or you will grow tired of having to save my name from drowning and writing your name on your fingertips. You'll walk out the door, but reassure me that you're locking it behind you. I'll find myself watching Law and Order: SVU without another and fixing a smoothie for one. And that's OK. I just hope that it doesn't come to a day in which I'm longing for his touch again.

Hallelujah

2008-12-31T13:03:00.000-08:00

I have answered myself so many times, but I don't want to be a textbook. I enjoy the rain too much, and the ink stains my skin and scarves. I'm dyslexic too. Imagine how much of a pain in the ass that is when your entire existence is based on reading, and you're mixing up boobs and books. It's alright, I guess. I've been marked from the start.

More importantly, I'm tired of this cough. I start to open up and just as your eyes begin to water and my hands begin to shake, my throat starts screaming what sounds like barbaric limericks. Then it's all ruined. You still grab me a glass of water though. Thank goodness you've always had steady hands.

I wonder if it's really raining or if it's just my eyes shaking

2008-12-16T04:24:00.000-08:00

Oh we are forsaken
Little lies dangle from the tall trees we once called our childhood
Irony
That smile of yours
Caress it underneath your pillow at night
It’s a calm out here
Where it’s unholy and unnatural
But we’ll survive
We have before
We’re resilient just like we were made to be
Ticking bombs and jagged edges are confusions we don’t have time for
But just laugh a minute baby
Open your mouth and let it sing
For old times sake
No
For everyone’s sake
For you and me and for the fallen of Rome
For the sun and stars and the terrorists who are just as sure as we are
Do it for my hope that I threw away last week because you had forgotten
Or don’t
I can’t force you into anything
Your face can be my existence and that will be all I need
Typical
Your love affair with the snack machine
Just remember who tucks you in at night

Me, Myself, and a bottle of muscle relaxers

2008-12-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

There are painted nails because the rest of me has no color. If I were to remain void of this madness, I would only lose myself. Polka dots and stripes. Snow men and Christmas trees. Images to scream out to the world that I am OK. That I'm not going anywhere. Sometimes you have to lie to the world to make it forget it's problems. In all honesty, I've been packing my bags for years, just waiting for when I hear the whistle and see the crowds part. Maybe that day, I paint them pink with stars.

My wrists are clothed because I am not whole. One should not think of the continuity of the skin as a connector of bone and joint. Arm and wrist are separate and that must be marked. Long ago, I set out to make those marks permanent and oh Lord did I succeed. No one likes to see those divisions, so now I wear them with stretched bands and colored string. People smile at bracelets, no one smiles at scars.

I wear curls in my hair because I am completely lost. Road maps are not straight, so why should I follow them? When the wind catches my hair and tells it to watch it's mouth, I am reminded of just how elegant we all are. Elegant and vulnerable. When I walk, I do not march so much as jive, skip, dance. Maybe I'm walking to hell? But damn, I will look flashy.

Listen, Oh Dear Bodyparts

2008-12-08T19:38:00.000-08:00

A letter to the knees who bend and break, fall and ache. You are rebellious and questioning. What exactly is it that you've asked of me? I have given you everything from paid leave to avenged regrets so why do you continue to disobey? You are disproportionate and lazy and I no longer know how to care for you. Graceful but barbaric is your existence. Maybe you should take a rain check on this light source.

A song for an unstable spine. How do you not have your act together? It is a good thing that you are not victim of the public school system, for you would have failed the standardized tests before you could have amounted to anything. You have too long ago accepted that life is no fairy tale. If you could get a grasp on reality, maybe we would both be OK.

A public service announcement for my shitzophrenic muscles. When you get too stressed, you lose your cool. This isn't a popularity contest, so stop settling for only what gets you by. Your irresponsibility causes more unrest than you could ever know. When you flinch, you not only take down walls, but set fire to the lamp shades. Let's not be hasty- you can't stay like this forever.

A novella for the joint that can no longer turn. I hate how I must bend to fit your needs. A faulty drama queen- you know it was nothing more than a slight grimace. When you're not to blame, you call on me to pull the labor. It's astounding, you know, how little you care for yourself. Simple tasks are all I ask, and you continue to let me down. There's no use in apologizing, you've already broken my heart.

A door mat for these thoughts that spark old habits. When I tell you to stay down, you are not supposed to revolt. You feed off of routines that only injure the rest of us. Similar to a heroin addict, your fix is what distances you from the roads of the world. Oh how nice it would be to scream your mistakes, but you know that your vocal chords are kept under lock and key. How many times have we discussed the consequences for your actions? I'm beginning to think that you've lost your sense of caring.

Let's Not Speak Before The Meds Kick In

2008-12-08T09:59:00.001-08:00

When we're carefree, everything makes sense. We are awkward and gentle and kind and the summer days wait long before opening the door for nighttime. A smile is permanently plastered on our faces and all laughs come from the soul, not from the thought of being fake. I'll hold your hand just as quickly as I'll take a breath. I am yours and I made you mine. You're the biggest dork I know and flaunt it like it's a badge to brag about.

When we grow older, we start to ask questions. Living the life isn't just following directions. We are still awkward, but we hide it from all, our once soft hands are now blistered and tired and they can no longer hold on to something that isn't there. Our words become bitter and angry and tears mean nothing to us unless they are our own. We laugh still, but only to make a good impression. You push me to be someone I don't want to be and I push your hand away in disgust. I am your pain in the ass and you make my head hurt. I wouldn't show you off to anyone.

When we believe we have grown up, we fight for the answers to questions no one has heard of. We make our own rules and beg that others respect them. We are no longer awkward for we know who we are and like to think that we're ok with what we've become. Our hands are graceful, yet strong, and reach for the things we know we are going to make out of our lives. We speak as if to demand respect, but it's only because we have been hurt before and now think we know how to evade it. When the tears are forced to flow, they burn like never before because they are so rare these days. We smile warmly and only belly laugh ever so often. I have slammed the door, but you keep it cracked. I have told you that I never wanted it, and you swear that you want it still. I am your hope for the future, and you are the anchor that is making me drown. If I could get away with it, I would leave you here and never look back.

And then I saw him. Not a beacon of light, or a rescue swimmer, but someone to simply say “we don’t need to fix you”.

I want to tell you about him, but it would make you hurt me more. And I want to tell him about you, but I'm frightened that he won't understand that you are not my fault.

You're killing yourself and taking me down with you.

Cut the line and let me drift.

Can't Hold Me Forever, Baby, I'm Off To San Fran

2008-12-08T09:57:00.000-08:00

The lead weights attached to her shoes had somehow been removed. Carelessness, she presumed, was the cause of her renewed virginity. Eagerly she raised, lifted. There was no destination in mind. Only up.

The world thinks not like her. Those people do not have fingers that lace the stars or spines that curve with the waves of the ocean. Her eyes are made of grass, while theirs are filled with asphalt. How sad, that there are people in the world who do not know how to embrace what is reaching for them. Their euphamisums mean nothing to the ones who have their mouths taped shut. And now she is feeling their choke hold.

A thud and silence. A net of their lost innocence. What acid one must swallow in order to place barbed wire between a dreamer and the stars. She feels that sick sparkle. She knows that twisted turning. A lonely ending, but her tears turn to diamonds and strengthen the economies of fallen countries.

We can't all be winners.

Esmerelda

2008-12-08T09:45:00.001-08:00

Radiance. You're full of it. Oh how the skies would damn the day I told them your name.
Simplicity. It's your move. How could this pencil ever define you?
Cosmopolitan. It's only how you speak.
Why would I ever try and cage you in pages? Mr. Webster never knew there could be people like you. Too bad none of this is relevant to the burning we have on our tongues. You're so god damn perfect but you choose to ignore it.

Where are all the others like you?