Tuesday, December 25, 2012

I am no polished, smooth-skinned, arms extend-
ed beauty. I have no sleek-and-shine, just
too much extra time.

I am no floating candle, light in the window in
the deepest of the deep dark night, hidden by
fabric folds and

I am no different than any other clam, happy though,
I have made no pearl, I have ground no sand.

I am no morning song, sung by bell birds in the
chorus at dawn, no breath of fresh air, I have the same
ideas as you do about most things.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

I have not felt
I have not felt
the strain of heart-strings or the popping in my ears
due to the loudness in my own head, no crowd of heavenly
angels singing in the background as my teeth become brighter
because they feel sunshine in the width of my smile. I have
not felt the longing to be near a person for more than an hour,
much less the rest of my life, I can convince myself that it
wasn't what I thought it was, that it was a fluke but then I

"It said 'STOP' but we went on whole-hearted
it ended bad, but I love what we started."

if you had looked

behind my lips, down
my throat like an express - you would have seen pink flowering
beneath folds of conversation, you would have seen a bud
o   p   e   n   i   n   g

(you drink me up
as if I were cheap
boxed wine

swallow me whole &
I sit
giddily in your

if you had looked,
in the root of the root of
the deep deep down
of me

you would have seen
that I was asking you
to be

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Until I feel this, I won't

I am a raw slab of meat and you are
a bo-na-fide
butcher's knife.

Each cut is at a 45 degree angle, precise, your signature
in the perfection of each placidly placed slice.

No accidental nicks in my hide, just
intentions and too much extra time.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

too much
rubbish, like
tight pants around the middle -

suffocating and uncomfy:
much rather walk around in undies.
"Like a black hole, the increasingly
self-absorbed person eventually 
becomes incapable of
mirroring anyone."

- Frank James Davis

Monday, November 12, 2012

can't be your chapped-lips-chap-stick,
be your late night calls or
your first morning breath, can't
be your warm fingers and can't
be your blooming bruises around
the neck.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

all it will take

floral pants, a 
better sense of humor, 
some ability to maneuver between
sleep and the pre-dawn hours, 
enough of a house to keep 
the bugs out
the cat in
and a handful of 
mountains outside
my door. 

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

There are people whom, upon entering the room, 
make me wish I could vomit on cue. If just to show them
what a bad taste
they leave 
in my 

Monday, November 5, 2012

I am no polished, smooth-skinned, arms extend-
ed beauty. I have no sleek-and-shine, just
too much 

Monday, October 29, 2012


I'm sorry that I lose you in the crowd sometimes.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

even if you've sunken deep into 
uncharted waters, even if you 
are dis a   p   p     e         a                r                     i                           n              
even if you are being eaten by 
my subconscious and by many
hours spent aching on my part

at least I know you're alone. 
utterly, terribly, wonder-
fully alone.  

Monday, October 22, 2012

get to know me,
I'm good, I swear.
sometimes I even do pretty things
sometimes I make funny faces
you could record them with a shaky camera, if you wanted,
while my voice is awfully fuzzy, but you can hear me saying,
"this couldn't get any better."

get to know me,
my hair isn't that bad, I swear.
my eyes aren't sunken like this
sometimes my room is clean
sometimes I will make you food
sometimes I will do cute things.

get to know me
I don't rust, I swear
I don't unfaith
unhope or

well, maybe the trust.

but get to know me
I'm good,
I swear.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

God I just want to help, I just want to help.
Because I can't do anything else.

I have no

I need to feed my head.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

I thought that I'd lost my voice in all the
bustle - dragging me behind like the train 
on her wedding day. 

gone hoarse - my voice was clawing the inside of my throat, trying
to reach the top of my mouth and 
shout! something!

think I'm finding another voice, think
I don't have another choice. 
I try to say things that
people will remember, I think
"someday one of these people will
say it's something they'll cherish"
I think like that a lot. Too often, maybe?
I don't know what 'too often' is, most
of the time.

Friday, October 12, 2012

too much trouble,
too much trouble to move myself like
I'd like to move. too much trouble to
brush the dust from my shoes, too much
trouble! to pick up my feet like good girls

like I'm sitting
on my foot and I'm
losing circulation and
it's too much
to move.

like I'm cold
and there's a jacket
on the bedpost
but it's too much
to use.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

two eyes closed like pinched, pursed like lips
on the verge of speech, it's funny how
long it's taken to be able to see them properly
and how longingly I would wait for your big
beautiful globes to spout a simple greeting but
I would rather grate my skin like cheese
than hear your mouth say another

Sunday, September 30, 2012

You're a jerkjerkjerk.
But I like the sound of your voice.
I feel
I will take
everything for

passive by nature - television and cigarettes - it makes me
sick to think about sex and adventure and
good things I don't deserve, it makes
me sick to think about anything at all.

I wish I could just sleep and never
ever be hungry because
you can sleep
anywhere and
no one will
care if you're

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

I excel at making mix-tapes and being alone.

Friday, September 21, 2012

"The most important people in your life are the ones you can picture sitting on a porch with."

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Leaving for the night, I looked
at the table by the big window that everyone
wants. The last table of the night had sat there:
two young men and a
lovely young lady so,
thinking of Mason Williams,
I walked over and touched
the handle of her
coffee mug.

Monday, September 10, 2012

feed myself in a timely
fashion, I can seek water and
drink when I am thirsty, I can
find myself in predicaments and
I predict I will make it out
of them. I can work until my
fingerstoesnoseandlips are
nubs or non-
existent, I
can make
my own

in my own

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

I watch movie after movie, sex
scene after sex
scene, kiss after
forced kiss after
fondle and
take my temperature - there's a fire
in my brain, amputate,

Monday, September 3, 2012

Monday, August 27, 2012

It's a shame, my dear. There's no room for me here. So I'm leaving.

June, July, August, September. 
What comes next? I don't want to remember. 

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Monday. Monday is first.
Monday is sucking and beating
and biting my lips until they
swell into grapefruits.

The next two days are combined into one in my mind, for
they are of the same color, both subtly greying around the edges and
a deep, deep purple heart.

Today is Thursday and I
have yet to accept the most recent events
that smashed against my windshield this
morning and afternoon.

I don't want to finish this week, mostly
I don't want to be a part of today and a
part of tomorrow and especially the day
after tomorrow because that means that all this
time is still passing and that means that I haven't
caught up yet.

I doubt
if I will
at all.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

you would think by now 
I would've mastered the art of
getting bent. 

Thursday, August 2, 2012

you're small and it's all
grow up, get this, do that.
but the truth is that the world is so much
dark, it's so much matter, it's so much
stranger and layered and
it's so

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

sometimes I feel as if
cigarette butts are
bread crumbs
for grown ups.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

My Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You

When I said it was you that made it good, I was lying, it
was me. I told you that I never lied to you and
I did but it is still true that you are the one person I
have lied to the least. 

I mourn like you are
dead sometimes, I even
lied to a complete stranger the other day
and said you had died in a car crash, just
to have something to say about you other
than what I always say.

I hated that you felt so comfortable
sometimes, you looked like an
orangutan in sleeveless shirts.

I screamed at myself in the
supermarket for writing poems about you
still, reminding myself that everything
reminded me of you.

When we got really bad I would
go over to Cory's and ignore your
texts for hours until I was sure you were

I have a growing queue of things that would make you laugh.
I don't know where to put them.

Monday, July 23, 2012

I'm terrified of settling with the dust and ending up hating everything.
So I don't settle down anywhere, doing anything, with anyone and
I love everything, absolutely everything. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Monday, July 16, 2012

the folds in my shirt appearing and dis-
appearing as my hips make the rounds, I
love the shape I take on when
hands caress my curves, they came
out of nowhere, it seems I was a length
of wood, a slab of material with no
definition until
the subtle crook in my arm was noticed,
the length of my neck and the fold of my thighs
as I lay on my side, too.
Yesterday, a friend of mine experienced an omen if there ever was one.

He was sitting on our front porch (as he is the 'du' to my 'plex') reading an e-book on his brand new phone. 
Not unfamiliar with the readers of today's exodus from the real world myself, when he says things melt away, and the pages, or in this case e-pages, build walls between him and his immediate surroundings, I know to what extent he's referring to. Breaking from what could only be screen-induced eye strain, he looked up from the the downloaded version of 'Romeo and Juliet' and was shocked to find that a bird had ambled up to him, and from the looks of it was, for lack of a better phrase, half-dead. 

The bird couldn't move his legs, but his head and wings were jerking about. Not knowing what to do, wanting to help, my friend scooped the bird into cupped hands and held it until it died. He said that at a few different points it seemed as if it would be okay, that it would just stand up and fly away. But then it's eyes would close and he said he almost felt the wind move from the bird into the air and all too quickly the universe had snatched it back. He then placed it under a bush outside his home, hoping nature would dispose of the bird in a more dignified fashion than we humans do with our boxes and our chemicals. 

This story made me think about what last wishes I would have if I were injured and knew I were to die within the hour. As undoubtedly was the bird's case, it is likely I would try to find help and if help could not be provided, just a pair of hands to hold me as I faded. Just another living thing to witness my departure and to ease the inevitable loneliness in death. 

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

condescension and the deepening folds of dark. 

moods are made up of everything we 
want and everything we have already. 

wanting and waning/having and indifference. 

how indulgent and disgusting I find myself sometimes. 
how delightfully oblivious. 

how annoyingly warm. 

Monday, June 11, 2012

I felt like I was my body for once - like I wasn't only inside it.
Plucking tall glasses from their perch above the sink and
letting loose the dark that wiggled, relentless, inside it's bottle.
The gold was chipping from my mother's cheap wine glasses,
creating a sort of sad ambiance you, surprisingly, so often 
find yourself yearning for.

I could easily have chosen either extremity my sisters have so triumphantly
exemplified, their past in ash and smoke, their faces freshly pink from battle.
But as I sipped on bitter drink and cried on the front steps, in my most
adolescent fashion,
I was in wait.

There, in the belly of it - flavor resembling nothing of the puckering and
rambunctious, summer-sweet cranberry and pomegranate that
prod my insides - lurked a hazy twilight.

And I,
haphazardly stealing from the bottle's mouth,
didn't realize just what was stolen
from my own.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

I have become a bowl
a broken

for too long.


Different patterns across my
face, shivering ripples, in my
way a
to keep me


Though, I
cannot always
what falls


Mm. Smell that angst.

I will rip the first three pages from your favorite book and I will
eat the memories I have of you
in one

I will devour any trace of you by
my skin

I will dissolve every look every time every
good intention on my tongue like bad sugar,
like bad sugar you
will remain
a temporary
for anyone
you touch.

like a fictional character's pain

a hand
touching my cheek,
I feel it there - warm - settling on my
skin like debris settles
on the earth after the

I can soon feel the bruises bloom
beneath my skin, they are varied in
color and in size and they remind me
so much of
the valleys I've left in my wake,
I wouldn't call them craters for
they are not baren. I do believe in
the preservation of life
in all things, I find it necessary.

but without warning the hand disappears like mist
though my fingers, I cling to something like the
dew you see so often in the early morning, I cling to
space and to time and to the very edge of
everything, that is, everything that I can
think of.

instead of sorrow I feel only emptiness, no stabs of
pain or gasps gasped in horror, just
a dead-pan expression
and hollow

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

there was no burning.
there was non-chalance and too
much space, a rift that sank from
her chest, with bones protruding like piano keys,
to my chest, pock-marked with kisses and swelling
in pink youth, I
still don't understand
much of it, but I have
always known one thing:

we will never get another try at this.

Monday, May 28, 2012

it means nothing when I picture your hands sliding
through the motions of my patient body, of your eyes smiling when I am
beneath your slight frame.

until everything is anything again and
until the wind has stopped blowing at my back
or until I have enough courage to turn around,

I will settle, with limbs limp, into a deep, u-shaped sigh
and drift in and out and
in and
out of
this conversation
watching your
caress the air and
fondle my breath,
knowingly or not.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

oh high

there's something in the middle of me, in the middle of 
me there is a large something
pushpushing against my skin and
aching against my vital organs, I 
can feel my heart strings as they are
are tuned up up up and pulled to the taut
-ness of a mandolin. the monotonous monks that 
haunt my chest take on a barely audible hum, 
angelic, the lightness of 
their voices driving into the tips of 
each of my quivering limbs like 
feathers, they are like
feathers in the sense 
that I am
covered in 
them, I am
buzzing with 
a glow of satisfaction - !


^that is a work in progress. I've obviously got to come down from that high. 

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

I need more than I want to.
I want more than I need.

What is left?

Monday, May 21, 2012

"Have you seen how thin he is?"

You look like you're ten years old. 
You look like you did in that picture on the fridge
of a boy all wet from swimming and happy from 

It's only now that I realize,
I never knew your 

I only knew 
my own. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

I pull on my skin sometimes, I
pinch it away from my neck and collar
bone, mostly, I'm not very sure as to
why. I shouldn't be a big believer in
hidden meanings or false realities, and yet
I am. Almost religiously, I am.
I thought that maybe I could force the fizzy feeling in my throat or
the everything-smells-like-you phase or the
forgetting or the remembering or anything anything. 

But I'm not good at forcing things, seeing as I don't exert much energy into
anything but myself. 

when I'm sick
I'm drunk on myself.

I also enjoy power-disc-ing, whole
vegetables and tea. lots o' tea.

eloquence is out the window, even though it's my favorite thing.
unless it's pretend eloquence with a british accent. then I'm down.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

repetition is a sort of therapy for me, I've found

I don't trust you, 
I don't trust you, I don't. 

I think you're too easy-peasily swayed by the fraying ends of 
dress hems, by the tails hanging loosely from the back of girls too
pretty for you, and by your impatient and italicized 

I am ready to be swallowed by the massive curls of your body and
I am ready to have my heat (it's all gone to my chest)
recognized standing next to your heat (I can tell it's all in your head)
because the time it has taken for a 
has been ex-
hopeful and

I am ready 
to not be 

But I don't trust you. 
I just don't
trust you
at all. 

Thursday, May 3, 2012

if you're wondering

I'll be dreaming safe and sound, it's
all I've got so I'll be sleeping a lot more
often, now.

I'll be drifting in and out of the
conversation because it's all I can do to keep from
watching your
caress the air and fondle my
breath, knowingly or not.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012


bad books and toothpaste left on my face in the morning, I'm early all the time and I don't want to wait for anyone to finish their sentences before my mind becomes a mimosa pudica, the foliage closing, sleeping in the dark of the closed mindedness I've been suffering from. the magnitude of dry layers my skin has collected is truly astonishing, only letting pass my hesitant perspiration and the vibrations of my gong-like heart muscle. it resonates within my chest cavity before sinking into a slumber for days at a time. I don't miss it, I don't.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

sticky red and circling black charcoal, the
pink cheeks are all mine, I can
still blush on my own,

               (thank god)

I can still feel the heat surfacing while I
am painted in this sickly green fluorescent light
            (as compared to
                 my own
            sweet sunshine)

I don't feel pretty all the time,
but when I do it's on my own
- all -
on my

Saturday, April 28, 2012


that anyone could make me feel naked in
suspense, a need to curl my fingers? I'll remind myself 
that I need my bed rest, that I need 
the thing that heals, that I need 
anything at all is too much, it's too
tedious to need, I won't admit to 
it, most of the time I won't. 

groaning grows from the throat,  trickling down, 
my voice isn't sweet like honey,
but more harsh harsh harsh in ways like
dry swallowing big pill after pill after pill. 

the ends of my fingers are beams, they are brightest 
when I touch the space between me and
the space between you and the soft space
left after drinking what we 

every time
every time.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

I know you're as hungry as I am.

Let's let the hem out of every 
skirt we own so we can
     belong in
their fraying ends.

Friday, April 20, 2012

writing this while I'm not writing something else

there's something to be said about
the time it takes for words to
formulate, make their way
all the way down to the tiptips of our tontongues,
I savor the ringing silence that comes
after the bitter ones leave, the after-taste of
arguments and the residue left from things I didn't mean.

if I could I'd pour nectar down my throat and
speak in whispers only in whispers and then
quiet quiet
down, I'd
quiet down.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

these gaps in between the teeth of my
abilities, no lips to cover, I am
lost for words, so to speak.

perhaps the next go-round I'll be able to write epic poetry like Gilgamesh.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

halfway between home and the nomad's life

In my room there was
a strand of christmas lights
lining the four walls,
eating itself where it
began and my records are
filed in a cardboard box in the corner.
When I left I left two piles of clothes,
one for keeping, one for
burning. For
I left a pair of scissors on the floor and
the smell of moist towels molding the air.
It seems the clothes have evaporated with the tears,
leaving the scissors in a cup on the desk while
the strand of lights no longer clings to the wall
but droops in the center of this
The records, thank god, haven't been touched.
When I left I thought I left what I cared about because
it hurt too much. As it turns out, I left a pile of shit
and some fucking
christmas lights.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

fourteen to fifteen I was

I remember having long hair. I remember,
I felt like the wind would ruin me as it whipped me about, as it
tore me from behind curtains and into sunlight, I felt
naked. I loathed the wind, I loathed
it. I closed my eyes. Everytime, I closed
my eyes and thought "if I can't see them
see me like this, it isn't real it isn't real"

I remember feeling that easily-swayed way, that
trembling-all-over-all-the-time, that shifting-sliding-about-to-break
feeling of insecurity.

I don't
miss it, I

Friday, March 9, 2012

I don't don't don't.

You can never help with your money. Money is dirty.
Money is worse than anything you have to give, which is a whole lot.

You can help with your voice and compassion and a little dignity wouldn't hurt.
You can help with your knowledge and your passion and your creativity.
And you can help with your stories because
who doesn't love a good story?

I don't want
your money.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


I wish I could write beautiful poetry about
mac n' cheese from a box.

But I haven't the room in my stomach for

Get on this shiz.

And then if you don't click ----> HERE, then you a damn fool.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

I'm asking, now.

make eyes, little girl, make
at me.

make them stars so I may not
lose them in the over-bearing light
of day at times and
make them burn like
third-degree burns so I'll
never forget the feeling of them
on my skin.

make them that sweet poetry you speak so that
my palpitating heart can know what it's like to
stop mid-sentence and

(quietly, now)

make eyes, little girl, make


Monday, February 27, 2012

but not but really but

I'm not so good at telling you how I do feel it.
But I am so so good at feeling it.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

I think perhaps I've always needed something to define me,
and my problem at the moment is that I feel nothing and no one I'm involved which is worth my entire existence compacted into it.

Perhaps I was supposed to have reached this conclusion eons ago.
Perhaps I'm progressing slow-like.

Okay then.
Living like I'm living like I'm living in rehab.

Relapse, relapse, relapse. 

Monday, February 20, 2012

Please show me how to convey my ideas.
I have so many many many. 

Sunday, February 19, 2012

At first it was bare and ripe for the picking -
my chest was pulsating under your weight you
stripped my heart like an exotic dancer would: 
all eyes and no hands. 

After the initial grasp, the puff puff pass and the
smiles exchanged between our legsarmslimbs and the
time it took to be rid of the excess skin crowding us in, 
we breathed in sweet, sweet fumes of spring and said
things kept in our mouths, light like ecstasy but 
heavier than the average promise. 

But the hours it took to argue the hunger away made our
heads ache and eventually our jaws could clench no longer, 
our eyes could see no more of each other - just smoke and
rubbish clouding our way - it was lost,
whatever it was, it

was lost. 

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Take it, please.

I can write love poetry when I'm not in love with you.

(The secret is to be in love with everyone else.)
a nefarious dead-pan glance and
all I can think about is how I have
your favorite book tucked away, safe, 
because I want an excuse for my 
trembling hands and the constant
chugging of my mind at times, the ever-
present headache that originates in 
my stomach. I am hosting a 
cavernous black hole there 
that spreads it's lips 
wider and 

w   i     d             e             r

every day that washes over, 
leaving me a little paler a little thinner a 
little hungrier than 

I am s

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

This is how I say 'I love you'

I'll realize that I'm not the only person on earth - little by little. 

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I hope you know that

everytime our eyes meet it is
Anthony and Cleopatra,
it is ee cummings and his
dark-haired mistress, it is
every love affair that has ever been
lived again and 
again and

in those brief seconds 
when our eyes meet, in those
I can feel you 
looking for a reason

tell me when you find it, 
and let me hold it in my lips
for the next time
our eyes

Monday, January 30, 2012

Don't hold me.

As much as I want a humidifier for this cold,
I want to breathe on my own.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

That which would make you more than a dream isn't worth much, to me.

creeping along my hairline in
beads of sweat and in
my eyes, in the corners he
urges along tears, rides them, 





then onto my neck, 
kissing my collar bone
and, in passing, 
tickles the freckles 
between my 

the little that's left of him fingers into 
streams on my belly that has 
been hungry for him - 

- he knows.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

a visit from you always leaves me wanting

my food has begun to taste as 
I'm sure I've begun to

tired and