Primus

I have so much anxiety due to
your ability to
break me and my heart.

A first!
Usually I break my own before this point.

calm?

I can't, in words, explain to you how this, how I, feel.
I am so unbelievably forgetful that I..well I let important things slide by that area of my brain marked as MEMORY. I let them slip from me into oblivion, into the back where the smokers of my mind lurk, feeding off of nothing but themselves.

Did you know that the central processing unit of a human brain only has seven memory registers? Which means that if you have seven things on your mind, and you think of something else, one of the other just casually drops off of the edge and out of your head?

I remember this ickle fact and immediately think of:
Book jackets.
How cold this room is.
I wish I had a jacket.
Too bad you can't tote your entire wardrobe with you on vacation.
How much I wish I wasn't on vacation.
How much my relatives had to drink before clamoring into this hotel room.
Wade.
Wade.
Still Wade.

And it continues.

I love this.

Photo By:
Avery Enderle Wagner

I'll sing to you, Jenny
I'll let you know
when the war is won and done

I'll carry your books until
all the dirty looks are through
pointing at you

And all your pretty picking
flowers from the their sticky
points of view
would be of no use
to you

This is for you..

Jenny can't can't can't
because she's done done done
'cause she's done
with this one

And I'll just shoot shoot shoot
from my handgun gun gun
I'm not done,
with this one,
I'm not done.

I have nothing but a yellow flower in my inventory.

You're plucking eyebrow hairs and gluing your
smiles to the sidewalk,
and I can't pass idly by
and want nothing more
than to join you.

I need a new, something anew,
some new you to
write about you.

Not that I mind writing about you,
or you for that matter,
but a new
new
you
would be nice,
too.

why?
and how much...?
time-wise, we're looking at
a lifetime
of wrong turns
and late mornings
and early nights
and this with that mixed in
like a combination
of six soft drinks, drank in
less than a minute

eating the edges of the computer screen,
hungry hungry hippos, hungry for
attention and contact and social sedation

take me, shaking with my fingers wrapped around
a vile of my own excrement
my own experiment gone awry and you
are gulping all the fresh air from this
tiny,
stuffed room

a selfish, selfish need to breathe, to live
and plan things and make dates and drink yourself dry,
your skin ashy and such a contrast to
your smooth, angelic
face

Cincinnati

That looks
like
violence,
but he wears it so
proudly and
I find I like the way
his hips
swing
almost like he has a
purpose when
everyone else has lost
or not yet found
theirs.

This hurts.

I'm wearing stomach pain like a pro.

You shot my confidence.

I feel as if I lost this gigantic piece of myself in the storm drain,
sifting through gunk and garbarge you can see an enormous
chunk of skin and self left over.

It's been cut from my side and from some of my head,
and the odd thing is, if I remember correctly, I was the on holding the axe.
A small little axe like the one everyone has hidden in their pockets and their backpacks and for the creative ones, on their chests.

I feel as if..I lost what I lost because I'd decided to keep it,
and when decisions are made, others are still straddling the line and every decision affects the other.
So. I had fifty decisions
and only one that I could see clearly enough to work out an outline that made some sense and had some flair.

And the hole in my head has grown teeth and lips and a tongue and it's screaming,
"Make me younger!
Make me younger!"
in a voice that seems all too familiar.

All too, as in the same.
But awakened from reality, it's not so hard to realize that smaller things are versions of larger.





I have smaller fish to fry, though.
I have something to gain.

Goodbye, Blue Monday!

I have never been so fabulously well-to-do.
And I can tell you, from the looks of things, though my mind is expanding, that the sight of me will always and forever be limited in the eyes of everyone. Because I'm getting older and people aren't changing as much as they used to.

--------------------------------------------------

My favorite color used to be
HOT PINK
and that was it and it was what it was!

Until my sister told me her favorite color was...blue.
Oh! I could see it now, the color of the sky! The blue of the robin's egg!
It was my favorite color!

And that was it and it was what it was...
and so on.

---------------------------------------------------

And so, I am HOT pink, you say,
I never really changed, though I might have faded a few shades,
I am still what I am and that is it.

--------------------------------------------------

I think that there is something about us that we cannot see ourselves,
and though you think you might know what it is, you don't.

Other people can see it, but they couldn't tell you either.

----------------------------------------------------

What I'm wondering is,
why can't I decide to be blue if I want to?

fugeddaboudit

As of late, I can't think in anything but short,
compact thoughts that go to seed very, very quickly.

I have so many words
but I can't seem to use them!

slammin'

I don't like poetry readings.
Reading something that I felt over a year ago to people who just came for the free food and drink

it's more than demeaning.
It's not enough I feel inferior anyway.
But I have to impress myself and my 'poetry' unto others in this room,
this stuffy, quiet, and tense
room.

Perhaps I should just get more practice in. If this is what I want to do for a living and all. But,

honestly, I've always felt a sense of dignity in writing things down and having people read and interpret it themselves.

So that my readers can feel what they feel without the author getting in their way.

Poetry slams are different.
Slam poetry is different.
In that case you write a poem for the specific reason TO sway your audience with your point of view.

And in that case, I would have liked it more. Feeding off of an audience on a stage is so fulfilling.

But in a cramped, stuffy studio where everyone is dressed to the nine's and I'm standing at a podium so tall that I almost can't see the audience..

when I'm reading a poem I wrote for paper and interpretation,
I feel as if I should be hiding.

the bird

Aye, miss. You sure know how to raise some color.

Your swaying hips with painted lips.
You splash some on and wait for the day when the color you wear will fill you in

and make you so
vibrant.

You dance so we can't see that all that you are is lines and tricks and

splinters from your mother leaving and your father slipping from the realm of reality.

You are lined but there are places where you don't connect so,
you can't be anything but

multiple
fragments

of a person.

"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"

I've discovered
that if you get too intimate with anyone right away,
they generally shy away from you.

Which makes me very sad.

Because all I want to say when I meet someone I think I could get on well with, after the bum meet and greet alike, is

'Let's get down to the dirty, shall we?
I mean, let's get right down to the raw.
And if that question scares you,
you probably wouldn't like me anyway.'

And have them answer me. Actually, truly answer me. Not with a joke, not with a laugh.



I don't like when people hide.
Life is too short to keep the beauty of YOU from the rest of the world.

I could go off the deep end.

I need to stop writing songs.
I need to stop trying to channel my emotion or chemically triggered illness and just focus on something that's actually

there.

I know that there are plenty of ugly things and I know that there are plenty of ugly parts of me and

I know

I have a lot of amends to make.
For myself, not for any of you. For me.
To stop dwelling. To stop procrastinating and postponing everything else in my life.

And maybe then I can be a little less self-centered, which is always
a good start
to a good something.

make me

I thought that maybe the freeze-frames of you breathing, me breathing you and our breath hanging in the cold air, mingling like two school girls
would slip away,
like everything



and while we are quietly humming, we secretly are wishing
that the other would start dancing so that the night won't be wasted

but what we aren't aware of won't hurt us, will it?

'appropriate' is out the window

"Men and women are completely different. As a teenager it is very easy to miss this simple truth."



I have officially soul-searched my way out of gender.

I enjoy my womanly curves and soft-er features. I also enjoy my reproduction system and the fact that I may, if I so choose, procure a child within myself. I enjoy the ability to paint hormonal cycles, and of course to distinguish myself as a female.

But I do think, that with modern society, most 'female' and 'male' characteristics are defined by certain standards that are set by impetuous people who have strong-armed their ideals unto others.

Unfortunately, everyone is decidedly impressionable.
(I am not presenting myself as a lone crumb, with thoughts separate from the whole cookie-cake of the human race. I am as susceptible to faux-info as anyone.)

I just think that maybe, we're all part of the same race.
And maybe we shouldn't stereotype the capabilities of beings who are separate from us by only a select few reproductive and non-reproductive organs.

Individuality is more important to me than gender.

bits and the pieces

You make me the saddest
because you make me so very
happy:

You and your estranged taste
and your wacky loves and their hats
and long hair with braids

Big Mama Lips will kiss me everyday
and Aretha will keep on singing
while the gay man plays piano

You have seen the future
and it was like..
like the microwave
and microwaves aren't ever as bad as

mainstream
music

(shudder)

Water drips from the ceiling down your back
but it feels like a giant moth flapping his wings.

I have heard you sing and you can sing
with your soul in your voice and your
heart perching on your shoulder,
looking pretty enough to eat

Eating spaghetti, heat of the moment
when a noodle is slipping from your lip
and you look so incredibly

vunerable.

Four squares and you
were the best of all.

Winning makes you enemies.

But love
makes you enemies.
You use it to get respect?
Putting words into your mouth, a mouth with lips for cover,

but it's just a word, love

we are
really all just

words.

I wrote a song,

When you leave me
To go to sleep, I always feel your dreams matter more than me

And I know it's a silly thought
But you'll always be the fattest fish I caught

And on through the years,
If you still want me here,
If you haven't broken
what I've put my heart in

They say we'll grow old
Change our warm intentions to bitter cold

But if I've noticed anything
What they say doesn't mean a thing

'Cause so far, my dear,
I still want your arms
around me at times
when I feel like crying.

Oh, singing this to you, from me.
Oh, I love that you love me.

Maybe we'll grow up,
and the world will become a brimming cup,

And we'll drink ourselves dry,
but never give up, and neither will I.

And success isn't built
on the hunt and the kill.
No more weaks, no more strongs
Let the rights trump the wrongs.

All this buzz, the earth it spins,
and we all ask the questions but no one wins.

I find I need time,
to think of a reason, much less a rhyme.

And time over season,
the allergies, the sneezing.
The sick and the elderly,
wondering, "who will take care of me?"

Oh, singing this to you, from me.
Oh, love me, do you love me?

Oh, singing this to you from me.
Oh, I love that you love me.

--------------------------------


My mother liked it when I played it for her :)

babycakes

Waking up early to sweater weather and the aroma of pumpkin pancakes,
my throat isn't sore from last night and
I feel very refreshed even with
four hours sleep.


These are days when I know,
I must've done something right.

commentary

I am as still as a rabbit who has been seen.

The exception is my heart,
leaping from the confines of my chest,
up and out into sky and birds
and my thoughts are left in my bed
while I am tugged along by my heart-strings..

If you are to spend a day alone,
what better way than to spend it in the clouds?

surprises

I took this picture by accident two days ago.
Isn't it wonderful how beautiful something accidental can be?

morning glories

I love
loving someone
on a day
like this one.

I take a picture in my head of,
you wearing blue, your dark features
contrast the light and
you look like you did in that picture
on your mother's wall
of a boy all wet from swimming and happy from living

I can say from the weight of things,
the way your hair has grown and
so have I,
the color of the clouds
that we stumble upon and
the knowing glances that elderly couple in the next booth gave us..

Today was a beautiful day.

I think her eyes will pass me, so
I keep watching.
But as soon as
that decision is made,
they stop
on
top
of me

and

I have an idea
of what
Lennon and Dylan and Chapman and
everyone in the sixties saw.

I saw
exactly
what was there
and I
ignored it.