December 15, 2012 § 7 Comments
i find myself here again. and fault myself for that.
i know i gone and fucked up again. i fall and all. i crash.
i am aiming for the bottom when I go back to the top.
and start again.
old habits. old friends.
my flaws, like rabbits
darting behind solid objects. i lack progress.
its obvious and true. without starting again.
i disgust my next false start. again and again.
doom. till. death? get busy living and making decisions
accruing debt and getting wet. confront the month
on each bloody turn. get it right. get it now.
is this the same lonely rock in the same puddly spot light?
possibly under a romantic lampost prostrate on a lumpish dias?
my victim doll cutie lips
non-protecting bystander lint dervish silent pretty girl
abuser i am monument to pain verbally sensitive
i’m willing to pay for relief
December 5, 2012 § 5 Comments
She makes me a promise
she knows I need. She knows
I won’t hold her to it
if it’s not meant to be.
There, a dancing in the place
where we are dilapidated falling down
houses of a ghosted neighborhood.
In a deserted thicket of forest
we run and get out of breath
as we chase each other and play
with our skirts bunched up and scrunched
by childish fingers gripping convention.
She knows how I get there.
She knows how I came.
She knows how to get there
and how to remain.
In comfy grass, heat bug symphony
notes tickle her nose.
I will join her with clean
feet and leave her dirty.
Buried there, by our roots
a treasure of two.
A measure, a brew of all
that is true.
November 27, 2012 § 9 Comments
Is the point really in all this talking?
This question in demon times
to scarlet sun baths.
how long haven’t I talked about it?
what’s the relevance
when the words are gushing from all directions?
Palm cramming and finger diking fails
there is no end and I say it’s all been said before.
Is the point really in all this talking?
Yak your words and grab someone else’s.
You take mine and it babbled,
you, an ear to a shell
catching ocean words seductive and desert words dehydrating
my way of saying:
Cant there be any way,
the newest say of my ways?
But still leave. Or still grieve, or still kill. And still tear asunder.
What about logic and reason,
their neighborhood here
with block party assertions
within grammatical nations.
You objectify my tale
and straighten to my wail.
You can seek to set me free
to fix my sad and lonely
where I’m home and sorry.
Lets go down in shame flames,
causing explosions and rains.
Press this broken heart under
unrequited language cider.
Exercise my foolish word fish
You are so expressive,
she said and tho expensive,
the words mean nothing
November 21, 2012 § 2 Comments
There is nothing.
I can even appeal to logic
I can point out the obvious
and dress up the truth.
I can cajole, act aloof, bring
the bitch out.
He still loves me
and wont be baited.
He wont be rushed to come to
my foregone conclusions.
He wont jump from outcrop to outcrop with me
but shouts from the top of his tower,
the tower I describe,
draw attention to with sticky, outstretched fingers.
It’s all there.
It’s all there except the true name.
like a good girl should.
why don’t you
be the man
I know you are…?
There IS nothing.
This is true.
I just didn’t know nothing included you.
November 20, 2012 § 3 Comments
What a beast
my funky disease
my foul banana peel loving
wither and break me when you come
up or down
it’s never wrong
it never flees
it never leaves
it has the right of way
and wont stay away
September 25, 2012 § 1 Comment
I can barely muster the energy to continue this climb. How dramatic of me, right? I feel exceedingly tired, like I am carrying the largest of burdens and the saddest of futures is waiting on a bloody horizon of my own design.
Big Daddy always said I demanded rescue of him.
Is that a bad thing? I’ve been strong an awful long
September 22, 2012 § Leave a Comment
I would be a whore.
You know what’s funny? Money. I don’t mean in a ha-ha sense, but more in a what-the-fuck-ouch-that-hurts sense. It means I eat and do drugs to forget I don’t have enough of it. That I can’t pay the bills and skate from late notice to late notice. The fact that there are people around me who have way more and I don’t have enough to survive. And yet I do. How socialist of me, to ask that things were a little more evenly divided.
Why should I pretend I’m not angry about that?
Because it’s tacky.
And against the American belief that anyone can achieve greatness. The decks are not stacked against us. There are no societal boundaries or class prophesies. There is no deadend cycle or morose pattern. Anyone can achieve greatness.
And if you don’t, well. It’s because you don’t DESERVE it.
So yea, I’d be a whore. I’d do anything to lift this boulder weight of worry off my chest. ANYTHING.