I am refusing to write poems about him.
To program my neurons into a pattern-
a name, a face, a proton of hope,
Until my excited little brain cells are firing madly,
Like fireworks. Cheering for joy, Triggering
a surge of hormones into my wiring-
an inevitable malfunction. Fizzling, and bubbling
Fatal alergic reatcion to my better judgment.
Nameless, Faceless, Genderless friend-
You are forbiden to play havok in my brain space,
Sneek your way in and you will be anialated like a virus.
I never realised-
without a male as my muse,
I am 100% dry and out of inspiration.
how could this be, always considered myself such a thoughtful
and interesting person. come to find out,
I am shallow and cliche. hmmm. learn something new everyday.
I dont want to complain. I dont want to write myself to tears.
I long to inspire, and write about the good,
Craddle my compassion, and eat sour patch kids.
Let them get stuck in my teeth, grow plump without shame.
Stop using big words, tell my story-
but it doesnt have to be sad. Reek with regret.
With my writting I want to explore.
And Coldplay 'Green Eyes' three days ago,
could bring me to quiet convulsing sobs.
but listening to it now it feels okay.
Meloncholy, and slow but a wonderful thing.
"honey I could never go on without you"
There are many who glow inside...
I will never be one who feels close to people.
It doesnt come naturally to me, I thrive inside my head-
In my own company, with my own agenda.
I harbor my demons, but learning step by step how to overcome them.
There is nothing in my life that conveys success.
I have failed, dropped out of school, abused those that did not deserve it.
But I prevail. I will always fucking prevail. Regardless of anyone-
Societies standards of cool and normal, and stariotypical.
I know what feels right, where my feet chose to be planted into the ground.
This journey will be at times, friendless, seemingly hopeless,
speckled with rejection- like freckles on the back fat of a fallen star.
"Blue eyes, Blue eyes, I could never go on without you"
Life kicks my ass, but Im still throwing punches.
I can beat this insanity, tame the cruel world around me,
Let go of lovers, I can hold myself. assure that blue eyes stay dry.
WAJIKRLJFLEJFTRL:DJGO:JT:GLJ
ERRRRGGGG!!!!!!
You never break charecter- But you arnt nearly creative enough to deepen the plot.
Sit with pain. sit with hurt. sit with rejection. sit with the feeling of being unloved.
This is normal. it can be overcome,
Life has freah cookies for you in the oven-
and their gunna be DANKKKK. unlike the burnt, shit youve been eatting.
Life must have used splenda on that last batch..
Thursday, January 13, 2011
There is to much to know how to say.
Should I start with my birth? There have been many.
Home. Studio. Mindy. Adam. Clutter. Smells lived in. (because honestly they never leave.)
Books that are not read. tv always on. bad cabel reception. Pained laughter.
Boiled Carrots. Unflushed toilet. Collection of Cds.
Records. Patti Smith on the wall. Nervous rats. Begging for foor.
Stacks of boxes. Hard to navigate. Hot wheez in packaging.
Dead lighters. Books of matches. empty cigarette cases.
Cell phone chargers. Full coffee pot. endless supply of creamer.
Mother, the voice of a child. Adam, the voice of an enemy.
Emily- the voice of tried indifference. She checks her phone.
She confids to her space. With headphones. escapes in words.
Cant turn the music up loud enough, to tune out agrivating speach.
Flush out the frustration, her nostrils flare, tries to explain why everything feels wrong.
Seeking comfort in rutine. in solitude. and her encounters with the outside world.
Reading "Everything here is the best thing ever" by Justin Taylor.
Scince the last trip to the food bank- she eats a whole grapefruit at 2am like clockwork.
Her empty sketch book, pens with no ink. A black backpack her grandmother bought,
before she dropped out of school. She thinks she might be happier enrolled at the college.
Even highschool, but staying in Lynnwood. the insanity of her mother.
Makes emily shudder. clastrophobic, the fear of being stuck. becoming the lunitics that surround her.
They should all just cry, together forever. But no one can cry. the three of us are in a miserable drought.
I am to strong for tears. My mother overcome by denial. perhaps Adam is oblivious to his need.
He says he is content around chaos, so he must feel right at home.
Emily is learning to be the same way. the knowlage that she must be strong,
forces her to be strong. Everyday is a struggle, and satisfies the need for survival.
a rodent is always in fear for its life, clinging to scraps of food-
its promise of another day. spent searching. This is what I am.
Always on gaurd, with set plans to prove that I am still living.
I bumb cigarettes from everyone I encounter.
I light one always before speaking.
I ask for more bus money than I need.
I go to raves, and I flirt to remind myself I am wanted.
I have no other obligations, but put life or death importance on these things-
Obtain something to smoke, and money. becuase money is freedome.
my momentary ticket away from Lynnwood.
RAVE
because I need the release.
A place to be free. Anonomously "Peaches".
To converse with people who have little clothing and bright fuzzy things to hold.
A back massage. lightshow. a feeding of pills.
gift of colorful plastic beads to remember them by.
Although their name already forgoten.
To feel the neon lights, be rumbled by Dubstep and beats.
To catch a glimpse of Luvr.. my safety person.
Exchange digits with those who ask. some who dont.
Enjoy the ride home, and anticipation for the following weekend.This is my life. Probubly the life of many.Fragmented. Pessimistic. Holding onto stability digused as something else.
Should I start with my birth? There have been many.
Home. Studio. Mindy. Adam. Clutter. Smells lived in. (because honestly they never leave.)
Books that are not read. tv always on. bad cabel reception. Pained laughter.
Boiled Carrots. Unflushed toilet. Collection of Cds.
Records. Patti Smith on the wall. Nervous rats. Begging for foor.
Stacks of boxes. Hard to navigate. Hot wheez in packaging.
Dead lighters. Books of matches. empty cigarette cases.
Cell phone chargers. Full coffee pot. endless supply of creamer.
Mother, the voice of a child. Adam, the voice of an enemy.
Emily- the voice of tried indifference. She checks her phone.
She confids to her space. With headphones. escapes in words.
Cant turn the music up loud enough, to tune out agrivating speach.
Flush out the frustration, her nostrils flare, tries to explain why everything feels wrong.
Seeking comfort in rutine. in solitude. and her encounters with the outside world.
Reading "Everything here is the best thing ever" by Justin Taylor.
Scince the last trip to the food bank- she eats a whole grapefruit at 2am like clockwork.
Her empty sketch book, pens with no ink. A black backpack her grandmother bought,
before she dropped out of school. She thinks she might be happier enrolled at the college.
Even highschool, but staying in Lynnwood. the insanity of her mother.
Makes emily shudder. clastrophobic, the fear of being stuck. becoming the lunitics that surround her.
They should all just cry, together forever. But no one can cry. the three of us are in a miserable drought.
I am to strong for tears. My mother overcome by denial. perhaps Adam is oblivious to his need.
He says he is content around chaos, so he must feel right at home.
Emily is learning to be the same way. the knowlage that she must be strong,
forces her to be strong. Everyday is a struggle, and satisfies the need for survival.
a rodent is always in fear for its life, clinging to scraps of food-
its promise of another day. spent searching. This is what I am.
Always on gaurd, with set plans to prove that I am still living.
I bumb cigarettes from everyone I encounter.
I light one always before speaking.
I ask for more bus money than I need.
I go to raves, and I flirt to remind myself I am wanted.
I have no other obligations, but put life or death importance on these things-
Obtain something to smoke, and money. becuase money is freedome.
my momentary ticket away from Lynnwood.
RAVE
because I need the release.
A place to be free. Anonomously "Peaches".
To converse with people who have little clothing and bright fuzzy things to hold.
A back massage. lightshow. a feeding of pills.
gift of colorful plastic beads to remember them by.
Although their name already forgoten.
To feel the neon lights, be rumbled by Dubstep and beats.
To catch a glimpse of Luvr.. my safety person.
Exchange digits with those who ask. some who dont.
Enjoy the ride home, and anticipation for the following weekend.This is my life. Probubly the life of many.Fragmented. Pessimistic. Holding onto stability digused as something else.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
and thats the way it goes..
I dont think he understands,
That I cannot wait. I met a boy yesterday,
who is quiet, smart, dark haired, with a quirky and cynical humor.
He is tall, and mature. Very no bullshit, delicate with his words, and showing affection.
Incredibly sexy. escpecially his laugh.
When I left the rave, he texted me his concern and told me to get home safe.
Found a missed call from him on my phone when I woke up.
This makes me sad. I should be happy to have found someone who shows potential.
Someone worthwhile, that I truely felt a connection with. In sync on many levels.
But I wish It could be steve. Coming to terms with the fact, that what we have now-
Is as much as we will ever be. If things fall through with Even-
he turns out to be a duche, whatever.
I will find someone else who doesnt take me for granted.
Sees my worth, and wants all of me.
Then whatever steve and I have, will shrink down to friendship.
No more kisses. No more snuggles. A brief hug, a smile, and maybe some mild jelousy- on my part.
That I cannot wait. I met a boy yesterday,
who is quiet, smart, dark haired, with a quirky and cynical humor.
He is tall, and mature. Very no bullshit, delicate with his words, and showing affection.
Incredibly sexy. escpecially his laugh.
When I left the rave, he texted me his concern and told me to get home safe.
Found a missed call from him on my phone when I woke up.
This makes me sad. I should be happy to have found someone who shows potential.
Someone worthwhile, that I truely felt a connection with. In sync on many levels.
But I wish It could be steve. Coming to terms with the fact, that what we have now-
Is as much as we will ever be. If things fall through with Even-
he turns out to be a duche, whatever.
I will find someone else who doesnt take me for granted.
Sees my worth, and wants all of me.
Then whatever steve and I have, will shrink down to friendship.
No more kisses. No more snuggles. A brief hug, a smile, and maybe some mild jelousy- on my part.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Dry Sex at 3am
My pupils swell, My spine errect.
Where are you? far from inside.
forgeting emotions, funny love poems..
and my tendency to stare at your hands-
There is no denying a deep and unstoppable need.
You are someone to be had if nothing else.
over and over again. Im confident in my ability to destory you with pleasure.
I make an effort to stay intune to your needs, destracting as your mouth,
and the location of you palm may be. Noticing spots that make your stomach flex,
and pelvis arch, brings me imense enjoyment.
Fingers inching down with murderous intent. slowly. dangerously.
begging me to stop. whining from wanting so ferociously it aches.
How long to suck your tounge when it enters my mouth.
Panting just close enough to your neck to make the absense of my lips painful.
Like a cat in heat, these are anchient rituals of seduction.
"I want inside of you so badly" and his hands make it so,
large and wraped around my hips they are forceful.
I could be wet clay, he morphes me.
The feeling errupts in my stomach.
I could bite, but squeeze my legs shut.
When he gently touches my leg, stopping briefly inbetween-
and I look in his eyes, a smile, an exhostion, a readiness to please...
endless and unfathomable knowlage around the female anatomy.
Even without being touched a moan brews in me, For the disstress of not being touched.
The deep sacred peach juice, seeping from longing that could coat him so sweetly...
It feels right. natural. satisying. It feels like the perfection of fruit an lovers.
A friendly snake tempting the two into meaninglessness.
Where are you? far from inside.
forgeting emotions, funny love poems..
and my tendency to stare at your hands-
There is no denying a deep and unstoppable need.
You are someone to be had if nothing else.
over and over again. Im confident in my ability to destory you with pleasure.
I make an effort to stay intune to your needs, destracting as your mouth,
and the location of you palm may be. Noticing spots that make your stomach flex,
and pelvis arch, brings me imense enjoyment.
Fingers inching down with murderous intent. slowly. dangerously.
begging me to stop. whining from wanting so ferociously it aches.
How long to suck your tounge when it enters my mouth.
Panting just close enough to your neck to make the absense of my lips painful.
Like a cat in heat, these are anchient rituals of seduction.
"I want inside of you so badly" and his hands make it so,
large and wraped around my hips they are forceful.
I could be wet clay, he morphes me.
The feeling errupts in my stomach.
I could bite, but squeeze my legs shut.
When he gently touches my leg, stopping briefly inbetween-
and I look in his eyes, a smile, an exhostion, a readiness to please...
endless and unfathomable knowlage around the female anatomy.
Even without being touched a moan brews in me, For the disstress of not being touched.
The deep sacred peach juice, seeping from longing that could coat him so sweetly...
It feels right. natural. satisying. It feels like the perfection of fruit an lovers.
A friendly snake tempting the two into meaninglessness.
erritation
very cetian, in my sudden wanting to leave. I am so in love with a tiny part of him that is slipping further and further away. because he is incapable of loving me full heartedly he seems like a waste of time. if someone cannot appreciate all of me- they deserve nothing. I am an empress of perfection. I bleed understanding, willing to sacrifice anything for the boy I chose. moving mountains simply by batting my lashes. Breathing sex, deeply intuitive, crying, and gasping. I am more than anyone could handle. I am overwhelming, a supplier of confusion and uncertinty. yet I bring clarity. calm cool collected clarity.franticly moving twards a realisation that can never be reached- I am everything!
So this is a love letter to myself insted of him. nothing more to be said.
So this is a love letter to myself insted of him. nothing more to be said.
the emotional asthetics-
The beauty in agony just isnt fair.
The rush and hightened sense of drama and dispair is an addiction.
To the beholder,
wear your lipstick red and dark and smuged.
forget your wearing it until you pass a mirror.
remeber who you are, the hidden shape of your mouth.
until weeping turns to laughter.
The rush and hightened sense of drama and dispair is an addiction.
To the beholder,
wear your lipstick red and dark and smuged.
forget your wearing it until you pass a mirror.
remeber who you are, the hidden shape of your mouth.
until weeping turns to laughter.
The boulder and the boy
Inertia is the resistance of any physical object to a change in its state of motion or rest.
Please dont try to push me with sweet words,
If you do not plan to run after me when I begin to roll.
If you sway me, pet me softly, coax me into surrender-
Like a giant stone of grey. stubbern and unwilling to love-
waiting inpatiently for a suiter strong enough to becon motion.
brave enough to risk being crushed. bone splintered, lungs collapsed.
under the wieght of my devotion. I resist most before I am about to break.
my fear of vulnerability.
my fear of motion.
my obsession with love.
Please dont try to push me with sweet words,
If you do not plan to run after me when I begin to roll.
If you sway me, pet me softly, coax me into surrender-
Like a giant stone of grey. stubbern and unwilling to love-
waiting inpatiently for a suiter strong enough to becon motion.
brave enough to risk being crushed. bone splintered, lungs collapsed.
under the wieght of my devotion. I resist most before I am about to break.
my fear of vulnerability.
my fear of motion.
my obsession with love.
The truth that LIES inside.
Clearly written in ink,
where the things I felt to be true.
The boundries. and mutual attraction.
Sometimes you say things, or hold this expression-
and I can see the geers turing, your stern understanding.
an intensity I find unbarable, and frighteningly sexy.
Water surges over words,
and they melt into confused stains.
a blue tyedye of lovers sky.
I squint, and try to see the letters inside the freash ocean.
Reread the things that seporate us. keep us apart.
keep me from falling in love.
I drowned myself in doubt.
where the things I felt to be true.
The boundries. and mutual attraction.
Sometimes you say things, or hold this expression-
and I can see the geers turing, your stern understanding.
an intensity I find unbarable, and frighteningly sexy.
Water surges over words,
and they melt into confused stains.
a blue tyedye of lovers sky.
I squint, and try to see the letters inside the freash ocean.
Reread the things that seporate us. keep us apart.
keep me from falling in love.
I drowned myself in doubt.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
its like trying to keep myself from falling asleap. falling in general.
Maybe it has nothing to do with you- your habits, or personality, or looks.
Im just tierd, and the sound of your voice is reassuring.
I catch myself nodding off, entering a sweet dream.
Awake slowly to find you rambling on about yourself-
and I rub my eyes and pretend to have been listening.
I do not want to love you, because you do not love me.
I need someone as complicated, and engaging as myself.
somone who can sit with scilence. who is dark and warm, and sleepy.
Speaks sternly and thinks in poems. This is not matched by steve.
He is not my soul mate. Not my perfect fit.
So I struggle to keep my feelings calm.
from spilling around me. keeping love far far away.
And today blurred the lines. Anxiety shot through me-
Like a knife ripping through silk.
I think he could tell, we are intune with eachother.
can tell subtle differences in eachothers mood or responses.
He said something that made love sprout inside of me in every direction.
a painful yearning love. and I fucking paniced.
I tried to pull back, and stiffle my heart.
but anything said other than "I am falling terribly inlove with you"
was ingenuine and obviously a front.
I said things that were strangly defensive. my pause was to long.
I reacted like a threatened animal.
But this is my kind of love.
After a good night sleep I can force myself back into indifference.
I can convince myself I dont care. Stay patient, and flirtatious.
Lose this sense of urgency and fear.
Maybe it has nothing to do with you- your habits, or personality, or looks.
Im just tierd, and the sound of your voice is reassuring.
I catch myself nodding off, entering a sweet dream.
Awake slowly to find you rambling on about yourself-
and I rub my eyes and pretend to have been listening.
I do not want to love you, because you do not love me.
I need someone as complicated, and engaging as myself.
somone who can sit with scilence. who is dark and warm, and sleepy.
Speaks sternly and thinks in poems. This is not matched by steve.
He is not my soul mate. Not my perfect fit.
So I struggle to keep my feelings calm.
from spilling around me. keeping love far far away.
And today blurred the lines. Anxiety shot through me-
Like a knife ripping through silk.
I think he could tell, we are intune with eachother.
can tell subtle differences in eachothers mood or responses.
He said something that made love sprout inside of me in every direction.
a painful yearning love. and I fucking paniced.
I tried to pull back, and stiffle my heart.
but anything said other than "I am falling terribly inlove with you"
was ingenuine and obviously a front.
I said things that were strangly defensive. my pause was to long.
I reacted like a threatened animal.
But this is my kind of love.
After a good night sleep I can force myself back into indifference.
I can convince myself I dont care. Stay patient, and flirtatious.
Lose this sense of urgency and fear.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
this
It is 5 in the morning. After it hit 4:30, I decided Id be better off making instant coffee and getting an early start on Tuesday. The current state of my life is pleasant but bleak. I am in limbo, as always but my life seems to be moving somewhere. wherethere it be an illusion of the senses- or actual progress is beyond me. Like standing on sand when the tide is going back out. you feel like the ground is shifting below you. Well this coffee is shit. Its way to hot, flavorless, a pale milky color inside a glass jar. The great thing about my life is freedom. I can do whatever I please, I wake up in the late afternoon- attend to my ego, with make up, and clothes, usually to the pixies. check the mirror a few thousand times. Then leave the prison of my home. this studio appartment. Where adam frowns all the time, and my mother franticly eats carrots. all the time. They never leave, and have created an entire world in this tiny space. Even in the scilence you can feel enormous tension. Today was stupid. The world leaves me so dissatisfied. When I am not the person society wants me to be, its just dirty looks and scoffs. in a flannel smoking a cigarette beside a building- I get sympathetic glances from old ladies. Or men.. Some people ignore me. Some stare. A giant field of comunication in four seconds of eye contact. I notice these things. and feel so apart from the world. There must be people like me, blended into the crowd. But they are so hard to find, in piles of duchebags. piles and piles of duchebags. So ive decided to be my own best friend. I agree with myself about most things. I have good taste in music. sense of humor. I make the perfect best friend. just sometimes I forget im here. To others I am a person- to me I am a vessel for experiencing the things around me. and I think ALL the time. single sentance thoughts. every second a different sentance. An insecurity to combat. An anxiety. A dissaproval. A very brief aproval. A desprate search for a solution. Get a fucking job. and get a fucking appartment. and move the fuck out of here. Find a companion. some stability. My quest for love is impossible. but I know when it comes, it will be the right time. I just need to trust the universe, and the fact that so far everything has fallen into place. Nothing is perfect, but it isnt suposed to be. I look back on my time in portland. sleeping under a bridge. snorting coke on the bathroom floor. the glorious date rape. feeling so crushed, and lost I could have desinagrated into dust. It was sickening- but taught me so much. Im glad I was never happy, im glad I never fit in. because that isnt where I wantto be happy, and those arnt the people I want to fit in with. I am fortunate to be alive, and miraculously kept safe through all of it. These events bettered me, made me strong. Because in order to be strong you must first be weak. You fight, and kick, and scream your way back to the person your ment to be. I was born a seed. My enviornmet shapes the growth of my branches, but the will to survive was passed down from light, energy, matter. It is anchient. Keeping my mental health in good condition is most important. Setting boundries. unconditional self love. and activly impressing no one.
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