I am unsure of my emotions.

How do you say goodbye to your father when he moves halfway across the country?

please leave me alone.

please, make this the last time.
if you leave now, do not come back.

eyes run dry.

crabtree and compost

my head is so empty; my thoughts bound and twisted. i am currently unable to detoxify my darkest parts: torture.
this lack of inspiration is eating me up, it's making it so hard to fall right. i'll break my ankles when i reach the pavement if i don't align my body the way it deserves.

work. sleep. work. sleep. drugs. sleep. alcohol. work. sleep. worry.

all i'm askin' for is some tiny honesty, i need some explanations to justify this sinking ship. i am going under, this hollowness like quicksand, rising to my rib cage. and in another four, i will not muster the strength to rise up above you as i do now. you've gotta say, "it was all just an accident." and i will fly along, i'll become the phoenix i once was, alone. years will pass and i will be safe and settled, until you make your grand entrance, with all the streamers and doves trailing behind you, but next time, that time, i will not allow you to control this court. i am now the queen of my own catastrophe. singular and steady.

my cruelty will not stand for much longer, so take me away from him while you still can. and if you cannot, then allow me to rot alone. alone, in peace.

10.17.08 - if you love, that should be enough

i am overwhelmed with desire, this ancient infatuation. i am above you, hovering like a sparrow, my song broken and strained. your presence below me (look at your eyes in the dim autumn light) captures and confounds me. i wish i could hold this position forever; my knees digging into the floor beneath me, my arms high above my head, every limb screaming "RELEASE ME."

though you failed to mention what could have saved our lies, i am not angry. guilt is foreign, however i regret her pain. i understand. whatever this may destroy, i hope you watch it burn slow and and bright, thinking, "the glow will make us whole again."

your questions are like the soft and subtle sway of blades in the wind. (the cut, the fever.) but here i am, asking to be chained down by you and all you depend on. bury me in your difficulties, i will bear the weight, wearing your flaws high like a crown. there is glory in all admittance.

now look at us, fumbling for the right words; you reply: "without you here, it would have been impossible."

flattered, i am not. where is the honesty i deserve? how do i differentiate between your code of conduct and what you proclaim as your bare bones? how i pray that you're secretly saying what i am thinking:

"always you."

your breath on my skin like sunlight, your hands like the necks of cranes: easy and understanding. aware. calculated. but this lie that you have built beneath us is deadly.

how do you plan your sieges? this war we fight, the front lines heavy and covered with every missed moment; the ghosts of what circumstance would not allow. we are two generals, angry and broken, desperately trying to fill the trenches that our hearts have created (all the holes and voids we can't seem to cover completely.)

time to recalculate, reformat: i no longer can bear the burden of this wonder. pick up or put down: a toy at your disposal. be fair, though there is rarely fairness in truth. you are a wolf in a lover's clothes.

"when we kissed, it

didn't feel poisonous.

and when you cried,

i dried off your blue

eyes. he smiles at me

as he is falling asleep,

saying, "we gotta live

the best we know how

to."

10.8.08 - He Fades With The Day

it's just me who I'm trying to save.
I'm not doing much of anything, i don't miss you, and i don't love you anymore. i left you years ago, and I'm much happier this way. last night i crawled into my car and my chest heaved and sank with the tears i was working to produce, but my eyes were as dry and clear as the sky above me. and I'm not trying to be secretive, i can't cry over you anymore. do you know how good it feels to send you off to sea?
I've sat in this same seat before, in the back of the classroom, and every time i come back it gets better and better. i am high off my own despondence and detachment. i can do so many things when i wipe my heart clean.
i just carried my entire weight in luggage, and my fingers and shoulders ache and are busting open, reminding me of the years i carried you because you yourself couldn't bear the pounds of your problems. i feel superhuman and daring for all that i did for you, and settled for all that i did not.
i have an hour left in this terminal until i can get home to the place where my friends say i don't belong. well, i agree, their selfishness is right. however, like i stayed with him, i will stay here. it is my godforsaken fucking duty. i'm sorry, but i can't come back and save you too.
i want to be able to tell you I'd fight, I'd say that I'd use the brass knuckles you kept in your glove box to smash the teeth of any girl who stood in my way. but if i looked at you now, and i told you how I'd struggle and squirm for you, I'd be lying, and i have never lied to you.

i own today.

10.12.08 Little Dark Parts

my life / my lips / my decisions / my indiscretions.

i turned my head to her and asked, "why do they all come back?" i can't answer that today, and probably not tomorrow, but my arms will open wider and wider every time they reappear, and he is a repeat offender. (don't let him be.) --i am just looking for something to love me the way he does-- there is comfort in his deviant obsession with me. he is not beautiful, and he don't mean a thing to me.

-----

the one who i'm always running from comes back periodically, but we like to leave too much to stay. me and him: four years of closing doors quietly behind us / four years of quitting and beginning again / four years of silence / four years of sparks / four years of three hour drives - reduced to one. this close, four years apart, i refuse to go to him. if he can find me before i fly away, i'll wait. i am a baby bird.
in his parent's house (whichever one.) in the front seat of his car (whichever one.) in the crowd of that venue (whichever one.) where he whispered, "did you miss me?" and i replied, "i know what you did." that was years ago, and i have forgiven him for his youthful folly, and i am sorry for mine.
every time he climbs in bed with me, we realize it is too hard to fall asleep alone from so far away and i leave him (as he leaves me) to settle for something a little closer.
i know why he stays with her
i know how comfortable she is
i know he doesn't love her anymore
i know she still loves him
i know he lets her
i know why he lets her.
he likes to play a game called you-can't-figure-me-out-and-i-got-secrets. i always let him win, but i will read him, highlight my favorite parts, re-read him, and true to my nature, give him to himself--the best gift he'll ever receive.

10.13.08 - How Dare You Dare Me?

THIS is how much i want to stay. i promise, this amount is right, it's enough to even everything up and bottom us out.
this is our night; all of us are hummingbirds tonight and our song is about as heavy as our combined weight. hey, i'm sorry, tonight's been wonderful and so have you. it seems i can't apologize enough for the way i behave sometimes.
if you'd open your throat a little wider, i'm always willing to hear what comes out. those little chirps make a lot of things make sense on the regular. i wish you'd been here tonight to see how we all split and divided into separate parts, i think you would have liked to see us shrink down to the size of wood chips.
i'm getting a little happier, i promise, just have a little bit more of that drink and you'll start to believe me. i can make promises to you until my vocal chords shrivel, but that doesn't always mean i'll pull my own weight through. but i think if you asked me hard enough, i'd do it right.
there's a tree upstate i'd like you to see. it's taller than most people, all people. i'd like to see you up at the top in your tree branch nest, and i'd like to hear what you think:
"those smokestacks remind me
of home, like you remind me of
home."
i'm horribly flattered and ashamed by the curves you've uncovered on the both of us, but i'll accept whatever you wanna give me. and i'm alone, but that's been sounding better every day. maybe it was just me i wanted to hold onto all this time and not any of you, not any part of you. maybe all the different parts of you would be to unbearable to carry, but i think i'd like to hold them if i could.
under this weather, i don't feel so bad after some movement. and i wouldn't feel so bad if you didn't wanna go upstate with me, i'd understand if you wanted to walk it slow and alone;
you are an ocean after all.
i'm more like the mouth of a big river, (i am always emptying myself out) that you studied in your geography class, saying, "i'd like to go there someday." i think you've been trying to get there, and maybe one day you will, you'll get to see what you've been missing. you know i have a lot of questions.

me and you are to be continued.

"i'm gonna do my best swan dive into shark-infested waters, i'm gonna pull out my tampon and start splashing around. 'cause i don't care if they eat me alive, i've got better things to do than survive. i've got the memory of your warm skin in my hands, and i've got a vision of blue sky and warm land."


going back to the place where i'll never belong.

remember?

"it seems like it's been so long since we kissed through the darkness, until it was dawn. and up with it came our pain and fear that we'd already lost each other; we both knew that the end was near. maybe i just set aside the fact that you were broken-hearted in my own special selfish way. and if i hadn't set aside the fact that you were broken-hearted, hell knows where your heart would be today, maybe with me, maybe with me."


you told me, "i was drinking you goodbye, my heart floats in the bay." well, so does mine these days. & there's no telling what i'll do if i don't return to you, isn't that something you can understand? you used to sing these songs to me, back in those days, where we talked about infirmaries and the tails behind our backs. whatever happened to that silly dream you had? i wanna make it real, i'd love to rub your back.

i still love you, and i'm not sorry.

it's cold, and i'm so happy. thought i had a clean break, but i'm home again, and i'm happy to be here. my backyard looks like a used palate, and my hands are freezing, even in my coat pockets where you tell me to shove them. i have half the brain to jump ship and swim back up the atlantic, but you'd be my bouy. i hope so, at least.

coast - to - coast.

i'm a little bit taller, i'm a little bit fatter, i'm a little bit smarter, i'm wiser now. three years is a long time, and my hands look older, my laugh lines more refined. my taste, sporadic. my eyes, grounded. my knees, nervous. my heart, flighty; but it descends for you.

Journal #18. October's insensitivity.

do you remember me? do you think you could still find that mole on my lower back with your eyes closed? could you, please? it's this time of year, it's this month, and look where i am, look at my face. i'm smiling. any other month than this, i wouldn't mind at all. i'd be pleased. i've been pleased, so happy and so clean, without you there. but here i am, back in my parent's house by myself, and it's october again. the smell of the leaves and the dying grass; listen! you can't sneak up on me anymore without that earth crunching beneath your feet. maybe that's a bad thing this time around. after all, i can't ask anything from you.
hey, you remember those songs from a couple months back? they've been on repeat and i don't know why. maybe things will get better again, but i wish you'd been quicker, or i had, or i hadn't locked myself in my own skull and refused to come out. well, we were just little kids back then, and when you tried to put that ring on my finger, it slipped right off, and i left you in the dust, didn't i? i'm sorry, it won't happen again, my knuckles are wider now, but i can't expect you to believe that. well, you can't expect me to believe in you anymore either, so i guess we're even. my hands are up, i give up. look, my gun's on the table and it's not smoking.
well, if you're still afraid of me, i understand. your friends are too, they made up their minds, but really, so did mine. they both tell us the same things these days.

"dont. look at yourself, look at what he did, your eyes are too pretty to salivate."
"look how she lied, she'll lie again, and she'll crush you with everything she owns."

well, scrub me down with bleach if that's what it takes, i won't mind. how do i prove it? do i have to dye my hair, do i have to get contacts, do we have to erase all the love between us? well, that'll never work. we've been trying for years, you couldn't even stand it the last time we touched. but i was clouded by my expectation of the future. no, not in that way, don't you dare. i didn't listen to what you were trying to say, my ears were all closed off and once again, i didn't realize your clever tricks until i was long gone and lagging. remember what you said to me? "I'll wait for you, as the cold rain falls." look at that. now i'm digging myself deeper and i'm lapping up that dirt like i owe my body every pound. but hey, i love sinking when it's with you, baby.

done.

i am still so fucking full of care. last night on the bathroom floor all the tears and the booze made me puke while my brother broke apart with worry. his little sister is falling apart at the seams.

i can see your eyes

the smell of him is what did it. it wasn't his charm or his kindness, cause he had none of that, not which she could find at least. no, it was the soft, strong smell he threw all over her every night when she was falling asleep; it reminded her of what she left back home. she remembered the clarity of youth, how one smell could spin her coattails and march her right back into her high school love story. her new life was nothing compared to that year she spent learning how to love. but waking up next to this second-best prototype in a strange, new city was solace enough for her to keep calm and drugged up.

the scent of her new distraction over her made up for the sunday when she finally cut her losses, years ago, before she ever knew how to shut off. well now that's all she could ever do, turn off and tune out while he made up for "lost summer time." the padding of her bare feet across the linoleum at 3 am was her only way of turning back on, and she meant every step.

she was 100% the opposite of what he left back in his mom's house, and i think she knew that he'd planned it that way. she tried to be flattered, and she tried to see it from his hazel eyes, but i don't think she could, and i think she only saw it as false pretense. that's no one's fault but his, she thought, cause in all honesty she had indeed been able to leave her past completely behind. and for all of that, she was scared and brutalized by her own strength, afraid of what her emotions could abandon after so much time.

and everyday when she struggled to see inside him, he turned the lock tighter, and in a sense, she wanted to give up on him like he gave up on her. 'cause he did, he swore to her that she was just like all the others, even though she knew she wasn't, not at all. he told her every night, "you'll never be able to read my mind." he told her, he confided in her, "i will never believe a fucking word you say." in bed, he called her a harlot, a charlatan, a masochist. but she knew herself, she knew she'd keep trying until it tore her apart. and everyday his cruelty would bring her to the front door, but her feet would turn around and return to him. maybe she wanted to prove that she could stand it, she'd stay cause what if it was all a test to begin with? she'd never know, and that cut her up all over.

9.1.08 - The Dust of Retreat

i am solely to blame. Such a vision i was, on my scabbing knees, begging for tears to come so ink could set into 99 cent paper. this gift, this ailment, i asked for it with all of me, and now with my severed strings and my miscalculations, i am reduced to lonely gasps in the back room.
in each swaying movement of my hopeful forgiveness, my cerebellum screams back at me what i already know:
"HE CAN'T LOVE YOU."
well, i know, i know, i know. but i will give into the pretty apologies; "bring your body back to mine." i will, of course, despite the shame it will take to peel off my clothes and say goodnight.
the great irony of my wishful-thinking optimistic curses is how fast i will fall into the confusion of a seasons change.

fall: i will, for a little while.

winter: forget my face.

spring: i'm here, if you need me.

summer: i want to come home to your storm

now press the repeat button on my forehead and you may continue to humiliate me, isn't that what you said i deserved?

next to you is a song i keep singing, a word on the tip of my tongue, or the fire alarm across the street. and i'm tired because it's nearly fall and we spent too much time in bed--"it's been you all along, please believe me, what was her name again?"--convincing each other of things we both know are false. and i will sit here and listen for as long as it takes you to convince me that i am not worth trusting or loving, i swear i will listen. your words sound like the sea and i just want to split that bottom lip in two.

now i ask as you stand to leave, "how am i supposed to feel when you're not here?" Well, i promise to go out quietly, and i promise i will be here waiting when you come back for me.

You Can't Love Me - 9.20.08

I can make myself dinner.I can dress myself. I can pay my bills, I can tie my shoes. I can join a gym, and i can drive to work. I can drink myself into oblivion, and i can put you on your knees in our bedroom. So, when i am out on his porch, do not sting me with that smile--i know what it means. ( "You're just as guilty as me now, I can catch you like you caught me.") Don't stare at me with those double-standard eyes, and don't you lie to me. ("Baby, I don't mind.") So your raps on the window, your eyes all over me and him, they can't matter anymore. I am on the move. I know what you're thinking--("She's just like the rest of them, now i see her lies.")--well, Shut The Fuck Up, dear. If you had heard me, you'd know that i promised this would happen if you took us down this road. His fingertips are allowed to press into my lower back, and my hands in his hair, they can belong there if i'd like them to. I am repeating myself again, but i am so filled with joyful anxiety when the thought of rubbing your lying little face into this braces me. Just when you thought you'd won, well, here i am, the victory's all over my face, my lips, my back; wearing my skin like a veil.

fat lip

last night when you caught us kissing on the porch, i was so scared of you, baby. but this morning when i finally stripped off my alcohol armor, i realized:
i still want his lips all over me.

to the girl with saturn for skin:

God, how I miss the subdued glow of the History Channel sign behind our heads on that girl's Harlem rooftop. It is so fucking cold up here, without our bulky winter coats, but we've got our alcohol to keep us warm, and me and you are chain smoking off the side of the roof, screaming "I LOVE THIS CITY." this city where our faces blend with everyone else's on the F train, it's so wonderful to keep to myself. And back in Brooklyn, that loft bed saved my life when my drunken appendages collapsed all over it after too much dancing. or in tiny dorm rooms, we have to squeeze to fit and our backs remember in the morning. in that screaming city, i am so happy to stand next to my best friend, noses and lungs and stomachs full, eyes wide and laughing until it's too early to stay awake. Now in my own city, sleepy and sorry, i need her to control my head again. last night in the comfort of an abandoned stairwell, i cried my fucking eyeballs out, but she was on the other end at 3AM to knock them back into their sockets. i love her, and i love her city.

Here, this city makes me sick. The broken brick sidewalks are so silent when i drunkenly stumble home at 2AM without her or the necessity of a metro card. And in the mornings, this city welcomes you too easily into it's sweet arms, it's so kind i can't control myself. my hands are worn and bleeding from dragging this pen across paper, and my legs ache from walking as fast as i can from his apartment to mine.

I'd cut my feet open to get back to that school where we chain smoke and fall asleep at 6AM if i could.

damage control.

i am stoned, and worthless. today i will fill my head with smoke and drown out all my common sense while you leave me here to invite her inside. this is damage control.

i am stuffed to the brim with absolution like a 15 pound turkey on thanksgiving. in a few hours i will fill my nose with more common slander and go shot-for-shot with the tallest kid in the room, but my eyes will be searching the floor plan of this apartment to find you. 'cause i'm wondering if i run off with this redhead girl, will you be there when i come back or will you be undressing her in the dark? my throne has been capsized, and here i am, seeping into the grout of this tile floor, i am a mess of hair and pills and from here you look like someone worth saving.

that mattress belongs to me; my intestine are the coils of springs, my brain matter is the stuffing, and the sheets stretch across it's perimeter like my skin. i will bury myself inside the plaster walls until i am ready to come out and let go.
"You are holding on because this is comfortable."
Yes.
But i will run every red light to get back home. this city, my hands. every night i fall asleep in a bed too big for one, and every waking morning the sheets bind my hands and feet, and when my ankles struggle to break out, i am gagged back and restrained by the pillow case and the dreamy color of your bedroom eyes, i must suffer in silence.
"TELL HIM"
i don't expect him to understand.
this morning i flew off the fucking handle and into the grime below. face first, all the clouds above me change to rain and then to shine, and my eyes can't handle the strain of all the cumulus clouds. i am hypnotized by how cheap this is, you can't love me and you won't turn around to face me. i am owed that bland honesty.
this time, i've gotta peel off all my tissue and blood from the closet door where it splattered, and i'll put it all back to together peace by peace. because when i fly solo, i fly so high.

baby, did the cocaine get the better of you again?

when i closed my eyes, my eyelids played me pictures, little moving pictures of girls like my sister. that's how it used to be, before the trap she fell into; it was an accident. when he came in, he brought in all of this snow, and after that all i saw was dark. and my sister never shivered the same again. our parents didn't really notice, but i remember them yelling about what they heard in her bathroom. dad was drunk and mom was just trying. i just had my plastic trucks, & when my sister opened the door, he opened up his stomach and she climbed up through his small intestine, then his large, and swam all around in the bile of his liver, finally settling back down in some big artery that you need to survive. i don't know if she's come out yet, but when she does, she told me she'd call me from the pay-phone on grant street. she told me once when she was living there that his eyes looked like gemstones from Africa and his hair was like a panthers. "purple?" i said. but she told me yesterday his eyes looked more like dirty seafoam and his hair felt like mayonnaise. when she caught him with his nose in the flour again, he told her that it was her fault, and she believed him, a little bit. but she wrote me a letter last night, it was addressed to me. it had my name on it, in her big block letters. like the communist manifesto, it said her hair's gone grey and her skin's fallen off, so i asked her, "baby, did the cocaine get the better of you again?"

I want it, it is you.

"Somebody put me back in school, I forget everything. I used to know how to leave the boy behind without having to watch him go, oh."

I am so very confused, so very uninspired, so very uncomfortable. Without a plan, I've got half the mind I should. Without a kiss, I've got half the confidence in you I should. Without you, I've got a better chance. And lately I'm so tired that I can't even see.

6:15 A.M

i'm wide awake and you're barely listening.

was my body not the skeletal version of your own?
how i wish i could write like i used to.
if you'd like me to stop trying to lose, i will not.
perhaps i can't do it 'cause you've inspired me less,
because i have not yet been hurt.

is it masochism to wish for pain, if it means creativity?
perhaps i am wrong: if i take the reins we will surely fall.
i only want success for us, but i only want you to destroy me.
this battle is hardly worth fighting for if i can't make up which side i'm not.
like comfort, you spread over me and keep me quiet.
like indecision, i will not make it.

everybody here's got somebody to live for.

a reminder of how much you have given yourself: this is your inspiration to change, to breathe how you once did; in harmony with mind. like pen to paper, take this like a promise to yourself; you will go backwards.

can't you stay here?
i cannot.
do not trust me.
i will not.
fall hard, or fall fast?
i choose isolation.
keep me close.
i hardly think i can.
cry.
how?
what do i do?
you leave.
is that what you want?
hardly.

desire vs. decision

i cannot promise we will not falter in our destruction of one another. this is the inevitable collapse of a princess of power, taken to her knees by what she let herself crash so hard into. like falling sky, i will come down on you and cover you wholly. so, the 10 million dollar question: canonization or bane? my skin cringes at the thought of giving in. it doesn't quite matter if you can prevent a relapse. i fell so deep into your uncharted waters, and i'm not quite ready to swim or float; like i sank before, i'll sink again. i don't think i'm holding on quite hard enough to break the binds you've tied to her in your sleepy sadness. and if i find that walking home is walking to you, i'll be more afraid than if i was to cut myself down and bury myself six feet to the neck. all your pretty mispelled words make no difference if i'm just trying to save myself from ruin. "we fit." isn't that the same as "we fall?"

i am drunk/journal number i donno

you're here, and you missed me, that's what you told me last night. all morning you were there making noises and i could barely get to sleep but you made insomnia worth while, for a little while. now we're drunk, at least, i'm very drunk. the act we play in front of everyone else fools me sometimes 'cause i think how real it could be, but i guess i know that if you could choose you'd choose me. at least, that's what you tell me, so that's what i think. i'm just a foolish drunk girl, who let's you sleep in her bed and who counts her blessings every day that she hasn't fallen off the deep end quite yet

grind the beat

the things you could do to me scare me more than what i am capable of doing to myself. i am a nymph, you are a bumble bee. i dance, you float, and we always seem to fall back into each other, that lazy slumber we adore so much. intertwined, far away, and far apart. closer on couches, closer on pink. our scene, we debut: smoking in bed, and here i am, reading you passages to sing you to sleep. "read me that story one more time, the one where he jumps out of the window and breaks his feet." my cryptic words mean nothing to you, do you understand what i'm saying? "THERE'S AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM." we must face what we refuse to hear. "god, how i wish i had gotten to you sooner," i hear you croon behind me. well, i don't pity us. i wonder what wer'e doing here, most days.

lilac beds

i am not what you promised i would be. i am higher and lower and farther away. kiss me and tell me how tall i will grow with you. make a promise: believe or understand. do not hate me for what i cannot do/love me for what i can: i am waiting. how icy will your lips be tomorrow, unwilling to keep or grab what is deserved. reach out!; refer to me as "she," "her," "mine." snow means we stay indoors. sun means we shall greet the day with halos and coffee. how many pairs of feet does it take from your door to mine? am i too late?

drugs

blood like water
never lets
the things you owe
slip through.
it remembers,
like i remember.
like the great plains stretch across an industry, like eyes blink backwards. if you listen close enough you'll hear so little! my dad says i miss the forest for the trees/i say i miss myself more than i ever have. a muted shine is not the same as the destruction of tarnish. keep clinging, cause some things aren't meant to touch the ground.
if condominiums take over all your grey matter, what do you become? things like that are lost so easily, so don't sell it or wish it away. a lot of pretty pictures become a little uglier with time, like hands or crows. or pink pills or love letters. change will take over.
like i took over you:
your bed/your head/your heart.
mine! possessions i own, but blood like water will bring it back to you.

on the other side

i am an inadequate mess. look at me now: different than what i used to be. how wonderful it sounds, but shifting your shape is unsettling. you were happier then than you are now, all changed and clear. but in my new shoes and my new clothes i feel colorless, like a baby bleached or a horse skinned. although i try, i remember less of who i used to be. had my skin always felt this way? my face? my hands so rough with memory? this mass, has it ever been new? questions i am barely able to answer. maybe forgetfulness isn't such a gift after all. but if i could remember would i be able to turn around? no, i'm sure not. i'm sure i'd be stuck knowing what i lost or gained, a fact that would hold me up and prod at my naked feet until i cried for forgiveness. is gaining more always better? does that mean you're ahead? perhaps it means you've actually fallen behind. all the games i still play, it seems that's the only steady calm in this human thunderstorm i've created. crafted and carved to my new requirements, but the same trickery as it's always been. pretty love songs don't put me to sleep anymore, but neither does anger or repent. and tommorrow and for the rest of my life i'll never wake up to walk those old halls, i'll wake up to walk a new one. whether it is one towards you, or to a bedroom, a home, an office, a ward, or a family, it will never be the same as it once was. my acceptance does not equal my tolerance. the same demand will take over soon, the same demand that creeps up my spine and into all my nerves; it yells across my back: "wait."

you gotta stop sneaking up on me

as a force of nature, you are more desirable in theory. i wanted and waited, all that time was i being honest? probably. but tonight, today, this morning, i would be faker than a wax form of myself if i asked you to love me. tonight, today, this morning, i am ready to embark on loving someone other than what you and your mistakes sum up to become, in the grand scheme of things. because i want you but i don't deserve you. that is my decision, i have made it. how happy are you? don't fall back to sleep before i leave you. maybe if you're there when i am i'll miss you again, but tonight, today, this morning, i'm happy better off. i am not angry. i do not need to destroy me or take someone's innocence as my trophy, because you have not hurt me tonight. when i'm lugging boxes and boxes and boxes, climbing steps to get away, i hope you see me and realize i am a phoenix, wings spread too wide to ever fit back in that twin bed.

we said our goodbye's the night before

in some drunken slander, i see we have found common ground. accepting the pins and needles in my pride when we admitted, but now you know, i'm gone. i'm sorry, but i don't wish i was staying. i'm sorry, but i'm glad my parents are leaving too. i'm sorry, but i'm glad you didn't leave me with this decision to make. i'm sorry, but i'm glad it's been made for me. i'm sorry, but i'm glad i have the strength to overcome and take control of my life. i'm not sorry that i am stronger than you. i'm not sorry that i have a stronger drive. i'm not sorry that i am here to live. i'm not sorry that I AM HERE TO LOVE. I AM HERE TO CHANGE. I AM HERE TO BEGIN. I AM HERE TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. I AM HERE TO LEARN.

when we made love, you used to cry.

journal #14

my friends say make you follow, they say "if he doesn't follow you he doesn't love you." my brother says "are you sure you want this?" my mother says "it's your life." my head says "MAKE A FUCKING DECISION." i am in no mental state to make a decision, because he is the only person that i cannot crack open and understand. i guess it's up to me to ask all the questions, up to me to create the strategies and make the moves. i don't want to, but if i don't, i will never see you again and i will be forced to wonder why, and what, and who, and where. and that is not a fate i am willing to possess. however, if i push myself further and further into this, like i want so badly, i must face consequence. think of all the things i could destroy! there is a possibility that i may indeed lose everything, but isn't that all the more reason to leave? but what if i get it all back in some sad twist of fate? then where do i go? i can't stay, but i can't leave.


maybe it's just time to grow up.

journal #13/one chance

it seems unclean to look at you so closely, today. the strict contours of your face, those which are no longer mine. they belong now only to your own skin. mine has detached from yours, in the physical sense, the sense that has brought down so many men to their knees. in the sense that i still have a home inside of you, we remain bound. my biggest regret is that we no longer have what we promised we'd keep forever, because i pushed you further out of me than your anchor inside my gut was willing to budge. and as you secretly have suggested, it is my fault. the mistakes i have made are mine alone.
at my feet, you were weak, yet i persisted in the false sense of power i held over you. this is the moment i bring myself back to every night; this vision of you, your anger so strong, pouring out of you and all over me.
i recall looking into you then, seeing what my own mouth had created, and through my soothing coos, i knew i would once more create this scene. your spine, cracked in two: I'M SO SORRY. do you trust me today?
i have been waiting for you, and here you finally are, too late. too late for me to unpack all of my baggage and move it back into you. can i decide on my own what to do? i cannot. the time i have spent waiting for you to come home has long passed, and i have changed myself to fit into what i wanted to become. how i wish you had been on time to stop me.
am i the only one who lied? do not forget what you chose over me, what, in one fit of rage, you chose because of me. in that statement, i saw what you were: me. in all of that white glory, buried to your throat, was it worth it? if you could do it one more time, would you rip out the stake that you drove between us? perhaps not. in the end, i am afraid of you.

childhood

"Cause I don’t want you to know where I am, cause then you’ll see my heart in the saddest state it’s ever been, and this is no place to try to live my life. I’m sorry for the person I became, I’m sorry that it took so long for me to change, I’m ready to be sure I never become that way again, cause who I am hates who I’ve been."

journal #12

you think i wouldn't notice? you make it for me and you think i won't dissect it? no. you know i will. YOU KNOW ME. you know every part of me. you know how fast my heart beats when i drive to you, you know how fast i will run from you. you know the speed of my hands when i run them through my hair. you know. you know. orchards and lingering, it's all some sort of fucking insult. i try so hard, i try so hard and after all of this, after all of my waiting, i receive solace and i am granted a train ticket back to who we were and what we found inside of each other those years ago and now i don't want to leave. what do i do? i have to leave you because YOU WON'T LET ME HAVE YOU.

the anatomy of a match

i feel you in my bones, and this is something i will never be able to rinse out. you are a stain on my marrow, a scar on my tissue. i do not resent these marks on my character, i find pride in our ability to overlook how far we have crawled into each other, acknowledge it, and move on to becoming what we used to be, sans complication. i am leaving, and i'll love you, but i am leaving, and i am ready.

i would strike the match, but it is soaking wet, i am soaking wet.

burning like a bridge for your body

seasons and seasons stretch on me and change their shape above me, and i can't seem to morph quickly enough to catch up. chemicals in my hair, cuts on my legs; you can try as hard as you can to cut open my sternum and push my ribs away to take that gem, but my skin is thicker than it used to be, dear. i have more than your shower songs, your long legs, and your thick hair. i have more than what he gave me last night, that secret sin, it is a pact i have made with myself to ignore. his picture fades quickly and quietly in my mind, while i battle what i have been trying to forget. what has he done! i am innocent in my own infinite dilemma.

journal #11

i have led a life much like yours, so overcome by the love you have for someone who fucked you inside and out that every breath you take is another wish to bring them back to bed. but i am not here, my dear, to replace her. i am here to be the person who needs replacing, however impossible it has been for me to take that role. i guess my timing, it's always off, isn't it? "behave yourself." i am not her. i can battle on my own, i have my own army inside of me, i need no assistant general.

i was eighteen.

the waves of my hair rush over you like salt, like peroxide in an open wound. my fingers, graceful in their movements across your eyelids. yours, clumsy and long, peel over me like a knife. getting buried by you was a fate too fearful to overcome, and that was what i went searching for with those big binoculars i had, those tall black boots i wore to trek through the grass of heartbreak and hole-filling and accountability. and i gorged my stomach out to fit you in, but i guess in all your glory you exploded inside of me, and out you came through that mouth of mine, and back in i was, back in my own natural desire for honesty. deny myself my basic human instinct because it isn't real. but this is who i am, all dread and grey pencil line lies, this does not hurt anyone but me. i am the child inside of you, i am the girl you kissed under the covers, i am the woman who's authority defies you. "the art of the woman is to make the man believe he is in control." the art of the woman is to burn down every city you've held in your hands.

your every breath is a gift

we closed our eyes in that empty pool, while each wave that crashed over us resembled more and more a hand or a hat, a music note or a cup of beer. and as i let my hair run free on the floor of this musical watering hole, my thoughts traced the outlines of your face. blue eyes, green rings, muddy hair: traits reappear like a print through the press, back light on your limbs makes you look 10 feet tall. but under the airwaves of sound, i slept, and she was next to me, she helped me to remember that she was all i needed on most days. but my eyes always turn north from my friends, and i watched people make beds around us. i recall settling into you like they settle into the concrete, and with each pull forwards and backwards there is a sense of carelessness. but we are born again in our ability to forget; calm in that quiet city you said "you gotta leave 'em hanging like men from a tree," these men who have done no wrong like we have done. but i ain't saying i'm sorry baby, i'm saying it's time to turn around and remember what it was like before i was your easy way out. and your call from the couch pulled me back in like a bird's lazy song, and what mistakes were made! but these memories today glide out of me, as you did in your pool full of chlorine and alcohol, like fire you breathed.

'"I'm yours alone!"' you swore. Given cause to doubt you, I think less of you, dear. But more about you."

wanna line up all my memories and pull a firing squad on all my regrets. every minute under your godforsaken covers is a minute i wasted. every minute my hands sped up or we pushed ourselves further into each other, generating all that heat between us, i wanna knock to the ground with an AK-47. like the expert i used to be, my destruction was an art form. but i abandoned my post long ago, and today, i have nothing left to give because i realize now that i will waste my time and it will be another moment i could have been fucking someone else. right? but no, because i couldn't, because i'd hang myself with my own shame and guilt, and bind my own hands with the veins of my heart. my own, my own, my own. sacrifice myself! a concept i've nursed for too long, kept so close to my breast that it feels unnatural to finally peel it away. i understand, for i am a myriad of personalities and i have a certain way of looking at you with your own eyes. more or less, i have forgotten myself beneath the layers of soil throughout this state. my foot falls and a piece of myself disintegrates there, and it becomes the dust you breathe in as you trail me. i can't even separate this between him, you, me, home. cannot order what i've written, cannot tell you whom this is written for, if you were to ask. i suppose that's what they call a gradual descent into mental abandonment. into a trap door beneath my cerebellum. fill myself up with narcotics and look at you with those dead amber eyes of mine; even in my clouded mind i see the truth rear it's ugly throat, and i am able to silently dissect you as you plan your hand's movements, deep inside the threat of my leave. it is a shame how i will forget you, how i will leave you behind. how many men have been between the day i met you and today! how many men will be between the day i leave you and the day i open my throat to choke out a legal promise to another! leave, not in the sense abandon, or break apart from, but emotionally detach from. this exterior houses such a disgrace of a woman. my ability to blind myself from the wrongs of the people i love. they all leave me in a fury, a fuss, or a fear. yet i allow them inside when they cry for my forgiveness below my third floor window, where i hid inside my childhood. i allow them back into me, for i am weak at their promise.

journal #9

seeing you this afternoon was like looking into a crystal ball and remembering what it was like to love with all of my senses and lose it just as quickly, but i'm glad we can stand there and accept each other for what we have become and forgotten. how many cigarettes we have smoked since i met you, how many beds we have slept in, how many other people we've shared the sheets with. how many kisses were in between the last one we shared. how many times i forgot you, remembered you, and forgot again, only to remember shortly after. how many times i saved all my hope for this moment in my life where i meet you and my legs stand strong. to accept you and me, to accept that i will love you but i have left you, finally, where you belong.

Journal #7

choose the highest bidder. can't decide if it's me or you, which to choose. safety and precaution over danger and tear-stained cheeks. are you something i wanna pick up and carry home? no, you are not. you've gotta be left where i found you, i shouldn't even brother looking into you, but jesus it's too late for that, isn't it? but isn't that defeating purposes of man and life and love and hope in general? or is it just one day with a brighter smile? it is not my decision.



i'm too fucking high for this shit.

Journal #6

glory is being able to hold you with no feeling. look into those gemstone eyes with strong knees, a firm grip on my spot. answer the phone with a steady voice, choose who i love without concern, constraint, or comparison to you. Look at him, think "It's Him" not "It's You."

The gift of falling out of love. seems like repayment is in my future, hope it is, know i deserve it, wait for it. something new, something old, something borrowed, something you.

I WANT YOUR TEARS

god damn, baby! false pretense to think we could occupy one another's space. get in my bed, down under the waves and mountains of monumental covers, bury our heads in each other, that makes us charlatans after not too long. whether you love me or you use me i'm still a pawn in a bigger scheme of plays and recounts of ability and action. you've gotten this far, but my hips have a way of saying, "Not tonight, make it count, please God, make it count, please, please." i fucked it up but at least now you know i'm not full of bendable appendages, i'm made up more of a series of situational accuracies, part-time paramounts, roots, creation, confusion, smoke. ready to write about somebody knew, my life is a series of reconnections;we'll stick because when it starts it never changes and we are able to pick up at any point. it mostly comes down to, "jesus christ, that's a pretty face" and it's one i gotta hold, gotta kiss, gotta see. don't need to, never need to. i can choose to ignore, it won't cover me anymore in all that lust, that desire. but when i leave you again for years and years i bet when we make another our hands will feel our bodies like they do. like we find them now drawn to hips, cheek, ass, tits. nails scrape the skin on backs like chalk. always gotta touch my face, you can't stop kissing my lips. my young, young lips. young and new, young and yours.

Journal #5

time to get out. sick of your bullshit, time to cut you off. but let's not be children about it, no. it's so much easier to walk away without having to put any more effort into it. a little less calamity and a little more disinterest would suit us so fine. ah but the most trivial part of our pursuit to one-up the next player is that it's never a two-player game; that is, there is always someone else that this could be about. some other faces i've got lined up and crossed off 'cause it's time to go back home to the friends i'd like to keep.

April 27th, 2008

coy yellow lines, backed up traffic going east, traveling to far away friends i can't quite reach. parks, playgrounds, lakes, our activities repeat and spill over into the next night, and the nights that follow those nights. bonfires in the woods, beer cans, high school anonymity. pink parkas, we're mixing drinks by the light of flashlights and cigarette butts. all the girls are drunk, they're all kissing each other. they're sneaking off with some boy they barely talk to, behind some big rock or in somebody else's tent. and every secret they tried to keep behind that rock will flow out and float down through the patterns of florescent lights on the heads of people they don't learn with, they don't grow with, they don't change with. it's a deadly breed of similarity between us, our differences run only skin deep when we're smoking in her car and killing time driving in circles around those cul-de-sacs of our future. i've never before wanted a new stretch of coast to ally myself with. align my mind, intensify my heart, i wanna remember what it was like to be lost in love and lost in change and every footstep gets louder when the days approach quicker and the buzz from my beer is peeling off of me like shedding skin.

April 24, 2008

i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner.

not anymore.

Journal #4

None of this shit is about you. You never mattered enough. Get the fuck over yourself and man up.


In other news: Come home to Connecticut. I can't risk losing you again.

Journal #3

I'm falling apart. Oh, Former, I want to grab your face, I want to kiss you. I want to breathe out a softly murmered 3 word letter to you. I want to look in emeralds, I want to hear it back. I don't. I can't hear it back, because what then can I do? "Where is this love?" I can't bring it with me, what good is it far from me? But why do I speculate these foolish things? I know they don't exist. I can't muster it. I'm going to break apart at your feet. I've never needed tears to come more than I do now. Jesus, baby, I'm so fucking sorry for everything we did to each other. I don't know.

April 22nd, 2008

Ah, the simplicity of writing while in love. The words float out of you, don't they? It's just so much easier. Yeah, all that beautiful bullshit about locking eyes and sunsets and lyrics that fit in your fists. Your bodies are art together, aren't they? Sunlight and the hoods of cars, backseat bliss, all the jokes, the little nicknames, pet names. They're easy, that's easy. Bliss is easy. And when he destroys you, it's easy then too. When he's got your heart in his palm and he's not letting go of your ventricles until you swear you didn't sleep with him, until you fucking prove it, it's still easy then. You've still got the emotions left to yell onto some white lines and let it all fall into place. You've got that anger, it's found it's place. But anger, it always changes. Then you're plunged into some depth of despair, some fat lake you can't swim out of. Yeah you've got those cement blocks on your ankles, it's easy then, why are you complaining? Don't cry, your tears don't mean shit if you're already submerged. What a waste, sweetie, don't waste that energy. Use it to kick those skinny little legs to the brim of the lake. You can climb down the side, use the ladder. You can climb back in when you trick yourself into thinking it's not time to let go yet. I promise, it's always time to let go. I'll never lie to you, baby. I promise. I can't lie, look at you, you're too beautiful to lie to. You're too honest, oh baby, you kill me. Your innocence, it's perfect, it's destroying me. But hey, yeah, once you climb out, (maybe your friends will give you a push, you'll find a way) you'll do it all over again, won't you? 'Cause you just don't learn baby. You don't, you're so foolish! You ain't got any idea how it all works, do you? But hey, guess what baby?

They all leave.

Journal #1

I'm so sick of writing about you. I never wanted this. I wanted something that wouldn't let me destroy it. I wanted something with substance. Something that wouldn't feed me these beautiful lines every day, you know it all blurs into one big pile of loving bullshit after a while? I couldn't tell apart "I love you" and "I'm sorry". That's sad. I guess I wanted something that would stick around for longer than me. I ended up with a fucking coward. You. I never wanted that.

April 13th, 2008

you're all folded up like some love letter in a drawer, inside my desk at my parents house. too big to pack into boxes, load into a van, drive up the coast to my new beginning. knocking the nails out of the wood planks on the floor of our new apartment, it reminds me of knocking out your eyes. eyes on my back when i leave, eyes in mine when you catch me off guard, some nonsense i can't quite comprehend. i've always gotta sit down to take it, like a sucker punch my best friend threw in the middle of some fraudulent fight. she got me in the stomach, she put me on my knees. take it like a shot of whiskey, burning the entire way down, sitting on the floor with a girl who's got hair down her back, she's screaming some quote, waving her arms in the air, calling on summer dresses and sand dunes. her voice sounds just like the crisp crackle of a record, the ones we listened to in summer, on my couch, the T.V. was muted. molly ringwald was dancing in a pink dress, she was crying about something, but the only thing coming out of her mouth was a lyric to Big Country.

april 10th, 2008

oh my syndicate of silence: all the knowledge i've gathered up over the years, years spent crossing highways and state lines to stand idle while notes and cries spill out in front of me. the exchange of sweat and spit at such a young age, so early, so much time spent with the same four seat belts, buckled in to protect a case filled with the possibility of music. handing off, unloading vans, ready with a spare in case you destroy what you started with. the slow muzzle of sound, it takes a couple years but it'll come. i'll pay the price for my time monopolized by pancakes at 4 am and the lullaby of a passing semi. sparse light, snow storm, neon bracelet, rusting fronts, young and old, hands under your seat, cheap gas, cheap tickets, cheap home.

March 28th, 2008

what excuses can i make for the mistakes i have made? it doesn't matter how my skin stretches, the tear of my youth, as long as it delivers what it was made for. but what if it doesn't, like it didn't that night? what if i stopped it, like i did? i don't think it would matter because we'd keep trying, and i'd keep throwing away the promises i made to my psyche or my friends or my body. just like i tried with him, a different time, both before and after you. both above and below you, where you stay, where you perch. where i silently apologize and beat myself up over my actions or my consequences, my betrayal or my loyalty. i think it's all the same now once i look into those eyes of yours, that color i can never remember, but i'm convinced that they're blue. we'll be side-by-side in good time, but i don't think that matters to you, and that makes it matter less.

January 2nd, 2008. Short Story.

a small brown eye peaks open. It's her eye. She owns the eye that is now looking at the person sleeping next to her. She can't decide yet if this person, this man that is now next to her with the scruff on his face and a little pool of drool on his pillow, is a stranger or not. She hypothesizes that he probably is, but not in an everyday stranger sort of way. She lets both her eyes peak open and she slowly props herself up on her elbows to lock closed eyes with the man she's been with for a year. She thumps her body back down, because even though she was pretending that she didn't want to wake him up, she does.

She rolls over onto her side and lightly kicks his feet. This is her way of telling him that he should roll over in his sleep and put his arms around her, press his stomach into her back. This is a test. He fails it. The light is all over the room, it's eating more of the room than she has probably even lived in. She shimmies out of the end of the bed because it is pushed against the wall and she doesn't feel like being an acrobat this morning. She forgets that she only has her stranger's boxers on, so she opens what her mom sometimes calls a "chest of drawers" and takes out a shirt that she got in the seventh grade, when she was miserable. She hates that her mom calls her dresser a "chest of drawers" but still loves her anyway and doesn't tell her that it's really stupid that she calls it that.

The kitchen isn't as bright as her Stranger's bedroom. She thinks about making breakfast for the Stranger in his kitchen but decides she would want to eat it, and doesn't really think breakfast is a good idea. She sits on the Stranger's counter top and thinks about what she should do next. She wants to take a shower but she figures that the Stranger would be disappointed that she did that without him. She really wants to wake him up now, but has to fight the urge because she knows that he can't sleep. She wonders if it's because he is still doing drugs. She decides that that isn't the reason anymore, because she believes in everybody. Especially him. She considers this her biggest vice.

She looks out the window, the snow is melting in the Stranger's backyard and she hates the hole where his pool used to be. She gets really angry looking as this hole, and wants someone to fix it. She decides she'd like a cigarette, but remembers that she quit. She walks into the Stranger's bedroom and he is now cuddling his pillow. Her body, starting at the knees, fills with jealousy, resentment towards that stupid fraying pillow. She wonders why she couldn't be that pillow. She wonders if it's because she's not as small as the pillow, but she decides she should stop making excuses and realize the Stranger doesn't love her anymore. To get back at him for falling out of love with her, she takes four cigarettes out of his pants pocket and opens the window to the roof outside his room. She takes the blanket that was twisted at the bottom of the bed and wraps it around herself so she doesn't get wet or cold from the dew. She smokes every cigarette and looks at him with each drag because she wants him to know that she hates him. She knows she could never hate him, and this makes her hate him more.

As she is climbing back in the window the Stranger wakes up. He asks her how long she has been awake. She throws him a cigarette because she knows he'll want one. She decides not to answer him because she thinks "3 hours" is too long to talk about. The Stranger is sitting on the edge of his bed and she is standing in front of him. She keeps her mouth shut tight because it helps her keep her tears inside. He grabs her by the hips and pulls her closer to him. He kisses her bellybutton. She hates that more than anything. She resents the bellybutton kiss more than she resents the "chest of drawers."

He is still holding her hips but now he is looking up at her. She looks down and into his eyes. She remembers what he looked like before he started cutting his own hair and instantly feels superior to him. She is disgusted with herself and thinks that the Stranger probably knows that she is better than him, because that's what he tells her everyday. She wonders if this is part of the reason why he stopped loving her. She knows she isn't better than him, really. She knows how she treats him, but she doesn't want to think about it anymore.

She kisses his forehead and starts the shower. She only takes showers in water that could boil eggs. She feels better about him loving her after their shower, but only because of the way bodies react. She doesn't want to have sex after the shower because sex, with anybody, makes her feel unclean and used, like a dunkin donuts napkin or the seat of the desk in her 10^th grade biology class, where she first wrote notes about the Stranger to a friend she doesn't really miss. But she lets the Stranger fuck her anyways. She hates herself for it.

The Stranger gets up and starts to get dressed. It is 2 PM. The stranger announces that he has to go to work. He says this with a look she has seen before. A look that says he is lying. She knows he is lying only because she reads a lot of body language books for the specific reason of detecting his lies. The Stranger gives her a kiss goodbye that she wish she didn't accept. After she hears the door to the garage close downstairs she climbs out the roof window with the pack of cigarettes that the Stranger doesn't know she took. She knows he will be frustrated because he will need more but won't have any money. She watches him go down the street from where she is sitting in the roof. He is driving the opposite way from work. She inhales from her cigarette and begins to leave him, but knows it is impossible.

Undated Short

For every step backwards, there was another step forwards for her. And she always used her various pairs of crutches to navigate her steps on the pavement, with the black hardened gum pressed into their concrete like tags of graffiti. Some unknown source was behind that black gum, and they silently reveled in the mark they had left there. She knew people thought like this. This was the mark that she secretly looked at and wished she could avoid.

She knew it was pointless and stepped there anyway, throwing change into a cup for a bum with a witty sign. It was more than blustery outside and she felt she couldn’t have worn enough jackets. Even though the sun was out, she thought its presence pointless. Blinding her eyes, a nuisance, like a small child at her ankles, grabbing for the outlines of her face. There were certain things about her mind that she didn’t mention when she paced the perimeter of Washington Square Park, she knew there were certain things no one mentioned about their mind. Because it was theirs, and everybody is selfish. Even Mother Theresa. Even her.

She chose a bench with the least amount of people on it. Sitting near strangers made her nervous, she considered them intruders, even though they were there first. She wondered all the time if everybody thought the way she did about personal space. How she can never get too much of it. She felt arms all over her, covering her. In the sunlight, she saw it was a girl she knew but barely knew anything about, a girl who lived six floors up from the park with big white windows and a tiny little bathroom. This was the part of her story that she always waited for. When she wouldn’t have to be alone. When she didn’t have to walk in circles to make up for her immobility.

March 9th, 2008

there is nothing as sinful as my back on the hood of my car. 30 degree weather, stars that blur 'cause i left my glasses inside. smoking cigarettes, i feel like you must have felt when i stomped inside. i could go for another, but i've got nine left since yesterday and i'm at the point where i told myself i'd never be. and i bet you did the same thing. but i guess, who cares now? i'm ready to face you and let my humors spill out and it'll all just be some settled horrific nightmare that no longer occurs every night. i want to leave you behind.

February 18th, 2008

but is anything normal in my mind of disconnection and discontentment? i guess that's where the sleeping dog lies under your bed, where it sags in the middle with the weight of your pelvis, occasionally the sweat of some faceless girl next to you drips down through the sheets and the mattress. she thinks she matters like atoms connecting in the universe, but i know that your heart really sleeps in the cracking pavement of my driveway; our stage. i don't suppose you know anything about space and time, but i do, and the fact of the matter is this: quantum physics means nothing when you're lying next to me. my hands, my feet, my arms, my torso: murphy's law. your eyes up at mine in the pale and unforgiving summer sun, the eve of august, when footsteps were all that mattered. what happened to every secret we buried in the sand? well, all knowing third person narrator, you omniscient sole, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT TAKES TO STAND THIS TALL?