bedtime narcissism

i am
a child
in love with
perfection.

i am
too good
for mass hysteria
and trends.

i am
drunk
when i write
poetry.

i am
more than you
think
and less than
i want.

i can't
begin to describe
what i feel
but i still try.

i know
this is self
absorbed
but whatever
fuck off.

i feel
music and rhythm
like i feel
pleasure and pain
primal.

i know
myself and love
myself and love
anyone who
feels the
same.

i wish
i could crawl
into your mind
into your soul
take root and
flourish.

i am
so
tired.

good
night.

antisocial networking

why is it so hard to believe

that i would rather engage in

meaningful conversation

than send make believe gifts

over the internet?

i don't care about boring chit chat

about nothing

(unless

of course

it's funny)

or what new waste-of-time game

you are playing.

this doesn't mean i don't

care at all,

i just want an honest

thought-out message,

and, if at all possible

full sentences (and words).

c'mon

just give me something real.

i'm connected to so many people

only to feel even more

disconnected

and bored.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

i'm trying things
for the first time
things i wanted to
incorporate into my life
but had discounted as
just not me.

who says i can't change
and surprise myself.

i'm living up to
everyone else's expectations
of who i am
and what i do
and it's gotten clausterphobic
confined to this
little box made of labels.

so i say
fuck that.
it's my life,
go get your own.

salad

so natural and alive
that i crave it constantly
the colors, the feel
sliding around my mouth and
down my throat,
mmm
slippery leaves and sweet oils
the firmness of the carrots
the juices from the tomatoes
rolling over my tongue
teasing my senses

salad
yum.

slaying the day

i'm new already.
whatever mountains stood in front of me
i have moved
and now i'm a fucking wonder woman
so watch out, man.

hand prints

i touched her ashes yesterday.
the thought of it was unnerving until
she was in my hand
and i was letting her fly into the wind
under her tree.

we all handled a little bit of her,
spreading her out
then returned to our loved ones
putting an ashen palm
on another's shoulder or back,
leaving grey death prints
in the shape of
our hands.

i didn't really mind
carrying a little of her
on my back.

i need to get out of this rut, man.

why is all my time so boring?
i'm wasting all this life on
people i don't want to see
and places i don't want to be.
why??

whywhywhywhywhy????

i want my family and my friends.
i want the woods and the mountains and the beach.
i want fresh air and nature,
to run around free
and barefoot
forever.
i want the opportunity to
be ME
continuously.

maybe it's not just
wants.
i NEED these things
or my crazy spirit
could die.

and, let me tell you
that would suck.

rising up

i'm picturing myself
the way i should be
and tell myself i will be.

i'm making promises to myself
that i want to keep
and it's so easy to see it all
clearly, moving to the
drumbeat of empowerment
and almost-spring rain
cooling the raging fires
of self-hatred.

i have that in me,
to be a phoenix.
no matter what you think.

missing the old life

it's really intimidating
trying to compete with someone's past.
i love him and i hope he knows it
because i remind him
constantly.
i can't let go of some things, though
and i wonder if that could be
upsetting?
i dwell on my past because
my present isn't quite as exciting.
that's not what i meant.
it's different than what i was expecting.
not boring by any means.
just not the perpetual party
i remember living in.
there's not the spontaneity
the buzz or the blurred nights
spent in blind adoring bliss.
life was hard then
but there was always friends
waiting to take my hardships away
temporarily.
how did i ever deserve that?
it's hard to re-make those kinds of friends.
i haven't even tried.
i can only reminisce.
why am i crying.

old poem

Easy to Leave

i came home
after work
around 1am
carrying my
three year old
son
in one arm.

a new
coffee maker
in the other

and found
a large black
square hole
in the entertainment center

which was where
his TV had rested

which told me
that he
was
gone.

stalled

i let it all go out loud,
out where all my thoughts are judged,
or do i really believe
that anyone would care or take the time
to wonder about me or dissect my thoughts
anymore?

not really.

i shut up-a the mouth of the
dwelling angsty girl
although that's who i am
really.
now it just doesn't seem appropriate for
someone my age.
it only seems sad.

so now what.
the only times i can be alive
are those 1 a.m.'s alone
when i've had too many drinks and
no one spying over my shoulder
so i'm not (really) censored

?

i hate that i can't be honest
when people are watching anymore.

i hate that i now prefer drinking alone.

still hope

i'm not
everything
i said i wouldn't be

but damn close

i'm a mom
that
sometimes
lets a tv
or playstation
do all the work

i work too hard
at a worthless job
for too little
and am operating
so far below my
potential
that it's embarrassing

i've taken all the
energy
that i used to have
for my own dream
and used it toward
someone else's
(a man)

i drink to
feel
anything
and on occasion
nothing

it's not everything
i said i wouldn't
be or
do

i mean,
i haven't become
a republican,
a christian,
or a clown

so i suppose
there's still
hope

liquor

liquor brings out the past in you
or me
i'm really talking about me
shows the important milestones
the monumental songs and events
loves and pinings
the truth however
hard
it is.
the undercurrent
of the soul.
the lost love
of your life.
the soundtrack
of your life.
the hidden thoughts,
the buried treasures,
the forbidden longings,
everything.
you.
me.
everything in between.
liquor is
love.

soco is the best medicine

the ache,
pain blooming
from my mouth
my ear
in bleeding
red
scream.

bottle of
mercy
bottle of
death
too easy
too fast

wash it down
with a coke
in a glass
that's never
empty
even as i
sleep
even as i
work

gets rid of
the hurt
and even more
erases the
guilt.