uuuuunngh fuck it

i've got a veil dropping over me again
it's blocking out sunshine
i'm partially removed from my conversations
giving up under the weight
drink one thing to wake me up in the morning
drink something else to blot me out at night
day in day out day in day out
pointless pointless POINTLESS.

me. episode 2.

sometimes i keep myself awake
thinking
what the fuck was ever wrong with me?
i mean,
was that it?
was/am i that...i don't know
silly or stupid or irritating or obnoxious or or or
?
you know what?
none of it makes a fucking difference now
what others' skewed perceptions of me were.
i've had a little too much wine
and a little too much me-thoughts
to be writing shit
that the entire world has access to
anyway.

me

i'm all grown up, you see
though i don't believe to the core
i've changed at all.
i can look back at my reflection
and appreciate that.
i don't waver in my weirdness.
i will live to be a weird old lady
(i hope).
i'll always have the imagination
that keeps me up until 2am daydreaming
of should-have's and what-if's.
i'll always look at myself
10 years prior
and cringe at my naiveté
and proceed to write
narcissistic poetry.

nothing to see here, folks. move along.

i open the notepad window

blink blink blinking cursor

i close the notepad window.

i have nothing to say tonight.

dusty

my dance
my life love dance
spinning underneath such an oppressive ceiling
undones waiting, wants cut up and dead
i'm making movies up here
don't you know
inside underground dark dreams of movies.
gaunt one sided scenes filmed years and years and years ago
canned and pushed to the back
dusty

fuck

fuck, get me out of here

conclusions

sometimes i'm just
late
at getting there
and very self conscious
of what i must look like
when i
FINALLY
show up

antiques

i drive myself crazy
trying to remember
where this antique store was
that i visited over ten years ago
the house that housed
these antiques was an antique itself
and the back stairs were worn down
so far, from so many serving feet
there was a knot in the wood
sticking way up in the middle
of one of the steps
and i wonder how many toes
lying in coffins
were stubbed on that thing
there were so many rooms
and no halls
one room opened into another into another
and so on
it felt like a crazy maze
and of all the ancient artifacts
of times before my grandparents,
the only thing i ended up buying
was a cassette tape of The Clash.
what was that even
doing there?

moral nudist

i'm only getting more naked
the colder the world becomes
the more hatred
the more skin
show me yours and i'll
cringe and i'll unfold
and i'll finally tell the truth
to be found and unbound
band together in reason, lonely
show our cuts and bruises
inhale reality
lick each other's wounds
and bite those who vilify us
help me celebrate
the undesigned beauty of life
the chaos and order
they have no monopoly on
or concept of
love

falling out of step

the alarm bitches at 5
remind me why i'm alive
i go to work
i smile at jerks
just to pay my rent and survive

i stand in line and behave
just another obediant slave
but i'll scream inside
and quietly abide
until i'm in my grave

in traffic amidst the clones
of assholes on their cell phones
i realize,
fuck this

i don't have to do this

and i don't have to
fucking
rhyme.

boom.

rutttttttttt

i am a mad jumble.

not even a puzzle, since i don't think, if solved, i would even

form a coherent picture.

i feel things that aren't real

but what is real

anyway?

i drink and i

miss smoking and i

swear to myself i will

make things happen.

my life has become

a plan

not

a life.

what good would my fucking plan be

if i died next week?

fuck.

it's all work and school and kids

bills and work and potty training

grocery shopping and routine routine routine

what happened to me??

i can't tell whether i'm waking up

or just drunk and selfish

but something

needs

to 

change.

frustrated.

sometimes i can't find the words
(well, my own words)
but still want to scream what i'm feeling
in some language of pure emotion
and make somebody
feel it

community college history class (week 2)

i'm relearning it all, and for the first time i'm listening. the beginnings of time recorded by fossils and caves, geographic locations of ancient civilizations, now the modern day blah blah. shit, i never knew where that was in the first place. my eyes are (finally) open. the world felt so big until i studied a map. now i feel like i could be on jeopardy.

maryland memory

sitting around, drinking whatever, listening to joni mitchell blue, stuck in my past. it's lonely now that i'm the only one there in the dark, college music radio, watching the red power light on a hard floor waiting for my time to go. breathing breathing hush. am i the only one here holding my breath?

plug it up

it's been inflating since i was born, i fear the pigs blood like anyone else, hate to reach, obtain, only to be splattered with shame. catch it before it explodes, catch it before the leeches reach me from below. what mask could i find close enough to the face i lost, a face that was probably only another mask anyway. i'll show it to no one and pretend that they're all impressed, show it to everyone and they'll still look away. it's the same, it's all the same, i say i'll become satisfied with the now, the void, the empty. fill it with fantasy, words, and liquor. plug it up so the blood won't spill. conform to the lobotomized norm. be comfortable, the end will be the same. i'd rather walk on glass, show up at the end bloody and screaming and alive till my last than arrive in a bubble, bloated, vacant, and numb.

bus stop girl

bus stop girl
electrical tape glasses fix
glitter sweater, metal mind,
sees the future
a good 20 years forward
and counting.
quiet alone
kicking rocks at
the top of the street
and nowhere to go
but in.
head contains
a flux capacitor
fueled by boredom
wonder
desire to be anyone
and anywhere
but who
and where
she is.
bus stop girl
slowing time
stretching seconds
into years
decades.

numb ≠ peace

numb is not peace
numb is not peace
i'm staring behind me
despite the shouts
demanding to be heard
the edges are getting deep
it's hard to stay centered
when sinking looks so easy
when drinking feels so peaceful
find a quiet center
hear a one sided conversation
that numb is not peace
and that peace is god
but god is me
and god is nothing
how can you be this blind
how can this instinct be ignored
by so many for so long
your righteousness is dull and sickening
your words and quotes are meaningless
sad and insincere
i won't find my peace in your
holy encyclopedia of lies
i am goodness for the sake of goodness
and evil for the sake of my humanity
loving and awful and sweet and base
this is the only way to peace

almost = heaven

in a beautiful place
of silence
and full of
tommorrow.

i promised myself
i'd get here.

he's sleeping upstairs
and he loves me
and he loves us,
all of us.
he's not leaving.

dead weight is nearly purged
very nearly
tossed out
very nearly
forgotten.

hold my breath

so close
so close
teetering on the edge of nirvana
is possibly better than
reaching it.

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.