worry

it was maybe a day
of silence,
background chatter,
the drone of sameness.
but this is the same as
silence,
really.

so I would busy myself,
quietly
turning things over,
attempting to fill
a void
with thought,
unfocused as it was.

it began to
gnaw at me,
and soon I was certain
that a sadness was lurking,
something horrible.

even though,
hey,
sure,
it was only a day.
one day of nothing.
maybe not even
that.

but silence
amid the
cacophony,
it's like the still
before the climax
of a tragedy.

after a period of mourning,
it washed back in,
a storm of euphoria
filling my pores with
relief,
flooding my senses.

one can't always
appreciate
the importance of rain
until
drought.

melodramatically stricken with the common cold

when i'm sick
like
now

a darkness
creeps in
round the
edges

shrouding
life in
gray cobwebs,
a mustiness
dirtying
everything

spreading
towards
the center

even melancholia
loses its
romantic
luster.

my heart is a
cold
damp
basement.

wheeze.

unanswered humanity

sincerity
for me
is usually found
at the bottom of my
third glass of whiskey.
by this time
my soul is palpable,
though my speech slurred,
i feel compelled to scream
something Real
something Beautiful
to an indifferent world.
i demand nothing but
this boomerang returned
with the same
sentiment.

maybe it got
stuck in a tree
somewhere.

birthday reminder

it is the birthday
of a dead man
facebook reminds me
of this
urges me
to send him a gift
but he hung himself
shortly after his
last birthday
so i don't think
he'll be
needing anything.

his widow
however
i know her
and she deserves
more
for what she found
which was his
swaying body
dangling there
lifeless.
she deserves
fucking
everything.

smoke signals

sometimes
thoughts are left out
for a reason
like hooks
or smoke signals
flares to passing ships
i'm here

everyday horrors

i watched a video
today
about growing up
teased.
bullied.

i try to be casual
about this topic.
sure i'm a nerd.
I wear that badge with
pride.
i didn't
however
when i was a kid.

i was the
friendless kid
then.
the awkward girl.
the ugly girl.
the kid that was made to feel
that just her last name
alone
was a
dirty word.

thick glasses.
crooked teeth
overbite and i was
shy.

the teachers
even had a go at me.

well, fuck them.
with something sharp.

who treats a child that way?
who the fuck?

it was between 3rd and 6th grade
when the worst of it came at me.
i was too young
to know anything of suicide,
which was good
because i hated myself every day
every
damn
day.

i lied to my parents
told them school was fine
and after a while
they stopped asking.

i cried under my bed while
my brothers continued
my name calling
at home.

it stopped
for the most part
during high school.
i moved, made friends.
no one knew they were supposed to
hate me.

those years
however
have made me
extremely insecure
defensive
detached
and a little jaded
when it comes to meeting
new people
or even when relating
to those who i am supposedly
close to.

now i have kids of my own
and it disturbs me to think
they could experience the same
sort of hell.
they are both
beautiful children
but different, smart.
the smart ones always are
singled out.
and i know
that if they are anything like me
they will never tell me
about their own
everyday horrors.

quiet mind station

loneliness
has nothing to do with
who is surrounding you.
it's how many people
or the lack thereof
that are operating at the same
frequency.

I'm drinking alone
which i like
to be alone sometimes
but nights like these
i feel like the only one
on this channel.

i'm the only one
switched on.

i love hate that.

Tragedy

i saw it on the news
this girl was hit,
they say 'woman'
but she was still
in her teens.
the train came
while they were
fishing,
he made it
but
she slipped.

it's sad
but i didn't
know her.

i do know
the men
on that train,
know them
from the hotel
where i work.

the conductor
he's a nice guy.
like one of those nice guys
that you don't flirt with
nothing like that
but maybe makes a bad day
a little better
with just an upbeat
hello.

they say he won't
talk to anyone
won't answer his phone.

i know
it's worse that a girl
was killed
but i didn't know her.

he won't talk to anyone
and it's not his fault.
those trains, man
they take so long to stop.
she shouldn't have been there.

a good person's shininess was
taken
a nice guy is haunted
and that is
tragic
also.

you don't read that part
in the news.

How I feel after my third glass of pink wine.

Things feel so full.
The air feels
more
substantial.
Corners
sharper.
Shadows
deeeeeper.
I have more resolve
and smile
when my eyes close.
I don't know
and that is
fine.
I don't need to.
What I feel is
Real.
I am the bright center
of my existance,
that is all I know,
it's all that matters.
So BOOM.

How I feel after my second glass of pink wine.

I'm so mundane.
I sit here and drink
and I
watch whatever the fuck is playing
on whatever the fuck TV channel
I don't care
I never care.
It's just noise and light.
The real
the Me
it bubbles up silently
while I drink my wine
it wells up and hurts
in my guts.
I need eyes
I need confirmation
that never comes.
But the sun
still shines
and the hours still
tick by slower than is comfortable
and I'm still here,
waiting for something
speculating
wishing I knew more
and cared less.
Wishing.

Lazy

I didn't do anything today.
I wandered from room to room
sat and thought about what I should be doing
drank hard cider before the agreed on 5:00
and it didn't help my disposition.
My usefulness
where ever that part is located
has atrophied.
I can't start.
I stalled as soon as these
lazy feet swung out of bed
ready to waste the day.

And now it's almost over.

Out of place in the waking world

I wish for eternity and solitude,
ache for sleep,
for the world to sleep.
The chords only fit my song
when thunderstorms beat at my door.
I want to fall into dream.
An eerie, rainy, dark trip,
the warm air saturated with humid love.
I want to pull others in with me,
reside there permanently and
never speak aloud again.

Bewitch

Look at me
she said,
just before the rope pulled
right before he was pushed
to the rocks below.
And they looked.
Even when
she never opened her mouth
they heard, knew.
To have that power,
look at me.
I would use it for good,
I swear.
The ability to reach into,
capture
transmit
connect
without words.
LOOK AT ME.

I stay up too late. I ramble.

There's things that matter
and there's things that should matter.
And the difference between the two,
well,
that's my problem,
that there is a difference at all.

The gap between the two,
I think,
is the result of my shitty disfuctional mind.
Selfishness and delusion, maybe a little
hope mixed with depression,
and just a smidgen of insecurity.

I'm keeping myself awake with this shit.

Over-analyzing imaginary situations
and some such,
this can't be healthy.

My brain is a hoarder.
It holds on to Fucking. Everything.
Okay, maybe not everything,
but the useless bits,
the dead cats and turned yogurt of thought.
It collects rusty nails.

Dangerous scrap thoughts.

But what the fuck would be the equivalent
of cleaning the house?
A lobotomy?
No, what I think I've done here
is go too far with a stupid metaphor.

Got the shitties. Not the poopy kind.

I've been lost
surrounded by cotton
nothing hurts enough
the nerves are
so
dull

so
fucking

dull.

I want things.

I thought I did.

I'm ashamed
of being human
and female
and sometimes
typical.

I'm a child
confused.

I'm self-centered
but I'm not important.
Nonexistent.
Ineffective.
Defective.

I've lost connection.

Life

It's so more worth living
When fucks are not given.

BOOM!

Me.

I'm better than I've been.
This outpouring of crap.
Nonsensical soup of sighs.

I'm going for a walk
to see the world
and fall in love with
me.

That's right, bitches.

ME.

OPEN

I want to scream.
I have people
out there
I know I do
Connections
Soul brothers and sisters
Why are you all
Sleeping
When I sit here
Drunk and
Awake and
Lonely
?

Fucking
WAKE THE FUCK UP
MUTHAFUCKAS

I'm more open than a fucking
7-11,
And I've got better shit than
SLURPEES.

Tonight

Decimated.

It's
so
good.

So much
lines up.

I'm putty.

A Poem That Probably Won't Make Sense Once I'm Sober

that little girl
cowering between my eyes
she's got
naked black and blue skin
and
goosebumps
and
bleeding self-inflicted lacerations
across her back
barely alive
stubborn
holding her breath
for what
fate doesn't exist
but she believes the lies of her eyes
her childish prophesizing
inconvenient
intoxicating
torture.

Wasted Jenny Poem

Bauhaus on, drinking as always
I'm not alone in my thoughts
Leave me
Let me dance in the dark.

Blacklight heart,
I can't dance alone, don't
Leave me,
Let me in.

Bela Lugosi's Dead
In my ears.
Let me dance.
Let me in.

So apparently I wrote this last night and can't remember any of it.

Drunk
I can hear myself breathing.
I feel transparent
and I like it.
Newness and
thought transmissions
and and and
I can't even
remember what I was thinking
but I really like this song
with my name in it
and I never would have heard it
it not for the webs
so thank you for that
unknown soul
you are more known
than you think
and I am drunk

Drown

It's really alright.

We all drown a little
around this time.

I take comfort in the thought
no matter how black it is
down here
I'm not sinking alone.

We always bob back up
eventually,
mostly unnoticed
mostly alive.

Look around
grab hands.

Let's not swim back up
just
yet.

Obligatory Poem

It's done and it's late
and there's a job waiting in the morning
to robot my way through.

It's late and it's crazy
what nonsense I get myself into
when sleep should be the
logical choice.

There is, of course
my quota of nightly liquor
and the obligatory poem
about what I'm doing
which is precisely nothing.

There's the epiphany
life shaking realization
that I will promptly forget
in the morning.

Fretting over grades
I no longer have control over.

The wait for tomorrow night
when I finally get time with him.

Obsession over past acquaintances
and old friends, lovers, or a
combination of both.
What do they think
what are they doing
and why do I even care anymore.

I can't shut down.
I can't switch off.
I'm stuck in a loop
until I reach maximum drunkenness
and then the cycle starts again
tomorrow.

Bored and writing a poem while listening to Famous Blue Raincoat

it's 3:23 in the morning
the beginning of august
i'm typing this now
just to stir up the dust

this place is so cluttered
i don't like where i'm living
the music of Cohen
i'm stealing or parodying

i feel that i'm the only one
awake in this house
and i'd like some dessert

i'm looking for ice cream now
i hope we kept some kind of chocolate sauce

yes and jen sits and twirls on a lock of her hair
she writes as if she wasn't her
tonight, but it's painfully clear

that she's wanting a beer

oh, the last time i stayed up
i didn't feel this cold, i guess
my famous blue snuggie
has come off my shoulder
i've been to the fridge and i
checked in the freezer
i'll go to bed
without even eating

and i'll sleep
with my BooBoo
and i'll snore
make him mad

and when he wakes up
he'll be going to work

well, i think i
left some salsa in my teeth
one more brush of the teeth
well then Jen can go to sleep
she'll dream the bizarre...

(okay, that's all I got)

connections

i want people
lovely people
to recognize
themselves in me**,
just their good bits
just the brilliant light
of whatever goodness
that makes them feel
special,
because i've only always needed
connections,
to be identified with,
because i know how it feels
to see something
i thought was uniquely me
in someone that i admire
and feel all the better for it.

**this pertains only to the people that I like. Those I dislike can fuck off -- I am nothing like you.

this is totally not worth it.

i can't pretend to be interested in this shit.
i've got these uptight bitches whispering
and passive-aggressive notes left for me
and nobody gives a damn if their assumptions
are wrong, or if they've been fed misinformation
to cover someone else's ass.
it's all pretty pointless in the grand scheme of things.
that angry memo? pointless.
that glare because apparently i can't read minds? pointless.
even my quiet clenching and seething
my avoidance and hatred
my wringing and hot faced rage.
pointless.

lonely tuesday night

nothing seems right
the sofa cushions are pulled out too far
the dishes, the dishes, the dishes
it's getting late and later
and alone and aloner
silly girl, music and wine
feels like she's somehow missing
everything
like the world has gone
packed up and moved it's things out
while she was asleep
everyone she's ever known
has forgotten her
they've all forgotten me.
i mean, her.
fuck.

obvious

the stupidity around me sometimes
is frustrating and suffocating.
they've all got their heads in the sand
and they're happy down there
hating with a smile and
loving conditionally.
thinking with an ancient
badly written book.
you can spot someone high on god
as easy as spotting a meth addict.
brainless and fucking scary.
reality, people.
is it that hard to see?
it's pretty fucking obvious to me.

things that keep me up

i
am
addicted

to detailed
daydreams.

and alternate
realities.

and long term
obsessions.

and easy
energy

and
angry birds.

the end.