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.

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.

hooker

when i was 9
i was told the meaning
of the word
hooker

halloween was coming up
and i had heard
that these creatures
dressed like
madonna

i explained to mom
that i wanted my costume to be
heavy makeup
a black mini
and a bra

a hooker.

she
laughed.

a hooker
she said
is a woman who
sells her body
for money.
is that what
you want to be??

sells her body...

sells her body??

organ donation
came to mind
and,
confused
i settled on
being a
witch.

southern comfort

the comfort
rolls down
the throat
warm
and sweet
and loving
licking my insides
until i'm dancing
with the bottle
past midnight
past 2

night air
filling pockets
of my pores
sockets
of my eyes

wish i could hold onto
everyone i've ever known
just grab them up
and shove them down into
my pockets
and tell them

it's alright, babies
none of that matters
now
so turn off that
outside nonsense
and dance with me
until we sleep.

and when we sleep
just before
dawn
the dreams writhe
in blues and jazz
in deep red shades
of
mmmmmmm

and when i wake
i have one
massive
fucking
headache.

times

Times they were stunted and malnourished
As the ideas that fed them (and fed on them)
From limbless trees labeled “knowledge,”
And kegs of hope impossibly shallow.
From the diluted collective consciousness
To the atrophied souls of youth,
It was the land of the lost
(only less entertaining and
Minus the dinosaurs).

All of our great novels lay unfinished
As did the lives that supplied them.
But there were just too many words
About crossroads and destiny
That it clogged the arteries of imagination
And cramped the styles of those
Less self-absorbed than us.

We conspired to revive a lost generation,
Presumed to speak the thoughts of many
But we could hardly organize our own.
We were prepared to change the world
With our pens
But sadly, no one was listening.

looking for a fox

i'm adding
numbers
totalling payments
for the
day

a hispanic man
a guest
approaches
inturrupts
throws off my
train.

"I am een 207
I am looking
for fox."

"A fox?"

"Yes."

I feel
certain
it is I
who is the
idiot.

"Someone seent me
a fox."

I stare
not comrehending this
and he is
visibly
growing
impatient.

until I see
a FAX
for 207
laying
on the
desk.

i know where i'm sleeping tonight

"I know where
I'M sleeping tonight!"

he passes by
pushing a
hotel
luggage cart.

stupidly
I ask him
to repeat it.

"I SAID,
I know where
I'M sleeping tonight!"

and at that
I look back
down
to my book
because

i work here

and that sort of
dull comment
should not be
rewarded
with
eye contact.

I know,
too.
Moron.

I gave you
the keys
to the
room.

our interaction
is over, so
move
along.

a bad idea

a bad idea
is

letting your boss
know
what your stage name
would be

on the
off chance
you become a
magician.

tactless

there are two
forms of
tactless.

the first
lands in your face
shouting
barking
touting
while you try to
read
live
die
whatever.

the second
(which I am fond of)
comes in the
form of
ignoring
those who are
afflicted
with the
first sort.

potpourri

I'm sitting there
stewing over
the redundant duties
and self proclaimed
stupid questions

Something smells
a little like
Christmas potpourri

it makes me
sick
in
July

forever 27

i've made it to that
disturbing age
the self-destructive age
(or the end of angst)
Ask Jimi or Janis
Ask Morrison and Cobain.
(oh wait -- oh can't)
i take my increase in drinking
as a dark omen
and quit smoking out of fear,
as if there's a biological time bomb
causing one to over-indulge in
the destructive habits we keep
to avoid facing that we're
very nearly 30
and haven't grown up yet, that we're
very nearly 30
and now there's no excuse
for this behavior
anymore.

mine wouldn't sell

sometimes i wonder
when i see you trying so hard
pushing and promoting
trying to squeeze dollars
from your words,
is it so wrong
i give mine out for free
or possibly
my thoughts aren't
worth the effort.
these words here
on this page
i guess i see them as
a gift, that i shove
down their throats.
oooh.
maybe someone
would pay extra for that.
the shoving, i mean.
some people are into that sort of thing.
(making evil plans)