i am a burden of psychoses
love the way the light hits
those eyes
my way of doing things is
strikingly familial
son daughter catcher momma
pop
and if you read between the
lines
i can prove to you your
insecurity
miss the mark, take the
long way home for
him, for her, for everyone
very murky roads ahead
much like swimming in
dreams.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
you can't
you can't take her away because i won't let you god i won't let you i dreamed of her again last night a fragrant dream she wore those little braids senorita and she flew over me hovered and said if i kiss you this first time i won't be able to stop kissing you and i said i will never stop kissing you and she wept and kissed me and we went to a mardi gras parade where there were women seven feet tall eight feet tall not on stilts tall black and glistening with jewels we walked around them kissing senorita how i love you so
Play Time
i have left exhaustion behind and all that lingers now is this dirty haired, caffeine injected cigarrette smoking shell
i just want to be still
to sleep
and be in the quiet, just close my eyes and let the quiet in
hard now
to NOT want to just sleep for days and write and smoke
and sleep
it is hard now
to think
beyond my next fix waiting for me in the corners to come out and play
it is hard now
to move
to eat
to love
to feel
it all slips away
leaving the swollen eyed girl that can't cry
this is the hard part to move and be beyond just a few fragmented words that mean
nothing
beyond the shell of my own head
to leave this place and do more than just sit with you and type and drink and forget to eat
and forget to love my husband
and loose my children
to not want it
to not let it completely swallow me
to not stroke the keys and loose it all here
give of it freely ..... to you
the price to pay is to high
the need
to high
the longing to much
i just want to be still
to sleep
and be in the quiet, just close my eyes and let the quiet in
hard now
to NOT want to just sleep for days and write and smoke
and sleep
it is hard now
to think
beyond my next fix waiting for me in the corners to come out and play
it is hard now
to move
to eat
to love
to feel
it all slips away
leaving the swollen eyed girl that can't cry
this is the hard part to move and be beyond just a few fragmented words that mean
nothing
beyond the shell of my own head
to leave this place and do more than just sit with you and type and drink and forget to eat
and forget to love my husband
and loose my children
to not want it
to not let it completely swallow me
to not stroke the keys and loose it all here
give of it freely ..... to you
the price to pay is to high
the need
to high
the longing to much
Visions of June (Parte Uno)
It was raining. Not hard just lightly, the kind of light rain that just mists your hair and casts halos around the street lights. It was the kind of rain that you could stand outside in and not get very wet just a layer of damp on your clothes, on your skin, on you everywhere. I didn't even notice the rain at first as i stood in complete stillness, bambi trapped by the light, and lost in silence. I was submerged from the world bathed in my own underwater tomb. The silence began to fade when i noticed the rain, when i saw the halos from the mist. Then the empty nameless faces of the people all around me. My legs began to shake and it hit, and i came up for air from this underwater place. The limbo i sometimes find myself in just before i realize i have been somewhere, or done something unfamiliar. Jason wasn't here and the warmth of the blood that flowed down my thigh had reached my calf as i stood exposed in his over sized sweater, my boots, and my hat (when did i put those on). His sweater always made me feel warm though the streets where wet and cold with November's night air.
Blood, “blood!, that is bad that is very bad”,
where was i, search the faces, the street signs for a familiar name.
“There! three blocks from home thank god, i hate this, i hate this, and the blood, that is so bad, so so bad”.
Shaking, and cold I ran most of the three blocks, but i could not ignore the pain in my belly, the nausea creeping up in my throat. The door to the apartment was open and the warmth from within pushed up against my damp skin with pins and needles. The tears welled up in my eyes, it was only 11:41 and Jason would not be home until 3am. His nights on as bar tender at the local watering hole where locals bellied up to wash away there discontent, always left me antsy. The time alone was never good and though I baked, i knitted, i cleaned, i surfed the web and reached out to any soul that would fill the void, the overwhelming loneliness was sometimes to much to keep in the shadows and sometimes it would blanket over me covering my eyes in a shroud that was often called by some other name. Who was here tonight, i needed to clean this up before he got home before he saw the blood and what had been done. what had been done?
On the sink in my tiny pink bathroom with it's Fifties tiles, lay the wrapper for that pill, the one i could here Samantha talking about taking, the one she almost convinced me to take, the one that gets rid of that beautiful life growing and rooting deep in my womb. All week I knew how upset Sam was over the news. Jason didn't even know yet, I was going to tell him tomorrow night when he had off and we could go to our spot on the roof and i could hold his hands and feel the strength of his shoulders. He didn't even know yet, but Samantha knew and she did not want this for us. It would ruin everything.
She protested holding up my fears, "the sex would suck, the writing would suck even more".
"Who can write with a kid" she yelled in my ear and whispered while i was asleep, "writers, write what they know", she told me.
"how can i write when all i will know are play dates, diapers, laundry and baby fucking Einstein"
" who will read that shit"
" no one of any interest anyway".
Part of me knew she was right, but Jason wanted this, he wanted it so badly, this bond that he and i would have. Something that he thought would plant my feet on the floor and maybe he would not have to worry so much about the nights he was gone if I had something bigger than myself to focus on.
Blood, “blood!, that is bad that is very bad”,
where was i, search the faces, the street signs for a familiar name.
“There! three blocks from home thank god, i hate this, i hate this, and the blood, that is so bad, so so bad”.
Shaking, and cold I ran most of the three blocks, but i could not ignore the pain in my belly, the nausea creeping up in my throat. The door to the apartment was open and the warmth from within pushed up against my damp skin with pins and needles. The tears welled up in my eyes, it was only 11:41 and Jason would not be home until 3am. His nights on as bar tender at the local watering hole where locals bellied up to wash away there discontent, always left me antsy. The time alone was never good and though I baked, i knitted, i cleaned, i surfed the web and reached out to any soul that would fill the void, the overwhelming loneliness was sometimes to much to keep in the shadows and sometimes it would blanket over me covering my eyes in a shroud that was often called by some other name. Who was here tonight, i needed to clean this up before he got home before he saw the blood and what had been done. what had been done?
On the sink in my tiny pink bathroom with it's Fifties tiles, lay the wrapper for that pill, the one i could here Samantha talking about taking, the one she almost convinced me to take, the one that gets rid of that beautiful life growing and rooting deep in my womb. All week I knew how upset Sam was over the news. Jason didn't even know yet, I was going to tell him tomorrow night when he had off and we could go to our spot on the roof and i could hold his hands and feel the strength of his shoulders. He didn't even know yet, but Samantha knew and she did not want this for us. It would ruin everything.
She protested holding up my fears, "the sex would suck, the writing would suck even more".
"Who can write with a kid" she yelled in my ear and whispered while i was asleep, "writers, write what they know", she told me.
"how can i write when all i will know are play dates, diapers, laundry and baby fucking Einstein"
" who will read that shit"
" no one of any interest anyway".
Part of me knew she was right, but Jason wanted this, he wanted it so badly, this bond that he and i would have. Something that he thought would plant my feet on the floor and maybe he would not have to worry so much about the nights he was gone if I had something bigger than myself to focus on.
love!
we're KIDS again!
go bigger/ go harder.
this movielife is never THAT tiresome!
living life threw credit cards and rolled up 50 federal reserve note dollars
bridging lines of MDMA off the tips of butterfly knives above the kitchen counter
puffing cigars in the haze of the new year,smoke washed down by mimosas
we chased every breathe with whiskey and cigarettes
joints became as routine as flushing the toilet
soundtracked by nothing but illmatic and Wu Tangs enter the 36
gamecube.playstation.wes anderson&david fincher.amphedamine after knife hits
salvia gets cannonballed by olde english
and suddenly wileys entranced by the panda,crushed in the hallway with his foot turning the frame into the doorway
rainbows on top of the coffee table staring threw space
as good shit mumbles any and every thing he thinks.
denver is magical these days.
weary traveler challenges me to another hit,I take that challenge,I redirect a similar one at him
we push each other to our limits,talk about how stupid it is,and contiune
were seeing what new plateau we can get to,a new level that weve never been on before
weve spoken as if words were words,and nothing hurt.
go bigger/ go harder.
this movielife is never THAT tiresome!
living life threw credit cards and rolled up 50 federal reserve note dollars
bridging lines of MDMA off the tips of butterfly knives above the kitchen counter
puffing cigars in the haze of the new year,smoke washed down by mimosas
we chased every breathe with whiskey and cigarettes
joints became as routine as flushing the toilet
soundtracked by nothing but illmatic and Wu Tangs enter the 36
gamecube.playstation.wes anderson&david fincher.amphedamine after knife hits
salvia gets cannonballed by olde english
and suddenly wileys entranced by the panda,crushed in the hallway with his foot turning the frame into the doorway
rainbows on top of the coffee table staring threw space
as good shit mumbles any and every thing he thinks.
denver is magical these days.
weary traveler challenges me to another hit,I take that challenge,I redirect a similar one at him
we push each other to our limits,talk about how stupid it is,and contiune
were seeing what new plateau we can get to,a new level that weve never been on before
weve spoken as if words were words,and nothing hurt.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Fearless
I am here to
Ruffle feathers
Rock boats
Start fires
Put them out
Fight the status quo
Yearn to taste
Long hot days
And sultry nights
Be the heat
When there is chill in the air
I am
Fierce
And
Gentle
Passionate
And
Compassionate
Willing to listen
Willing to act
Fear is just a story
I will no longer tell myself
Monday, January 3, 2011
You Think
You think you know yourself, you think you have it sorted out. Can't know a thing more. Then someone shows you something about yourself you didn't know. That you are beautiful, undamaged; the scars simply the ornamentation of life. Pretty to look at, difficult to remember. Sometimes someone comes along and sees all of that, sees what's behind your eyes, and says, "I love that; you have worthy dents and scratches. You are extraordinary."
And for a minute, the anxiety fades, the fear subsides. You stop apologizing for the humanness of your own life, for what you have suffered. You begin to lift the yoke around your shoulders.
It is light; the mantle of self love.
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