Tuesday, November 20, 2007

I'm only, human.

I write in scattered bits
and pieces fall between the work I'm leaving
undone on the pages before and after the words
often appearing out of nowhere, and nothing
when love is filling
feeling frustrated
those determined to see for what I once was is no longer
apparently I should sit in
sit still, should I
then smile as you slip your hand into mine
close my mind. You've found me and I'm there in her words
before we'd ever met.
Stay awake all night to pick apart into this
and the differences in a rush, in a now and a then
my God this love -- you receive unto me -- I could be silently
sweetly spinning in your world of gold
fiery microscopic
magnificent birthing twine from the folds of my skin
where my belly button hides at times when I forget
naked -- pressed between a mattress and a sheet
a floor and a ceiling, door and a window
trains outside -- people living a few feet below
they are high, they are filling
both smoke tumbling into something
a sky and some prayers --
words bleeding out through my ears and toes and sometimes fingertips
blessed with coagulation, skin and mouth press it together
again a voice, dripping, filled you overflow from
him, his eyes open mine
just like the first time. I can't help but say it.
I would stay awake til' morning
if I wasn't so scared of going insane.

"Tragedy" - Brandi Carlile

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

just something

there are lots of things going on inside of me right now. lots. and i keep more to myself then i have in years. i keep to myself and up with him and trying to figure it all out. all of it, slowly.
i would like to write fiction. i would like to get a good night's sleep, in a warm bed, in a cold room with the air conditioner running full blast (or maybe just the windows open with a cold cold air rushing in, yeah that would be much better). i would like to fall asleep with a smile. i would like to run again, for real. i would like to feel like an important part of the greater whole, not that i don't, really, already feel like that but maybe something more along the lines of a team all working towards one goal, together. something i know i can do, something tangible. i would love to be overwhelmed on a regular basis.
all of these keep me quiet. all of these keep me thinking. all of these...
things are changing. shifting. people are shifting. and nothing is the same as it was 5 months ago. nothing is familiar to what it was 2 years ago. one year ago.
things, people, and ways are cleaving apart. i cannot explain to you who i am or who i want to be come but if you love me you will be patient. love is understanding and i hope to understand.

Monday, July 23, 2007

industrial size fan on our ceiling

life's incrementing artistry - lives intertwined
filled with the hope of a better way - an unpained breath
and living, in a world where few really seek happiness,
God it's hard --but your life is your own
and ever increasing with those you'd never otherwise've known
before, that moment
that exact moment that fell, falling, fallen
into place with your mistakes--the ones that made you rip away at
any one who wasn't everyone else.
you were alone
in a room, compartmented for something like a better comprehension
and a moment you'd attempted that suddenly became months, after it'd been days
slipping into something less is so much easier than expectation
than hoping you could be something slightly out of the ordinary.
(than hoping for, lack of a better word, love)
and when your guts stuck between the clenching knuckles of someone whose first pet you'd never name, whose sister you'd never meet
a hand you'd never hold--filling yourself with the joys of the world
and when we paused tears fell.
we fell to our knees never caring that the bones crept through our skin
the blood trickling steadily down the slopes of our curving legs and arms
we were fascinated by something like an escape from him, or her, or it
manifested realities--YOU CHOOSE THEM, something we seem to forget
from the lower cased existence they were all so pleased with--we screamed
into my pillow late at night, i bite til' i bled and i bet you didn't know you were
are--my inflammatory system--inflamed, scabbing, pulsing, cleaving edema
a friendly bruise, a forgotten x amount of time before you
an entire span of time unscathed, had i known you existed i would've better prepared
myself for your coming, but then falling might've never felt so sweet
complete, worthy of the scars, shaking hands with those who'd forgot
thankful we left ourselves unsettled, depressed
suffocating until the day
never did i ever know what it felt like to want to live
creating smothering satisfaction

we are anything but ordinary
however, when our bodies aline all the world leaps up
crashes down,
falls away like when a very large waves first hits the city
wipes away instantly, everything that once seemed to matter
empty clear land, wet from the demolition
you are my possibility; my clear, clean reason
you're my oceanic hurricane, stirring, spitting--everything
we find ourselves in the eye
cross legged, together
silently staring
into you and me and it's as simple
as complex as you and i sitting
still, staring
and i don't have to explain because you already know what i mean
you already knew, this is what i would say

"Interstate Love Song" - Stone Temple Pilots

Monday, July 9, 2007


there are certain things and places; from birth I've been told to believe in
and we've all been convinced of something, of sadness
inevitability. the laze at the end of a hard earned day,
the gaze into nothing but, except, the wires whose tips tap haphazardly into one another
spark, flip, contort and awkwardly twist -- a bright, sudden light from the graying edges
a life suddenly lit where before there was none.
not even the moistened tip of a tongue could procure.
these things and moments and people we've become so accustomed to, so unenthused
that when we find something worth living for we're scared?
scared to breath faster
scared to kiss open mouthed, open eyed
ease out of apathy into a new way of thinking
of feeling again, to realize you were changed by the mismatched wires in the past
the connect, conduct, build
current -- it's electric
alive. living.
day by days that feel like months
that feel like a tinge of what we might should've learned from the get go
a nod to what we've done, a forward footed dash into what we'll be.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

it gives you wings

I am strong
I am strengthening
my grip
I am gripping, collapsing
the weakness of who was once
I am.
A picture in the frame, nailed
to the wall--without glass
over exposed and talking
always talking, moving--your movement
with the glory
and I'm sitting here
smiling--your driving
your new music
new smile
traveling hands, in the air
over fences, barbed wire
single-sided swinging doors
I am
a simpler way to live
to experience everything--challenge,endure,exposure
really, finally just living
on the outside
the sun, the night, giving back what i've been given to
abundancy--life,love,and otherwise--
hands held trust again--gripping shoulder's in the sun
on a tightrope we'll run
and i can't wait to sleep just to see a tomorrow,
hoping i'll see you there.

Monday, May 21, 2007

check "yes"

In his arms flecked with paint he'd never held
something so carefully as he once hadn't held her heart.
Properly she sat beside him now,
beside where he'd once felt
her and she couldn't bring herself to look at him.
She could talk, she could breath, still,
and so she supposed she'd feel his eyes
all over her, still. Things hadn't changed.
It'd been a year, locked on swollen skin
and he said what she'd needed to hear.
The words that made her fall, still
she saw him for what she'd wanted back when and then
she wanted it to be too late, to be so unforgiven.
Still he'd broken, the one place she'd never given
and living here still, the two together sit--the space between expanding
once lives, now cement; and she's supposed to be the one to fight.
The ants are crawling on her skin, she lets them--his eyes
eating away her t-shirt and jeans
stewing in her nakedness, she has no choice but to conceed to his
memorizing, photographing--his photographic memory she'd meant
to ask him to stop but instead fallen asleep still kneeling, head lain carefully in his lap.
Like his arm 'round her shoulder, he'd shaken her 'wake to save
himself--casualty, moves--and "Something In The Way She Moves" plays
and she hates herself all over again for letting him
cheat and win, the boy--little boy she'd first loved.
Fed every cliche
ripping at the seams of every stuffed animal
plastic flower, puppy dog, diamond heart-shaped necklace
her baby, two time valentine
and still, she said what she needed to say--
he swears he's changed, for the third time
and she wants to,
needs to,
has to,
seems to
But believings not enough in a world worth tasting
tactile & stimulating--the left over spit up in a restaurant napkin
she'd been.
Rejection at the root of every hair he'd ever spun
around a finger he then placed on the tip of another's tongue
he'd taste anything--his prayer for feeling,
his quell for an otherwise emotionless
him, still.
She will never understand how she came to be this way
this person so apart from these, otherwise so easily appeased
she has him to thank for only that--his entiredy changed.

She left to just
learn to play, alone
she wants to sing, where she's torn
and mend, to run, on the outside
to lay and see her bones exposed
her confidence returned to her
stolen in the night.
the victim, she only sees his eyes
hands, self on her when she closes her own.

"Neon" - The Knife

Monday, May 14, 2007

what i've wanted to say

Blessed be, I hadn't heard your name in awhile
Not that I'd forgotten, more or less a little too busy
I thought maybe I'd just wait another day to call
A more convenient time perhaps, when life wasn't so filled
With sex and desire
And I feel stupid coming here now, too late
Out of place and afraid – of rejection
Of not getting what I want, which is? The answer, to my nagging
self, and I've discovered self doubt and along with found me
insecurity, but with you I never knew what today might feel like
alone, still breathing, I've forgotten your number—your middle name
I can't catch my breath – the air's really thick here you know?
I don't remember any of this from before – would I recognize you if you were here today?
Would I grab your hand? Could I again…did I ever, seek humility
life less pride – what purpose have I served thus far, what strength have you granted
that I noticed?
Where has my grace filled grateful heart gone? Where would I go if the world were stripped away from me? Where is the stillness of my dwelling place, my solitude, my warmth in a room all alone…all alone?
Where is the escape, the arms—of the world, of ever single living, breathing soul—here and gone…where are you that I once knew?
And who am I becoming that I can no longer sing…rebellion for liberation? For what…for whose acceptance and approval am I living?
Doubt. Is it that? Whispering approvals, "yes" understood by the selves of so many individual...where was I then? Where were you? What twist caused this…gradual…step down, turn, release, space between—fluid filled—broken, swollen, torn aftermath
Where is my conviction then? When I'm broken. When I'm torn. When I'm filled, emptied and filled again…with what?
With whom?
With it…can you quit
what you don't even understand how it was you began…
through the bitterness can you become again, what you've lost. Is that the goal. Does it require this much…decision making. Or are we always deciding, searching, wondering, questioning, straining,
upset at ourselves for becoming everything we once would hate.
And that hatred lives in my heart makes it break even more, because that's the only way to explain it—brokenness.
Even every single word I've ever tried to create into poetry cannot explain the void I've escaped into for so long now it's become natural.
They don't even know I ever claimed You. They never heard me sing through tears on bended knee at the alter, the pew, the front steps, stage, back door, wind ridden sand shores, the streets flooding in midnight rains, folding chairs, in hallways and sanctuaries
Is this living at all…where do I go to seek redemption through truth? Where do I go to regain my trust, Yours?
Where do I shed my tears and break the skin of my palms…whose feet…whose arms…whose hand needs holding?
Lead me. Need me. See me. Redeem. Forgive. Understand, I'm confused and seeking and forever I'm loving in so many different ways.
A love even I cannot understand – a love without simplicity
Uncategorized, without limit, the soft sooth of remembrance without regret
Experience freed from expectation;
Only wishing, needing, wanting – to please, fulfill
Fill You.
Feel me again please…I'm fighting it still.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Spring Revisions (times in Creative Writing Class)

"in fact" - gregory and the hawk
in fact i don't wanna be friends
Spaghetti noodles
Their twisting highways
They're around your fork,
For now—there embracing.

As your fingers wrapped,
succinctly surrounding silver
worn and bring the noodles slip and slide into your mouth.
The way the noodles unwound themselves—from and in again between the tines
The lapping suction of pierced lips on wet grain-worms,
your tongue trilling tones against metal tongs

sucking - you're invading acoustics

your mouth—flecks of sauce linger on it
a stray spatter on your nose
the left nostril,
you sense it, you wipe it away
tomatoey sauces
yours, it was mushrooms slices and garlic bits
oregano and parsley,
homemade and homegrown,
A crimson thickness staining your lips

it was your mouth—I tasted myself on
I wanted to,
taste myself on you
I wanted to taste you—
I did.
your skin
curving, winding black ink
arcing down into clinched white
tight errless folds
you glowing in the darkness of near-morning, open windowed
your attic
The sheets, the spread, your bare skin.
The suds that slipped off my skin in the morning
standing alone in your granite-tiled shower,
I removed you with her pomegranate shampoo
With her toothbrush, spearmint toothpaste,
I washed myself in her smells
I removed the film you'd left with her taste
You were probably reminded all the way down the stairs I descended

The salt on your lips an aftertaste, iced awareness coating
The belly like a soft-shell crab's underneath my tongue—
A stalactite glazed over the back of my throat
The ribcage on the roof of my mouth—my mouth
left open, full of these places, dusted over with flecks of dead skin.
Yours truly,
and I felt you before I felt you
did you feel me too?

lye's pith and lava
You are the in between of glass,
the see through part.
the shards of ice crystal fallen from a Northern sky,
where only flurries fall it seems—
an accident you found me
tripping in the middle of a thick forest deep—
the balding center of a middle-aged man's head
stood opening onto a tiny globed world of differentiating flakes.
A gift given, shaken to see the snow swirl around in it's captured tornado form
and wound to hear it's tinkering jingle bells whining in weaving return.

And all the "hellos" and laughter
all the jokes and games—like when you'd take hold of my hand and squeeze.
and the peach-kissed cheeks and jeans,
the ring round the middle of my left handed finger
the parts of me you've taken
In each of your photograph's frozen—all of it
stripped away as you stand alone in your winter

And something in your face, on your pale skin bared
something, a balding vacancy, I saw even as
the bloated clouds in your manmade sky colored and crafted this—
your suspended self.
In the slanted back and forth motions of an arthritic forearm, her wrist at an angle
A white-colored pencil on a cardinal blue piece of construction paper,
it was really quite simple when I saw—when I saw you and I wanted
to take you up, all your criss crossed shapes and lines, and tuck you alongside.

As easy as the water, cascades down my wet morning skin
I am the plastic melded into filmy building blocks—the shower wall
make-shifted bubbles inside, I wanted you as one of them
you, but you'd never sit still.
And it was your winter bed I left myself suspended
naked praying in; awake
with both eyes open and blinking—you'll never know the words I write about you as
we are still just
we are all just humming skin.

It's hibernation season again, and I've grown
Seething in my own settling adipose,
in my flightless plumage, my penguin skin
I scarcely find it in me to stare back at myself.
I've found no reason to change my ways—
as a new year waddles in.
Rosey-cheeked and ample bosomed;
more warmth to come by on a rack of sinewed bones.

I'm cleaving…
to a thick fallen snow fourteen years in the making
a pricker bush no longer standing
shrouded in a cloak 2 feet deep, a peddler's voice to the infantile.
Daylight savings came to pass (fourteen times nonetheless)
I've scarcely breathed to notice

to photograph my footprints. To have experienced joy—snowfall, fluorescent bareskin, moonlight spewn as the sun stirs
a six year old's eyes through tilted blinds

breathe, cloud, shallow

It is only now that I recall
and want it back.

I am alone.
Aside from this I sit, amongst friends.
With a bottle of plum wine and 3/4 tempo I've come—drowning in and out his or her words,
all penguins are counter-shaded just the same and still,
insatiable is my will to record these moments—
of laughter without the nagging knowledge that it will soon end
a kiss with no conclusion (eye's open)
a wedding band stitched in wrinkles
the comfort of a past,
a present where held breathes can only last so long

this long this year.
I've seen a richer purple.
Edges bitten by orange flames, dull, a stricken imbalance like wind.
Nothing again will ever be this easy, life
the living.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

for nothing and everything and jose gonzalez

"Crosses" - Jose Gonzalez

there's a warmth in my bed
when the music is playing
there's a warmth in my bed
even when i'm alone
there's a warmth in my bed
and it's not worth repeating
a bodies could split
the seam of a heart

there's a stillness that falls
when only one heart's left beating
there's a stillness that falls
among the artists of breathing
there's a stillness that falls
with each process completed
a bodies could stutter
the rhythm of a heart

there's depression decreasing
on your side of my bed
there's depression decreasing
with each warm day alone
there's depression decreasing
even still and i know
a bodies could smother
the burn of my heart

Sunday, April 8, 2007

when finally set free

Yours was the first, albeit the worst
and yet a belief inside--i'd never find
in another. the first, northern glowing lights
experience, a horrible, mismashed, stick and turn and stick once more
slimy experience. to break the fall
lessen the tremor. such a big heart you had, have
i miss you.
second, learning together
up you went, we grew
good God, i miss
laughter -- chocolate running -- grass hands -- ice
mismatched eyes -- cream poetry pictures --
yours and mine, family
the end from lack of sleep & growth
(i skipped a few)
a cross on his neck and back and boots
to match, to fit between the gap in his two front teeth
but when he was - there - God
tick tick
roads driven at speeds
tick tick tick
on paved gray platforms
bare backs, grass, the sky and brass bars
tick - i hate to say this, don't need
want to say this - between a whistling teeth
nothing more than that, not a thing

in the rain, one day, you fell on me
i found you worth saving in front of everyone
i learned how it felt to be
the one to hurt another
and i reveled in it, i reveled in the change of scenery
all night, early morning, day
drank, you did, and i it in
you--it was only because of who you were to me, and your grip
and your scared eyes searching everywhere but me
i want you to look at me, you did

you were the best
you took me for everything i was
you know who i could be
you took who i could be
you were nothing i needed
i deserve none of you
there is none of you ever worth deserving
waste you still
hurt me
and you think you deserve? the skill you gave

you, to me, are worth nothing less than the worsening of a progression into hell
we're done.

onward, drunken, onward flying--whipping--lashing
walls, windows, showers open onto backyards, single
naked smoke curling, tempting a dream to become
front stoops, the shot, the stare, the word
words, pictures, notes, things needing to be typed
message, massage, a mess
a candle, a movie--three movies--chocolate
coffee, eggs, residue--alcohol bloody legged last year's being
a failed beginning--a chancing mid--ending apology for everything
taken, away, for granted
you're the sweetest, greatest, most wonderful girl in the world. why thank you.

1--you know the before in me i never had. you took me, thank you.
2--several times, not much to say.
4--not worth mentioning, not worth the words you've got stuck in your head that you're allowed to write. good luck.

there was a time
when it all just was
and there, you were, accumulating everything
the shit and the wonder
since then no other
by choice, i've been here
i'm here and i dream of something, anything
deja vu's & sweet memories i've imagined and remember when i wake

these are.
we don't live here anymore.
me and you and everyone
we know.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

cause I know you by heart

i wasn't ready for this, caught up in the things
the moments and people who've never mattered
but you, you changed everything about me and i didn't even have the self to look you in the eye as you said goodbye.
your love, you are something i could hold all day long and never ever tire of
i'll wear it infinity, infinitely you're inside
my heart, my eyes, the way i talk, react, write, think, speak
even my voice is yours
i wasn't ready for this, i'm a coward kindly waiting
to deserve, what you've been given
my heart is yours i want you to know--whoever, wherever, with-ever you might be
my songbird, hurricane, my stolen car
on a street where you and i will forever be kept, in the rain, holding hands
touching, i wanted so badly to taste your lips
your smell lays on my skin, like it's always been
tonight were you might be laying your head
i wasn't ready for this.

"I Know You By Heart" - Eva Cassidy

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Warmth en doors

when your foot hit the groundand the water surround
cascade, it fell in upswept hurricanes around
our heads, hips, bare legs, and feet
we ran down that canopied concrete, we ran
hats soaked to a matted head
2 in the front, 3 in the back
driving, speeding, evening traffic
Stone Mountain men, drizzling, laser lights projected
laughter carried frisbees and fat, lazy summertime Georgians
out on a day like today, that day
the sky fell to spite them

The day we met, we split
dinner, flash photography
never have we been so happily unknown

you taught me to inhale when i took a bite
Talk Tonight Mona Lisas
and Madhatters in a Spanish city, tunneling
little silver discs don't stop believin'
I'd forgotten how good your smell felt on my tongue
standing in the driveway, 2 AM, you're alive with music
those hands light skin on the space right above the small of my back
I'd forgotten how it felt when you held me
ten times in a row
I had to leave before I remembered,
what it felt like to kiss you.

I'd forgotten how much I missed you.

"Tupelo Honey" - Van Morrison

Friday, March 9, 2007

the airport, if necessary

to lose
and the emptying is such a release
release, you've been gone for so long now
i can scarcely remember
the way the slit of your eyes tilt towards,
the way the sun hints at mine
and i've seen them before but the old and the young pretend not to know
midday, one another
how easily we are strangers in Midtown City, eyes catch
we see one another and there, is, no, response
to a heart that once shed itself bare when sickening thoughts filled
a mind, a mouth of consecration, tie me
to a heart that binds, binding words flowing
through an early, early morning line
you bide your time until
you'll forget and hold her hand and you'll
forgotten, two years prior, the one, that, was there
despite whatever pitfalls you might've seen,
she flew 532 miles, it falls
she's sitting
1 dozen roses, ocean blue she's waiting
and you
never get it,
you never come.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

decorum and fragment

i'm up and over
spilling down the sides
of a cup, ridges, solo

marching in a solid, straight line
facing forward, sturdy
stern--ridgid watching
it, pour out of you
you're solo, on a stage
but you belong, the warmth
you'll never question who you are; you've taken over.

i cry, on the street
crouched on the corner, brick wall, by the bookstore
i left the place you'd once comforted me
i slip my hands underneath, take you into me
you're gone, one last time, i don't wait
no hugs
no last dance, kiss where jaw meets cheek
you'll leave no music to color my memory
you'll leave no footprints, because you chose this fame
my bed stays empty, lopsided where a brand new pillow lays
you'll leave--the one i knew--you did
months before
you were gone
i'd never been asked to stay the night

and i'm still here, i'm still the same person,
i'm still running, i'm still laughing
i am still the same voice
i am
i rest a moment, i study

Thursday, March 1, 2007

stone billows knew

and when you know that you know that you know that you know
what can you do except go to sleep? what can you do but curl yourself--
into 3-plied thickness. i'm sick of writing about sex.
sick of writing about events, and people, and places i've never been
the imaginations a sickening thing, and it's never your fault, fault cannot be given-
when it just is. it is. this isn't poetry. it's the lines dissecting the beat that never changes
it's a memory i can't give up but can never relive, can never make because you're gone
to go is permanent, and permanence is never something easy to "just deal"-chosen or not
i'd rather spend my evenings with a phone strapped to my ear then reading
from a text i'll forget, in a day or two, maybe more
there are things about me i hate-things i pick at on a 20timesdaily basis
would medication make it any better, any worse, anything? would you medicate me if you could, would your group therapy work? what if i already know (i do)
i know all the definitions, symptoms, even the therapies;
it has changed nothing.
i am that bubbly, that honest, that frank and easy and real, i have the body of a mother & a runner, my body is confused, confusing and i don't think i could operate otherwise; but sometimes i'd like to. should i or shouldn't i give it up?
i'm 19--i'm 20--i'm alone, i'm everyone/everywhere/everything--anything you want me to be, i'm you in a nutshell, your female form
you'll never admit it (even to yourself) and if you hurt me i'll accept it, you knew it from the start. fed me, antagonized me; you gave me drink when i was thirsty and you simply drank me up.
i've never had a back massage i didn't ask for first. i've never gotten flowers sans ulterior motives.
i've never been

i have to become something professional, i have to be the professional
to lose my voice
to lose my fervor
to lose my dynamic, spectrum of collegiate depression
to loose
i'm afraid, i'm scared
i'd like to be held, cradled--but i won't beg or play
i'm afraid, i'm the pawn, outside the game-
i'm the iron.
monopoly, get it?
i'm above and below you-in reality i want you
and it might be only because you want me, easily
it all could be so easy-i'm afraid, i'm not the girl
arms extended, upward lifted herself, onto the countertop (herself)
as you, she caught between the grasp of her thighs (clothed mind you)
she looked into your renewed eyes (2 weeks and counting), she thought you got it
your hands on her wastes, she held you completely to her, connect, connect and-
she kidded herself into believing it was that perfect fit--1 year
you checked and checked and double checked, ADD borderline OCD
you kissed her, the best she's ever had, she caught your lower lip in her tiny embrace
she got it, you let it linger-pressing familiarity into her bite--God it tasted so sweet
you left her that night--she freaked--she came
they spent the night together, drunkenly you slipped her tongue into another girl
she's just a girl. you took your familiarity and pressed hers into everyoneelseyouknew

this is not a poem. not poetry. there are no signs of someone else in here.
just me, and i have to
be afraid,
taken, envious

i have to watch you go. unfinished.
i have to relieve myself of fault.
i'm almost 20 years old in a 35 year old's mind, sometimes...i have hot flashes
sometimes, only because my body gets confused--catches up---
my hips of a mother's mind

february 13th

to hold you closer in the broad daylight
as you walk through the door, you yourself tug, at every single one of the notes you've ever sung, ever left inside of me
each of them separated in neat little rows
winding through
in, and in and out
and tomorrow will be just like any other day, and the day after that

but today
this weather
was worthy of a photograph, was worthy of standing still
on a wind worn oceanlit sand in the middle of February
it might've been the outline of your tanned head
shoulders, arms
torso, pelvis
thinning legs, the muscles in your calves
even your heels
and still i've never felt you
and still you rarely call, rarely do you hear me
even when i'm screaming, singing, kicking, laughing
with, at, around, beside you

so the sand goes unsettled
the sun balance-beams across the sky, it rains

and we went to school & to work
we drank our coffee, dripping wet
i suck the drops off my own skin, my own

you never saw me leave, even when the bell rang, you didn't look up--not once

Saturday, February 24, 2007

saying it

i've know, for awhile now i guess
that there would come a time when i would finally realize
and accept that i have to let you go.

today, talking to you, i got it
i tried to push it away, like i did and have done for so long
but you are not of me, forever, the way i want you to be
i could hang, dangle, waste on for what?
for that hope that one day your grasps at my holding hand
and the lips you press carelessly against my cheek, neck, temple
each a separate instance would ever be, anything more than a movement of acknowledgment to remind yourself i'm still some kind of part of you
a part you'll never fulfill because you can live without the what ifs

you can live and so can i
but tonight, talking to you
i let you go. i'm letting you go.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007


Shepherd, my shepherd
lay me down
still waters echo by resting ears, you've led me there
(abandon my fear)
in green pastures where i lie
for His name's I will rise,
for he guides me.
(through fear i will follow, blind-eyed i will trust)
Down paths of righteousness
no longer I will want.
I want nothing, for You
my salvation
my God
(i fear no longer)
You are.
On you I wait
all day
I wait.

"Peace" - Jason Upton

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

for everything we're "meant to be"

and on days like today
when the layers cannot eat (or hide) the chill from my skin
when my legs are paled and naked to the earth
and i'm running on a tred
that takes me to no where (and everywhere)

when your skin on mine
the words of this song in my ears
he sings
it's all that i can give, my everything
joy (for we are joyful, aren't we?, after all)

when it all seems so easy
when what we want becomes a meager reality,
when we, as nothing more than human beings, we win
we get what we've always wanted
what we've wept on broken knees for
alone, among company
to him
when what we want becomes a reality we've forgotten we were ever afraid of

when it all seems so easy and we embrace it
we are no longer imperfection
kisses on cheeks
your hand holds mine and it is
nothing more
or less
are we really these human beings? are we really breathing like the rest of them
is it really this

i look to the left at myself
farther still to you
and that tiny shutter inside of my heart
am i truly waking up again?
i won't say i'm scared, or lost
or confused
His love never confused me
but to've forgotten, to've passed it by
to've known and still not answered

for you
i will
be still
and utter
you've written

with my eyes closed
i sing
one note

but with my eyes closed, i hear an entire symphony

it's you
and it's possibility
i taste the pistil of summer honeysuckle dripped on my tongue
i taste that sweet memory
and the trees with their convincing branches who wrote there names all over my jeans (before the scars that is)

with acceptance comes the flood
the pulsing of the music of the blood in your
you will remember with each rekindled breath
the pain
His suffering
His blood
i never deserved and it's so hard to
not accept
not understand
not even believe

but live
to live inside the pulls of his blood
to taste it on my cracked, infested lips
pieces of him, chunks
thread there way hap-hazardly down
my infected throat
my body
he finds no familiar place, he finds no room left in his home

but, BUT
that...that rejection
those are mine
and His are all the good in me.
my everything.
my God i am thankful

have me be something extraordinary
always you love me
i am meant to love, teach me

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Saturday, January 6, 2007

i want to smile more.

Oh to be back in control. Today, well it definitely was. I could gush on and on about how thankful I am for the people in my life. For the way things just seem to always work themselves into my life in just the certain ways that I need them. How happy accidents, miracles, and blessings from above are not in fact all the same thing. How serendipity is something of a completely separate nature. Do I really have the strength to let go of the crutches i've accumulated? When did I devolve into this, and admitting that what i've been up to lately is wrong; well how does that make me feel? I would rather not dwell, in fact upon deciding such, I will not; but what really is an ample amount of time to THINK about all the things you've done wrong? What really is the right way to go about making changes?

Where have my morals gone? I feel no longer convicted, and I think i miss that.
I promise I will never give up on you, you are loved you are known and you will not be forgotten. Lean on me and I swear to you I will lean on you. I need those around me I can be truly vulnerable around. We all need to be held without being taken. We all need to be kissed on the cheek rather than the lips. To be admired for the thoughts that emerge from inside rather than our hidden talents. These are the morals I took for granted, the convictions I twisted into prudishness. When did self value become such a dorky trait to maintain; when did slutiness become such a fashionable trend. Again, where am I?
How did I get here?
I'm not ashamed, maybe I should be. But it's a growing process, I choose this path I did it all on my own and I will not back down from who I'm becoming. I might incorporate, I will fumble, uncertainty is inevitable; but we're all rising, we all will rise. He is alive. I will learn to express, again, what I believe. I will not be ashamed, and I will wait. We will all wait. And sing, and build, and scar. But we will wait, not numbed, not plaintively; but filled and joyous; we will have thanksgiving dinner in our own little ways; every day. We will live. Filled. To go to sleep satisfied and wake up content. To snuggle, completely comforted in the heat of your own body; then the heat of the body of one who just wants to be near you. Fully clothed even. The reunion of respect in a relationship; the realization you are worth; worthy of such kindness. The hum of silence; the saltiness of a tear in the flame; a homemade fire in a stony fireplace.
The feeling of home, coming home. We will come home; to a place where words aren't really needed. To be held, in the truth; and really know you've found forever. Rediscovery; unearthing...i wonder what it would be like to feel complete hanging from the limbs of the red marker tree?