masochist

beginning

to think its real when

(it feels bad)

when i feel

(pain)

hurts so it must be worth

(it(s))

a skewed perception but it guides me down a path of destruction and

(self sabotage)

feels like progress leading to my own

end.

new york face

where im at is a state of mind
bus train taxi don't cost a dime
b-line to the spot
where goods easy to find
im done cryin
lost in time
grab my hand
its fine

the mask we hide behind

Learn love your imposter.

winter is on its way

You're your own fucking tsunami, ruining everything in your path. Yours is a brewing swell, growing and overtaking me. I can feel wet, cold, salty drops rushing down my cheeks. I'm taking cover on higher ground. I'm headed inland. I'm leaving you in your lonely town, population: one. You earned it, fair and square. For the rest of your life, you'll be living in ruins. Existing among the destruction you caused yourself. The righteous storm, your epic collapse... waves of pathetic, artificial attempts to make some sense of your tragedies. So you turn your back from the warm shores of a loving embrace, because it's easier to tower over me than to fall for me. Winter is on its way. While your freezing over, empty and alone, I'll be nowhere around, nowhere to be found.

suck.

some people just

buttons

today on my walk to work, i saw a button in a sidewalk crack. i couldnt help but wonder where the person is who owned this button. maybe in one of the tall buidlings above me, maybe driving a bus, or maybe it's the person in front of me who lost the button. then i started thinking about the poor, unassuming soul who hasn't a button...

his pants aren't fastened. he is in the office kitchen, pouring his coffee and his coworker notices but doesnt say anything. for the rest of the morning, he'll wonder why she was unordinarily stand-offish.

her blouse is open. she is running to a meeting because she's late and her eye catches an un-desired glare and from a married man who licks his lips and winks at her. for the rest of the morning, she'll feel dirty.

then, i looked down at myself.
i have all my buttons today.
do you?

untitled

We were laying in bed. He was staring at the ceiling while I read to him, but I knew he was paying attention. He was soaking up every word. I read him lots of my stories and poems, but I couldn't bring myself to read him the ones I wrote for him. Mostly because I think he would have known it.

He told me I had "talent" and I just stayed quiet. He asked me, "what could you do to get published?".

It seemed like a long time passed after that, but it was probably only a few seconds. I stared at the ceiling, too and I said, "You don't."

October 14th was a Sunday

I took a seat next to an old, black woman. We smiled at each other and she asked me where I was going. I said "no where." She asked why that was, to which I responded, "because, why not?"

For a rather uncomfortable length of time, I felt her staring at me. Then she turned away.

I decided I'd get off the bus at the corner of 15th and Market and walk the rest of the way.

leaf

yesterday, on my walk home, i picked up a leaf. it was really big, the biggest one i could find. a reminder that fall is here.

Not long after i brought my new find inside, it shrunk. it crumpled up.

i guess it died.

a small whisper, to you

i love you...
like,
do stupid things love,
make no sense love,
wish i weren't in love...
love you.

and even if you may never see this,
and even if you have no idea this is about you,
and even if you can't say it back,

i just thought you might like to know.

from the moment we met, this teeny, tiny feeling deep down inside me has grown far too big for my own good.

the one

There's lots of people for everyone,

But only one person for you.

So, whose yours?

Because I think you might be mine.

fish on land

This morning, I swam through a sea of pigeons. They weren't pleased by the ripple I caused in passing through.

fallen crown

once, there was a girl
who sat on top of a wall
she never looked down
she was too scared to fall

from atop her tower
she looked up to the sky
while everyone danced below her
time passed this girl by

then, the girl heard a voice
on the cloudiest day
she didnt dare look down
but she heard the voice say:

"little girl, little girl
please come down with me
i promise, it'll be lovely
you'll never feel so free"

the girl thought about the option
for a minute or so
and decided freedom wasnt worth the risk...

shed never really know

a tornado

you and i, we are standing on a porch, looking out into the distance.

we are smiling.

its warm and sunny, but there is a summer-haze, so we cant see much very clearly...

just what is right in front of us.

we've heard about a tornado en-route and we are standing in its path.

we can feel it looming.

the air is so heavy and the day is just dragging on and on.

we wait.

we wait for it to hit.

but we aren't scared.

we refuse to move.

we know this tornado is going to ruin our lazy day together.

we are probably going to have to do some damage control after it hits...

but we ready for it to come crashing down on us and everything around us.

we are ready.

always.

thats us.

we are the waiting game.

we cant control what we know is coming, but we can see.

and we want so badly to control it all.

and we try to.

we try very hard.

well, just so you know,

i'll never give up.

because i'll never tire of you.

beauty

goal for today:

find the beauty in everything. and, if i cant find beauty, i will acknowledge where there is beauty to be had.

a regrettable encounter

Every once in a while,
maybe only even once in forever,
you meet someone who changes your life.

matter

"The world will go to hell if you let it."

Two boys sat on their skateboards and blazed.

"See, the way I look at it, as long as I stand up and care about something (the boy stood up, for effect), I'll matter."

A cloud of smoke formed a thick barrier between the orator and his audience of one.

lost and found

To lose myself with you would be a great way to find myself.
To find myself with you would be a great way to lose myself.

groupie love

I'll be your biggest fan.
Tell everyone they'd be lucky to shake your hand.
I'd steal the sky so the stars you wish your dreams on would be safe in my palm.
When you tell me you give up,
I'll kiss your forehead and say to give it one last shot.
Nothing you could do would keep me away,
You're my number one hit.
On replay,
I'd listen to you over and over.
You'd be my favorite song.
Press pause to make it last,
Rewind to feel the good times again.
Fast forward through the part when you tell me you don't want me.

My superstar,
I'll be your biggest fan.

april showers bring....

If people are really like seasons,
you were my spring.

You made me feel new again.

diary

We live our lives like diaries.

Your stories, kept secret, are buried deep inside the pages of a book held tightly shut and hidden in a place no one can find but you.

Your fears, scribbled down in the middle of the night in hopes that writing them and reading them back to yourself may will them to be overcome.

Your dreams (the ones you know will never happen because 'that's life' but think about them anyway) haphazardly jotted on page after page, some erased and rewritten, some scribbled out and revised, some ripped out entirely and forgotten.

--

I can't promise it won't be difficult for me, and I certainly won't promise you'll always like what you see, but let's make a pact from here on out: I'll let you read mine if you do the same <3

girl talk

"sometimes, i try to get the root of the problem. maybe you aren't mad that he didn't eat the brownies. maybe the brownies represent the fact that your feeling like he isn't paying enough attention to your feelings or the relationship? maybe you should bring it up and be completely clear that it upset you he didn't eat the brownies you made for him, but after some contemplation and talking with a friend, you have come to the realization that its more than that and you want to get to the bottom of it before it begins to seriously affect your relationship, especially because he is living so far away now and your feeling more and more lonely and unattached and its getting to the point that you actually wish he would just lie to you to make you feel needed and say 'yeah, the brownies were great! i just ate one'... even if he didnt? maybe its high time you really sit down and talk about where things are and where things are going and make sure you are on the same page, and that everything is out. it might even be a good idea to have the brownies in the middle of the table, kind of like a buffer for any fighting words that may come out. and in that case, if the conversation doesnt go well, at least you'll have something sweet to eat while you feel bad about yourself and how things went and how you could've probably done or said something different?"

"i really think its just about the brownies."

sand

she pounded wet sand into a blue, castle-shaped plastic toy. "ill make a castle for you, baby." he wiggled around, smiling, waiting for mama to make her next move. "ta-dah!" the mound stood rather majesticlly for a moment. that is to say until it half collapsed, washing away in a wave. none the less, the little one gazed upon his mama's creation with something like a look of admiration. she peered up at her husband, 20 or so feet away. thumbs up and a wink; he sent these as his love floated through the wind on the sunday afternoon. Her heart warmed as she turned toward her child. "you are my little prince and i love you as big as the ocean," she whispered in his ear. greeted with a small hug, her heart filled. the cold sea grazed their feet.

there would be a high tide that night.

seashells

As he walked back from the water, I heard him sigh: "I feel like the seashells were better when we were kids."

"How so?" I inquired.

"I just remember seeing more of them, and they weren't all broken."

"Well, we weren't broken." I said with resolve.

"What do you mean?"

As we both turned our heads toward the ocean, silence fell. I didn't even bother to answer.

He knew.

the caricaturist

she started telling me a story about the day he left. the coffee i sipped was too hot and i was having trouble focusing on anything but the tip of my burnt tongue which i noticed tasted different than it ever had before. i could feel the taste buds swelling and bursting as if to scorn me for the trouble i'd caused them. i felt sorry. then i took another sip.

she told me he packed up all his things in probably an hour, but went on to explain that it felt like forever, and definitely not just an hour. she said it felt like everything was in black and white, moving in slow-motion, like an old-time movie. and, continuing this by-standard-like feeling as if a movie viewer, she explained the overwhelming lack of control she had over his movements and equally that of her own. from what i gathered, she just stood there, immobile, staring at the screen in front of her. i took a picture in my head of what she might've looked like at the time. her face, her expression of lifelessness, would've made the perfect muse for a caricaturist. it really was the ideal 'blank canvas.' for fear i looked the same, i sat up straighter and crunched my forehead as if to appear to be listening intently.

she went on to tell me that he left something behind. my interest peeked (for real this time... i wasnt faking it, i promise.)

“well, he didnt leave it behind. that wasnt exactly what happened.” (a moment later, she would come to reveal the actual sequence of events.)

what happened was, she took it. she grabbed it before he realized it wasn’t packed away, stuffed haphazardly into a box.

it was strange for her to do such a thing, i thought. why take something from him and why make it so... to have anything left over from him? aren’t the memories enough (or, too much?) to have to hold onto?

and then, acquiescing to the idea that perhaps it wasnt SO strange to have done what she did, i decided i could maybe understand her taking it if it were something they shared, or bought together, or enjoyed on a regular basis while in each others company as a semblance of what was. but this? this item, this trinket, this token… why? id never understand.

she saw things differently.
"i would've taken it, too," i said.
i put my coffee cup to my lips, and continued to listen.

refrigerator

she thought, and she thunk. she analyzed and created convoluted mixed messages for her brain to pick at, prod and poke, rip apart, relatively rationalize and then construct into novel oddities which continually perplexed her. nearly everything was complicated to her.

except for those rare times, those almost never times, when she would step back from the refrigerator and see that the syrup was right there, in plain sight, on the top shelf.

never too late

to fall in love.
to ask for seconds.
to smile.
to say sorry.
to change your mind.
to turn around.
to jump.
to sing out loud.
to tell a secret.
to buy yourself flowers.
to forget your problems for a day.
to help someone.
to eat a lot of ice cream.
to kiss.
to hug.
to go to the beach when its cloudy, just cause.
to listen.
to hold hands.
to wink.
to make a new friend.
to remember a sweet memory.
to think about how lucky you are.
to tell someone your happy to know them.

... these are the things i want for you.

running into an ex

And there we were, just standing, looking at each other... he and I. But it was there, too... our past was there standing right in between us. I felt like another person was in the room, looming and breathing loudly, just watching and laughing at us. Pitying us for our unfortunate run in. If I could've, I'd have asked our unwelcome, 3rd wheel to leave so it would just be the two of us... because at least that way we wouldn't have an audience throwing imaginary tomatoes on our stage, sneering at us and critiquing our incredibly horrible acting as we pretend like its good to see one another. But that'd be impossible. You can't un-write memories. They feel like they'll never leave, like a house guest you wish would stop using your shampoo and just disappear.

pain

It's rather tough to explain, but I'll try...

I guess the best way to describe it would be like when you're a little kid and everyone tells you not to touch a hot stove because it'll hurt you. It'll burn and bubble and then leave a disgusting, fleshy, bloody scab. And when that scab becomes a scar its a constant reminder of the choice you made. And when people say 'what happened to you to get such a scar?' you'll have to tell them the idiotic thing you did to get the tremendous wound.

But some sick, twisted, fucked up part of you wants to touch the stove... mostly to make sure that everyone else isn't crazy and lying to you when they say it will be painful. But also, you do it because you want so badly too feel something-deeply and intensely- even if that feeling is horrible and won't go away for a long time.

Or ever.

You. Are. My. Scar.

That about explains it.

tall orders

dont let me down.
dont hurt me.
dont lie to me.
and
definitely
dont
leave
me.


do accept me for who i am.
do give me freedom.
do make me smile.
and
definitely
do
love
me.

25 questions to ask yourself...

generally, i like to keep this blog completely untarnished by anything about myself OTHER than my words. with that said, i feel inclined to deviate from my normal tendency, and indulge myself and perhaps my audience with some introspective q&a. i encourage you to take these same questions and submit your answers on this very post...

and, action:

1. how old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?
21

2. if you have the opportunity to get a message across to a large group of people, what would your message be?
try to forgive.

3. is it possible to lie without saying a word?
yes.

4. if not now, when?
... now.

5. What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?
never wear shoes. or wear my pj's to work.

6. are you holding onto something that you need to let go of?
yes.

7. have you done anything lately worth remembering?
not that i can remember.

8. who do you love? what are you doing about it?
holding back.

9. when is it time to stop calculating risk and rewards and just do what you know is right?
answering this would assume i always know what's right to do, which i dont.

10. do you think crying is a sign of weakness or strength?
both, because they are both the same to me.

11. would you break the law to save a loved one?
absolutely.

12. when your 100... what will matter to you the most?
that the people i've loved felt it.

13. do you ask enough questions, or settle for what you know?
sometimes both.

14. do you celebrate the things you have?
not always.

15. when all is said and done, will you have said more than you've done?
id like to think no.

16. when was the last time you tried something new?
lately.

17. which activities make you lose track of time?
cuddling.

18. if you could do it all over again, would you change anything?
so far, fuck yes.

19. what is the difference between living and existing?
letting your emotions run the gamut and not trying to control everything. laugh til your stomach feels like its going to burst, cry a lot, get fucking mad, etc.

20. if you had a friend who spoke to you in the same way you sometimes speak to yourself, how long would you allow that person to be a friend?
a long time, i try to be positive.

21. if you had to teach something, what would you teach?
how to smile more.

22. time or money?
why cant i have both? ok... fine. time.

23. are you aware that someone has it worse than you do?
yes.

24. what makes you smile?
mostly everything, except of course, for things that make me frown.

25. what would you regret not fully doing, being or having in your life?
being a mom. chill out, i dont mean right now, i mean eventually. 

and, scene.

not so complicated

i read their minds, and its these same lines... over and over and over again.


"i want to be wanted."
"i like to feel needed."
"i hate being alone."


THE END.

sun

The heat is stifling on this Thursday afternoon. The sun beats down on my back, and all I can think of is where I might escape the overwhelming oppression of its heat. They call this place "the melting pot." Now I know why. I quickly begin to think of other thoughts, in an attempt to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel at present.

It's loud. Cars speed by noisily, or--just as obtrusively--slam hard on their breaks to stop. People, all sorts of people, walk by me. They are bitching, moaning, grunting, laughing, yelling, fighting, howling, roaring, talking to one another, talking about each other (“he walks too slow!” “look at her outfit!” “their kid is ugly!” ... these are just a few selects to paint a picture of the type of commentary I am currently privy to.) Even the buildings! The buildings are deafeningly tall and are ear-piercingly wide.

And here I am. In the middle of it all. Here I am, just listening. Quietly observing the little world around me.

But what I am not aware of is that the young man at the other side of the park is quietly observing me. He hasn't for a moment taken his eyes off me since I planted myself at the very chair on which I sit. He's seen every time I've wiped sweat off my brow, every tiny smile I've smiled to myself, every eye roll, sneeze, every time I reached for the book inside by bag just so I can look like I'm doing something, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear. Every blank stare I've stared into absolutely nowhere. He saw when I tripped after I got up and saw me wave my hand for a cab when I left.

The voice in his head was as loud as the cars, was as blaring as the people around the imaginary cocoon he built around he and I, and as clamorous as the surrounding buildings, inside of which he could feel people staring out at him from every window. "Say hello to her" this voice told him, but he didn't move. Not even a flinch other than to acknowledge the cold shiver flowing down his back.

Three years later, fate would bring these two together again.

tongue twister

feel hard.
fall hard.
feel the fall.
hard falls.
the hardest to feel.

half full

being able to be continually filled but never spill over...
this is the only true way to live.

introspection on the 8:55

there is never tomorrow.


all we have is the moment after the moment in which we are finished being and get the chance to become again. so, on a regular basis (some might argue instant basis, or something in and around that length of time) we get to be better, to change... or stay the same, if that's really what you want.


if you ask me (which you didn't, and I am well aware of), this is a pretty fucking horrifying realization... to have this amount of control. or maybe its that we have no control. that we are constantly trying to catch up... keep up...


to an end that we can't see / or a beginning we never knew started.

synonyms for 'happy'

i'd be...

glad,

beaming,

blissful,

cheerful,

content,

delighted,

euphoric,

gladsome,

gleeful,

glowing,

jolly,

joyful,

merry,

overjoyed,

pleased,

and tickled pink to forget what you feel like.

run

i was running away from it for so long, and i was sure i would eventually run back into it. (this has to be a law of physics, i'm sure).


so, instead of trying to get away from it, i started to think of myself as running toward that which i wanted to escape. if i thought of it like this, in a contrary-wise way, i wouldnt ever catch back up with it since i was never actually trying to leave it. and i decided id run slow, so as to never get to it.

 (as it turns out, this plan did not work... but at least i was in control.)

black hat

thanks for the memories, but you can have them all back.
it'll be magic...

lets make like we disappear.

myself

to be myself is to be outside of myself looking in and to stand above myself so as to look below at myself and to be in front of myself and look towards myself and to gaze from all directions other than outward and look back at myself and to stare into my own eyes and ask of myself, who are you? i accept these challenges.


my promise to myself is to stand next to myself and to put my own hand on my back, and to gently move myself forward.

like new

the longer she looked at it, stared at it, the more she found wrong with it. there were cracks in it, lots of them. she was concerned by this, quite alarmed by this, in fact, since she never noticed these cracks before. all of a sudden it seemed like it might just fall apart. right there in front of her. it needed fixing, that was for sure. it was run down and shabby, like a something you put in an attic 10 years ago and never went back to. yeah, something quite like that, exactly.


she wanted so badly to grab onto and keep it safe.. it was so fragile. but she was too scared, too fearful she might break it even further. and she knew that something like this could happen... breaking it more by grabbing on too tight. yes, she learned that lesson they hard way when she was 7. she was playing in the yard and tried to grab a butterfly.


after much contemplation, however, she decided she would try to pull all the broken pieces together and make it better. she'd get to the bottom of it, the parts that were broken, slowly but surely. she'd sand it down to its oldest, purest layer. she'd get rid of every crack and glue together every corner. two times over, just to be certain all was well. she'd give it a fresh coat of paint. anyone who had eyes could see that it'd be just like new. just like it was back then.

 ...and this was their love.

that sticky stuff

anything is temporary until it sticks, honey.

take your time takes forever

take your time takes forever

choke

i take a sip. the coolest of sensations makes its way down my throat. i choke on my disappointment. it's sunday. i need more to feel less.

sleep

i see you in my dreams.


long ones,
short ones,
blurry ones,
ones i cant remember or hope i forgot,
ones i talk about,
ones that make me cry, smile, laugh, want to hide,
ones i keep a secret,
ones i write about.


i really wish i'd stop having nightmares.

a different view!

i got to thinking how different the world would look if i looked at it sideways. and what a pity it was that we are forced to walk around upright all the time.

well, sooner than i could've noticed how i must've looked to a passerby, i found myself upside-down (in my frame of mind, anyway). suddenly, the sky was the ground and the ground was very much in the position of what one would think of as the sky... in so far as how the ground looks like the sky and the sky would look like the ground to everyone else other than me at this time.

so, i walked around like this for about an hour, only to arrive at this realization... my original hypothesis was indeed correct: things are very much different when you look at the world upside-down (actually, if you go back to the beginning of this anecdote, you'll see i used the word "sideways," but for the sake of the story, let us agree to revise the aforementioned wording).

i swear, the grass was greener. Not in the metaphorical sense--though, i might argue that as well--but in the literal sense. the grass held such a richness in color compared to the likes of that which i've never seen. and not just that. the flowers, they seemed to smell a great deal more fragrant while upside-down. when people spoke, they sounded much louder. "i love you" he said to her, in practically a roar. "don't touch that!" a mother screamed to her son. "ice cream... $4 'a scoop" some guy yelled, at an ear-piercing decimal. or, maybe i was listening closer (this could be a side-effect of being upside-down, too-- yet to be determined).

and i promise you this... with every ounce of my being that i know to be true... i've never felt more alive than i did in that hour of upside-downness.

then i walked into oncoming traffic.

(oh, i'm sorry, were you hoping for a nicer ending?)

a picture lasts longer

i'd like to just stare at you so hard and for so long, until my eyes explode from the inside out.

and that... now, that would be a sight for sore eyes.

mais pas de deuxième chance

secondes en minutes,
minutes en heures,
heures en jour,
jours en semaines,
semaines en mois,
mois au cours des années,
ans en des décennies,
des décennies dans des millénaires,
des millénaires dans l'infini ...


mais pas de deuxième chance.


^^ note from the author: my french sucks ass.

the end game

she appreciated that he thought we was saving her. saving her from some sort of heart-ache.

but, an ending?

thats not what she wanted, or asked for, or hoped would happen, not at all. nor did he, she trusted.

but their beginning saw an end before a beginning began.


and to that end, in the end hes probably the one who needed saving to begin with.

a mothers love

just like every other night since i can remember, i was asked to go down to the well and fill a bucket full a water. so along the trail i walked. it seemed to take longer that night. it was so hot out i thought i might like to melt into the pail i was holdin, walk home and no one would even notice it was me inside of it.


once i made it to the well, i lifted the tin pail on the ledge and sat it aside awhile. i pulled up the old rope. i somehow rigged the bucket up and it made its way down 'til i heard a loud splash. after i thought it was rather full, i used all of the muscles i didn't have to pull that pail up the long, stone wall until it made itself safely back to the ledge from whence it came.


on my walk back, the pail seemed heavier than ever before. i thought i might like to just set it down and not look back. but i knew that wasn't an option. mama would beat me silly if i came home without it.


i got back to the kitchen and i smelled somethin brewing. i guess you could say i felt some what powerful, knowing that i had there in my possession what it was that my mama needed to finish the meal. either way, it didn't make the pail any lighter.


but, boy, i must've made such a face, or let out quite a grunt, when i brought that water pail inside, because my mama... she made those winkles in her forehead and looked straight at me with her dark, brown eyes and she said:


"you see that pail there, little girl. think of that pail like a persons heart. its big. its heavy. it would be mighty easy to quit tryin' so it wouldn't be so heavy to carry 'round...


but it takes hard work to keep it full, it takes dedication. sacrifice. and love for those who your keepin' it full for."


from that night on, i never wondered why my mama had wrinkles.

my wall

when she speaks, she sometimes falters and says too much, or more often, too little. she holds back in fear. in fear of saying the wrong thing and being hated, or the right thing and being loved. so she finds solace in ambiguity. vague is a wall she hides behind... perhaps she has just grown accustomed to doing so.

it is quiet behind her fortress. no one can hurt her.


and so she plants roses with her tears and the flowers grow tall.

the boy king

once there was a boy who walked up to the top of the very highest hill in his village. he looked down at all that his people created and he felt content.  his heart was warm. but as full as this boy was with happiness, he was also very fearful, for his father was the chief of the village and was growing very ill. soon, the boy would need become a man and follow in the footsteps of his great father who won many battles defending their people. the boy knew his fellow villagers thought he was too young and too weak to become a great chief, so he came up to this very hill hoping the spirit winds would show him how to prove his greatness to them.


after many moments of silence, the boy stood up, turned his back to his people, and walked down the hill. he knew what he needed to do.


a few days later, a passing tribe stumbled upon the land where the boys village stood. they were stunned at what they found. the noble huts were empty. the lavish crops remained unharvested. animals ran free in the puttied streets. screams and cries could be heard from the top of the very highest hill in the village.


when the passing tribe finally reached the peak of this hill, they could not believe their eyes. the young boys tribe were found bent over on their knees, facing toward the village they abandoned. in front of them, the boy lay flat on his back with a knife in his hand. his royal blood dripped towards his kneeling subjects. the boy had stapped himself in the heart.


legend will say that the spirit winds wispered to the young boy king and told him he would only be accepted by his people if he would be willing to die for them. and so, he did.

keep out of hands of children

instructions on how to love:


-stick hand in chest cavity
-proceed to rip out heart
-inspect heart while it beats
-listen to the bass line fade
-hold heart over head
-shake heart around
-squeeze heart for some fun, 'til it pops and the blood spills out


down your arm it goes. a hot gooey mess. you've always wondered what i tasted like.


well now you know.

The Greatest Decision

a lovely dress hangs on my closet door. the dress is navy. i'll keep the tags on the dress, i decide, in case i never get to wear it.

a sandwich and a cigarette

its noon. i don't remember getting here, but if someone were to approach me, i imagine i'd say i walked here. there is a slight breeze, which would be nearly undetectable if it weren't for my keen sense of awareness today, or if i had on long sleeves and long pants, and i am currently adorned with neither. i look to my right, someone is seated next to me eating his sandwich. "breezy out today, huh?" i'm in the mood for conversation, i suppose. in reply, he exerts some noise which i really cant describe so this will have to suffice: "humf?!" kind of like saying, "i really don't feel like chatting with you!" and "i do have to agree with you!" all at the same time. why are people so complicated? i'll never know why, so i settle with my age old answer.


an older lady walks by with a cigarette. her fingers are long and slender. her hands remind me of claws. but regal claws. the claws of something i certainly would want to be friends with, rather than enemies. shes close enough to hear me if i speak louder than i spoke to the man next to me. "can i bum a cigarette?" bear in mind, i don't smoke, but like i said i'd prefer to be her friend than the opposite. "um, well sure... but i don't have a lighter." how peculiar... she smokes but doesn't carry a lighter. as a non-smoker, i find this quite odd, but ah ha! just as she makes her ludicrous comment, the woman standing next to the man with the sandwich drops her purse, out of which falls a lighter. (i am the only one who sees this occur.) "its cool, i can make fire with my teeth," i say, giggling. the woman with the cigarette seems rather confused, but hands me what it is that ive asked for. her right claw gently grazes my hand in the transfer.


shivers.


"excuse me, can i borrow your lighter?"

i'll keep you

on all the trips we'll never go on.
in all the laughs we'll never have.
at my secret hide-out you never got to see.
how our fingers won't ever fit together just right again.
the smiles and tears that will never be.


we had our first kiss.
we had our last kiss.


ill keep you under the sink, behind a bucket,
or in a shoe box, high, high up on a shelf,
or maybe under the carpet,


in a little place in my heart.

our love is

.

8395

it was a morning not unlike any other morning.
and a day not unlike any other day.
and the evening turned out to be a night not unlike any other night.

Wind

the wind wildly composes
a vicious score to be heard.
a melody of twisting, turning tunes
push and prod against the thick air.
branches pound and stroke the keys.
leaves swirl in the melody, harmoniously.
and in times like these,
moments from the past
flash across my inner mind.
all at once,
and all too much.
they string themselves,
bead by bead…
oh, this necklace i wear
of
confusion
and
serenity.
i tug the strings but they endure.
no matter my countless attempts.
i try to forget.
to anguish and suffocate
the embers of putrid memories
which stifle my breath.
their once diminutive presence,
now regrettably monumental,
choke me in my self-deprecation.
…
…
but
then!
a cruel companion joins me.
pity.
our eyes lock
and i embrace the storm.
waiting, waiting,
without a care.
dedicated.
steadfast.
i dare my foe to draw her sword.

University (Incomplete)

(P.s. I never finished this one... maybe I will one day. Enjoi!)

Evening holds steady,
the dark of night invites and tempts young souls.
Winds press on, pushing and prodding,
from corner to corner we roll.

Like careless dancers we fall,
the ground begins to spin.
Each advance we take,
leads us further into sin.

The world, a messy palate,
colors stream together and blend.
Inspired artists seeing new views and hues,
we marvel as we bend.

Clouds

We float along together on this day,
as the sun kisses our backs.
The wind moves us,
hurriedly,
from place to place,
with no destination in mind.
In awe of the view,
seconds, minutes and hours collide-
nothing seems to matter.
Cares and fears;
insignificant.
We never cease and we do not speak.

All is said with nothing

between the clouds and I.

As She Looks Through a Window

The tips of trees dance together in the cold breeze.

Roofs of row homes scale the desolate sky.

Where is the sun today?

Who is to say she will ever return?

There was a time she glistened;

wrapped me in the warmth of a tender embrace.

I danced,

trampled dandelions,

carelessly.

Yellows, greens, pinks-

the purple of my twirling dress-

mixed together.

A Monet masterpiece,

come to life.

But now, what now? I have tired of dancing

and have forgotten steps.

The dandelions have wilted,

unrecognizable from their former selves.

The once vibrant colors blend…

a dull brown.

The sun, she has gone away,

leaving all but a memory.

How I long for that embrace,

if only for a moment.

If only for a moment,

I will be fine.

Gladstone Station

The warmth of the sun beat down on her face. She heard the low, muffled horn of the train sound-off.

"Landsdown," poured over the loudspeaker.

She kept her eyes closed. The back of her eyelids were the perfect canvas for her imagination. Thick, van-goghy swirls of dark greys and browns soon morphed into something that quite resembeled a face. Blurry at first, the face approached her and soon became a person she knew. And not just any person she knew, but a boy she knew. 

"Gladstone Station."

The door to her train cart swung wildly open and made a starteling noise, not unlike its usual intrusion.

Realizing she had fallen asleep for just enough time to see him again, her eyes opened. She noticed the sun settleing comfortably behind a cloud.

Her stop is "Swarthmore." Just three stops away.

A tiny part of her, the part of her she keeps secret, hopes he'll be there to pick her up.

Cherry

Warm nights. Long nights. Fireflies flicker. Red water ice stains on our upper lips. I kiss you. Cherry.

We held hands. We were young.

Promise

he looked down at her (he was much taller,) and he said, 'one day, i promise to tell you the secrets of the universe.'

he smiled and winked.

in a moment of ponderance, she quickly realized that she wasn't certain when this 'one day' he spoke of would happen. or if it even would.

in keeping with the tradition of the hour, though, she decided she was not concerned with the here and now (please do realize that this sentiment of aloofness was rather out of character). after all, his was a promise of the future, a time and place over which she had no control.

for good measure, she winked back at him.

and so, despite her normal tendency to do the opposite,

(she would later admit that this next part of the story i am about to tell you was because she fell in love with him that very day)...

she decided to believe him."