old lovers and curtains.

i'm writing by candlelight. with the windows open. i hear dogs barking. i see the night calling i close this window. i close this home up to market. i mark it in my calender. real estate is a state. a state my reality exists. its up for grabs. up for sale. renovation. street rock. crack rock. up and down this block. i peddle. i am winded. from this bicycle. peddling up hill. cheap thrills. and beat writers. beats and books. and tonights i played the guitar like i could never when you were here. held me back. like i will fight. hold me back. ms. featherlight. as a. lights as a. lights as a.... stiff as a board. we all float when we hold our breath in wait.

completely incomplete. full stomach energy. everyone loves me but you. because i can't really be myself around you. i think you feel the same. we are symbiotic. i don't pretend to know everything about you. i would have taken the time to learn. but all we have is time. i'm fine with time. time helps us change.

he counts change. i was saving mine to leave.


lucky cat martini. lucky cat. lucky. we are all lucky.
are we lucky. i feel lucky. sometimes lucky.

these lights are lucky. these dumplings in my stomach are lucky.
i am. asleep.

there should be a sign here. always a sign here.

i write in the cove. in this hole. in this.. in this. self medicating niche'. i am a cliche'.

i love to read out loud. i want to read to people my thoughts. and i will.
spoons in a glass. concave. lustful. spoons. spooning.


she leans into the car with whiskey sour on her breath. says she's wanted me since i was 19. and do i remember the time we spooned on that couch. i say i remember. i laugh.

why does attraction feel so demanding all of a sudden.

like hemmingway.

unconditional and true love is the one where nothing is expected from you. it's easy to come and go when there are no rules or expectations.

i see that you put your bread in the fridge.
i see that you still unplug the microwave.

you see that i still never fold my clothes, and i'm still comfortable throwing them on your floor.

friendship defines you. the people we influence. love. define you.
we are all so easily definable. and yet we get offended when we are defined.
i made my second home here. when i ran away from tennessee. i made a home. a nest. a family. something away from the people that raised me. i raised myself. here. with help.

nothing is expected of me from anyone. it's so hard to remember that with a lover. i know that i don't want another one of those for a very long time.


her guitar rests against my breast which sits so comfortably on the curve. my wrist is arched. like i would be spreading open a lover. but this is on my left hand. and this is painful because the strings cut into my fingertips.

i used to write songs in my early 20s. but i could only find my voice to sing them to people that were not my lovers. once i had two lovers at once. i had two.

i sang them a ditty and my voice cracked. then they recorded the same song i had written and played it for me. their voice was strong.

doesn't that sum a lot of it up right there? we are the sum of all of our parts.
and this song was about hemmingway.

i wrote it when i was 21. i could sing it better now.

this city can breathe again.

i've depended on my passion for other people to try and fill a void within myself.
i make mo excuses for the way i am. the things that i am scared of. the things that i want. the love that i need. the art that i create.

i've held back because you held me back.
i am a writer. i document shapes and colors. i document patterns and lovers. i document bodies and touches. i document. i document. i document. i document.

i am a document.

i am not intimidating. i am not oppressive to anyone. except myself. did you know that i used to travel. i used to create.

i am not intimidating. i am not beautiful. unless you read my documents.
why would i ever expect you to know me unless i am writing.
why would i ever expect you to love me unless i am writing.


i know that i taught you something. you taught me a lot of things. i swallow. i swallow. i swallow.
this is not a competition. my brow furrows because of fear not because you are disliked.

i am 27. i am alive. i am capable. i will steal you books.
its is over and yet it begins.



you forgot my story.
i remember.
now.

rebuffed.

this red pencil. daydream. bridge. sunset.


i found my old livejournal! ahahahahaha.



circa 2002

many misconceptions
to concieve
virgin mary
no entrance
no exit wound
train track trestle
take your pain
and nestle
into my chest
rests
my heart
baby bird beaten
sacrifice on a road block
not so soft
ani ani ani all the way home
and i come home
along way from alone
empty room
empty bed
turn around
no messages
no girl to give me head
and i'd slap her
but i love her too much
dirty fucking slut
dirty fingers
groping my clean heart
you don't need scissors
to tear it apart
bare hands and teeth will do
nicely thankyou
just like my favorite sex
get her to show off-
"come on baby flex"
what the fuck are you trying to prove
i'll trade a disillusioned me
for a disillusioned you
hug you kiss you fuck you kill you
it's all the same
it all equals the same equation
you+me=
pain pain pain
and i am more than just insides
i am more than just fingernails
i am more than just skin
i am sin
but skin is what i am in
i'm junked up
and im fucked up
a-‘run-around drunk’
so- "i hope you dance"
so i can walkaway

the barking dog.

is wet. hair slicked. like a seal. we sit on this rock. a split second. and i am myself.
he is. she is.


we are.

frivolous.

one moment. eyelashes. on cheeks in time. god's clock unwinds. i am. willing. to fight.
but you don't want me to.

so i won't. i'll watch you slide.
and i'll write. and paint. the way i felt inside.
when you smiled on my shoulder. and you grabbed onto me.
excited. alive.

i haven't looked for anything. but i know when words aren't about me. and that's all i need to know. writing is writing. is writing is writing i am writing you are writing. put it in writing. the writing. the writing on the wall. it's ok. it's all ok.

i don't want her. or her. or her. or him. or them. i just wanted you. always you.
but it's never you.

and it's all ok.

recycled conversations.

sitting here on color. getting color. i am. laughing.

we have the most interesting conversations. with strangers. not trading our names or addresses.
i've condensed my entire life into a 2 minute speech at work. if a table, which they often do, asks me questions about myself. i regurgitate a story about a small town. me. ... . a journey that has taken awhile and then at the same time has taken no time at all. i make them laugh.. and it gets me tips.

she says that she does the same thing. except she doesn't get tips. i say that's too bad.
and then she says "i get 9.oo an hour to run ..... A CASH REGISTER".

i tell her my math anxiety is so bad, that when i was offered the lucrative, yet lazy position as cashier in any retail, or bookstore... i turned it down because the pressure was too great for exact change.

then she says. "it tells you how much you have to give back."
and i say. "well. i know that NOW. i just couldn't get over this fear."

immunity challenge.

it's been months since i've heard from you. i understand unresolved. you took my virginity. it makes me want to kill you. blood on the sheets.

if i don't channel all this passion and intensity into art and writing... it overwhelms me. and anyone i'm with. it's such a strong sense of urgency. desire. but it can be such a shadow if i don't create with it.

i internalize way too much.

a painting and a good piece of writing can be more fulfilling than sex. sex is needy.
i remember wanting to be a nun. minus the catholicism. because i hadn't been taught all the rituals. their solitude and at the same time solidarity impressed me.

a rich deep love for yourself and knowing that the world is beautiful and much larger than you is
something that you can depend on.


.............................
sweating in this sun is ok.

'how are pigeons lives so bad that they want to throw themselves under your car? i mean... THEY CAN FUCKING FLY'

if i was a pigeon and i was having a rough day. i'd just fly somewhere where the other pigeons were more chill and inviting. i'd say hey. what's up other way more relaxed pigeon, you wanna go get a cup of coffee. sup. sup. nice wingspan you got there.

i need to learn to be more at ease with everything i cannot control. because we really can't control anything. at all.

except the weather. if you're chinese apparently. right now in my mind there is a little evil chinese man in a dark room. silhouetted. obscure. with thick glasees. yellowing teeth. and he's causing ike the hurricane. therefore causing our gas prices to soar. again. but he's given me this beautiful day. someone elses evil can't be all that bad if you use it wisely and selfishly.

i should do things before work more often. in the sun.

a date a day a disaster.

i was 20. newly turned. little did i know our newly elected president was about to ejaculate a war. wake up. call. jumping jacks. call. breakfast. call. work. be anxious. lunch break. call. back to work. anxious. home. call. dinner. call. avoid friends. call. scream. call. threaten. call. hang up call. cry. call. apologize. call.
i had a routine. it was before cell phones. it was back in the day of calling cards and about running out of minutes. minutes. minutes. when you're anxious... have you ever counted a minute?

we're running out of time. countdown. how many hours can we lay there states apart. whispering i love you. one million i love yous can't make up for one i trust you. the need the greed. the wanting of knowing. we will never know. i will look down with a smile by this water. i will be laughed at. i will sit here in this cafe'. i will be embraced. i will be invited. i will be excited. but ah. it's the past the past the past that has decided.

the other night you were watching that movie and looking at gia, and you said i was like her. did you know that she said the same thing? except it was years ago. she asked me to stab myself in the heart to prove that i loved her. is that what you're doing now? it took me awhile. but i put her on a plane.

with her finger on my tongue. her pills in my mouth. that's when her kiss started to go sour.

"we can talk about how the love never dies... for you and i. you're the reason why. i'm home and you're still there. i'm home and you're still there."

you were right when you said i would be fine. you were right when you said my life was mine.
it was a disaster. that day in the sky. it was a disaster. and it was the reason why. the war kept me here. the war kept me here. the war keeps me here. i'm still here.

i watched the news feed. talks of bombers. terrorists. and there's this still frame of two people jumping. holding hands out of the window. one of the top stories of a broken down burning building crumbling at liberty's feet. crumbling.

oh babe. i remember crumbling. i remember screaming and driving. i remember her. i'd rather remember you. it's almost but not quite. i know it. i feel it.

i remember the day. i remember. i woke up with a fear. i woke up with a fright. i woke up and reached for my lover, but there was no love in sight.
there was fire in the sky. there were tears all around. there was the unknowing. the chaos. and then there was the phone. there was the busy signal. i closed my eyes and cried. thinking you were dead. you were supposed to be in new york that day visiting your sister.
you were supposed to be in new york that day. new york. new york. and i haven't been back.

it was so hurtful to think someone had taken you away from me. but when i gave you away the hurt was for free.

you were right. i was the whore. that you called me. you were right i was the whore you made me out to be. you were right i was the whore.

seven years and i still mention you every once and awhile. 7 years and i still have all your letters hidden. 7 years and i haven't thrown away a single picture.

the hesitant nest will wait. there's a reason i haven't been back up north. there's a reason. i'll never run to you. i'll never hold you over another's head. i haven't been hurt since you. and when she hurts me it's like it's you hurting me. i don't know why when she screams after she drinks your voice comes out of her mouth. i don't know why i have to shut myself in a closet to cry. i don't know why when i shave her legs i think about you shaving mine. i don't know why that night in the car i cut myself with the knife that you gave me. i don't know why i let your love ruin me for so long.

i don't know why watching her do these same things makes me so sad. watching her. loving her anyway. waiting without weakness. not being a pawn or a queen. not playing the game makes me a master. i'm turning it off. i'm shutting it down. the minutes are sour. i've never been able to taste time in my mouth before. but i don't regret anything.

you were the reason i turned to wine. she's the reason i actually enjoy the way it tastes. we all want what we cannot have. it's a fine year. this vintage. this flavor.

i wish love stayed the same. without bitterness or anger. i wish loved stayed innocent and passionate.


love comes in cycles. and my cycle has me in pain. with this cat in my lap. i am happy for a moment. her purring calms the quelling. calm the throbbing and the aching. to think babies are supposed to come from this thing.

that's just ridiculous.

some people think that you need a father to make a mother. i don't hate men. but the word father makes me uncomfortable. but the men i have loved. they'd make good fathers.


why so serious. i'll paint you a smile. if you let me braid your hair.

i'm not angry.


your wine bottle floats in my stomach. breaking the lining with shards the branches off dogwood he would smack me in the face with with. i ran against the walls of the house. blue grey bloodshed of color. my father with his redhead skin and his sensitive hands building porches impressing me. with structure for me to build to secrets under. lay over. rocks. and sky watching dogwood climbing snow sleeping frog catching child of w0nder. i had no lover except a tobacco moon in a town bred too soon. by incest and hypocrisy. i was there watching. trying to fit in like a round peg in a square hole.

these cookies you bake are not for free.

i try to believe in jesus because being raised by an atheist is too depressing to consider. 7-17 year old babtist just to prove this dress and sneakers.

any place is better.









...................................................................................... you get a fast car. i got a plan to get us outta here.





my pointer finger doesn't fit on my hand.
the nail is too round and precise. i feel like the rest of my body in completely indecisive. and cannot live up to its expectations.

king of night vision.

soundtrack. deconstruction of youth. here we are now. i'm in my fathers business suit. his favorite plaid shirt. khaki pants. bonfire. jim morrison. it's 1999. i'm poking my stick in the flames. embers grow sharp. i hit the spear against sticks. ashes. flake. and i am a swordsman again. with my peers. and whiskey. women kissing women. markers on my face and drunk.

i think i'll write a book.

how long till my soul gets it right.



i see you on the steps of an amphitheater. grass and concrete building sweat under my arms. and there is a courthouse and there is a stage. and your hair is perfect/ and the sun is hot.


children are discovering pop music. like my retro love affair with david bowie and bob dylan covers. too tight t-shirts. and a waterbed. love notes and a secret box i buried underneath the porch.


fall comes.


i rake leaves like a sea of green. died. into brown copper hues of corpses. foliage.

that's her voice. portable cd player 1997. dogwood. teenage. grounded. here i am. screaming at a seasonal sun.



do you feel offended that this moment of clarity was my meant to be my punishment because my multiplication was off? pre-algebra was the thing that got me into writing and art.

i could not accomplish so it led me to accomplishment.




this feeling is a feeling. is a real feeling. i refer you to shakespeare and all his prodigies. where poetry became more than womanly. less than manly. where androgyny was not a prodigy.
here we are now. her poster is over your trundle bed that rolls out.


german legos. here in your cottages. the faces of profound. like silhouettes of sound.
every one great dies when they are 27.

it's true.

too bad i don't do heroine.





whiskey vs. machismo.

gives women strength. i want a women president. a bottle in her hand. a strength in her gut. a reason to fight. a child in danger. a reservation or two. not a whores optimism.




a ball and chain. a reason for living. a reason for dancing. in the summertime. and a strong jaw for kissing. to the background of an electric guitar. imagine.



i need a leader with breasts. a belly. a love for music. put your hands on the organs of what devours and creates. with hips. and pelvis.

i see a greyhound bus an adventure. a love affair with the scenery. she came from california like a queen. with gold in her womb.

dear port author texas. rot in hell.

she sits and waits. she's taken in by designs and college rule paper. the way a certain felt tip pen feels in her hand. exciting. it's the same brand she would take from her fathers desk. like a criminal she would draw. scribble. write the mundane. in secret. with stolen tools. copy paper at first. notebook. composition. composite drawings. houses on the shore. always a lighthouse. always a pier. a place she's never seen but knows exists. in a dream. somewhere.

he'd always notice when a pen went missing. she's a lot like him. the good parts she hopes.

there is the need to expand her vocabulary. there's only so many words she knows to describe the way the world works. her travel experience is infantile. and her taste buds are afraid. but she has hope for a late start. gun shoots off. the race. she's got a sense of urgency about her at all times. even when she's stationary. a yankee in spirit. rushed. always rushed. here in the sugar sweet peachheart of the south. she waits for her lover to come home.


once. there was an empty room. once. she cried on the floor for you. once. her heart was broken. and the fragments fell like hail into different parts of her life. once. with acrylic paint. on your back. she was healed. and as you flipped her over onto her back. there was this nervousness.

i looked at those photos today. and every time i look into the bathtub i see the spot of paint that won't come off. and i hope that as long as it stays. that feeling. harboring. waves. on the shore. light shining. beacon. it will stay with me.

but it's just a spot of paint. it's just a spot of paint. it's just a spot. i know all your spots.