poem fragments...i will turn this into something someday.

like my brother sans his fix, 

my body was shaking.

u left me and asked if i was okay.

i nodded, but it didn't matter.  you still went away.

i run and run, chasing a high.

but i swear all my endorphins have been used up.

after, i still feel the same.

an everyday occurrence

I was shopping at the mall, just earlier today

Oceans of people passed me by, passed my way.

Afraid to make eye contact, afraid to look into their souls

I avoid connection, afraid of what a mild encounter might hold.

I hate their stabbing eyes, looking me up and down.

I loathe their stares, raping me, making me feel like their sex clown.

why can't i use my voice?

Yesterday, on my way to class,

I took the bus.

Because of overcrowding(and fear of panic)

I regretted my decision, all in a rush.

Situations like that make me feel out of body,

out of control.

My body grew sweaty immediately.

People around, unfamiliar faces, all staring.

Someone pulled the lever, a stop signaling.

It was my building, my stop.

I whispered a meek, excuse me.

But no one heard my plea.

So as not to be rude, (as I was always taught)

I did not raise my voice

I did not raise my voice like

 that time when you went inside of me.

I had no choice.

I thought it was the polite thing to do. 

again I cried out, in what I thought was more than a hush,

Excuse me, please.

Get out (of my way) please.

But my voice seemed to go unheard.

I elbowed my way, forcefully through the crowds.

I barely made my way out, when driver yelled out after me,

"Next time speak up!"

It made me wonder

why is it i don't know how to use my voice?

insomnia

i didn't sleep at all last night, and I have two exams today.

Messy Reunions (revised)

I recall a reunion of sorts.

faces from old, smiling.

hugs and high fives, arms stretching.

shot up.

liquid 

down.

more hugs, bodies compiling. 

cards shuffle, music blares.

I can't move with all this sound.

"Make it stop," I think, but mean to say. 

The rush continues in my direction.

I watch my body from above as it lays on the ground,

music screaming eminently in my ears.

Make it stop I continue to think,

but I was never able to speak.

Get away from me, get away.

Turn this noise off.  But the notes keep weaseling their way into my ears.

 

"Make it stop," I finally mutter, but want to scream.

I still watch my body from above, hoping it was all a dream.

the t-shirt of the band that i liked

he was a good friend of mine.  

good, but not best.

wore a t-shirt of a band i liked 

when we first met.

we bantered on about the war.

how it was marching on too long.

he was a cool cat, you know? the kind you can trust.

but I guess I was very wrong.

i kissed him, (only because i was drunk) outside on the grass.

i saw her out there with a bottle of courage,

or maybe it was a glass?

all of us talked, smoked, and enjoyed the spring breeze.

i kissed him again, nothing more. (I have my limits).

but maybe i'm a tease?

later, we went back inside the apartment

to join our friends.

everyone was was reaching their peak.

the night was coming to an end.

a few of us sat,

finishing our drinks.

his roommate went to bed,

the rest of us carried on, fighting sleep.

my head grew heavy

and my vision blurry.

i asked if it would be a burden if i plopped on his couch.

he nodded 

and got me a pillow in a hurry.

my friend (with the tshirt of the band i liked)

retired to his bed.

the others were bored, tired of the scene, 

so they all left.

hours later i awoke on the same couch

in a confused mess

i looked down, and my green shirt

 from the night before

was crumpled up next to my jeans on the floor.

I squinted slants through the darkness

 in an effort to detect

whose body filled mine 

with no remorse or regret.

my friend(the one with the tshirt of the band i liked)

was likely solidly asleep in his bed

because the face in front of me was that of his roommates.

(someone I now, sadly, wish was dead).

so now i dont know up from down

(or a friend from a foe).

I don't know love from sex

or a dove from a crow.

my heart is worn,

my time concept is on freeze

i'm living in these memories

and i'm afraid i'm

no longer a tease.

OKAY E...help me end this... im stumped and at a block

a memoir of sorts (revision 2)

My strength has limits. I'm not always this bold.

I went to bed earlier, but awoke afraid.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

My face was hot with sweat, but the air outside was cold.

I decided to delete your number today.

My strength has limits. I'm not always this bold.

I stayed at home, hoping to release this ache of old

while my family went to church to pray.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

I took you to an event once. (It was cold.)

I laughed, trying to cover the mistakes I had made.

My violet dress was satin, different from my usual mold.

My strength has limits.  I'm not always this bold.

I cried over you, not realizing it was my dignity that had been sold.

I received your letter at work, in the midst of my day.

I took a pill or several, and then in my bed I laid.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

I think I've given up. Take my cards. I finally fold.

My phone is empty now, why did i keep those numbers anyway?

Maybe if I find someone new these wounds will fade.

My strength has limits. I'm not always this bold.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

Messy reunions

I recall a reunion of sorts.

faces from old, smiling.

hugs and high fives, arms stretching.

shot up.

liquid 

down.

more hugs, bodies compiling. 

cards shuffle, music blares.

I can't move with all this sound.

"Make it stop," I think, but mean to say. 

The rush continues in my direction.

I watch my body from above as it lays on the ground,

music screaming eminently in my ears.

Make it stop I continue to think,

but I am no longer able to speak.

Get away from me, get away.

Turn this noise off.  But the notes keep weaseling their way into my ears.

 

"Make it stop," I finally mutter, but want to scream.

I still watch my body from above, hoping it was all a dream.

a memoir of sorts (revised)..feedback

This fear should dissipate, or so i am told.

I went to bed earlier, but awoke afraid.

My strength has limits. I'm not always this bold.

My face was hot with sweat, but the air outside was cold.

I decided to delete your number today.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

I stayed at home, hoping to release this ache of old

while my family went to church to pray.

My strength has limits.  I'm not always this bold.

I took you to an event once. (It was cold.)

I laughed, trying to cover the mistakes I had made.

My violet dress was satin, different from my usual mold.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

I cried over you, not realizing it was my dignity that had been sold.

I received your letter at work, in the midst of my day.

I took a pill or several, and then in my bed I laid.

My strength has limits.  I'm not always this bold.

I think I've given up. Take my cards. I finally fold.

My phone is empty now, why did i keep those numbers anyway?

Maybe if I find someone new these wounds will fade.

This fear should dissipate, or so I am told.

My strength has limits. I'm not always this bold.

a memoir of sorts.

I deleted your number today.

My face was hot with sweat, but the air outside was cold.

Earlier my family went to church to pray.

I stayed home, hoping to release this ache of old.

Your number is gone, but the scars you left will stay.

This fear should dissipate, or so i am told.

I went to bed earlier, but awoke afraid.

My strength has limits, i'm not always this bold.

I took you to an event once, i eagerly paid.  

Escaping early, we went outside (even though it was cold).

I laughed, hoping to cover the mistakes I had made.

My violet dress was satin, different from my usual mold.

I received your letter while at work, in the midst of my day.

I cried over you, not realizing it was my dignity that had been sold.

I took a pill, or several, and then in my bed I laid. 

I called you, hung up confused. Your heart was cold.

My phone is empty now, why did i keep those numbers anyway?

i think i've given up.  take my cards.   i finally fold.

maybe if i find someone new, the wounds will fade.

a smoke outside might aid, but it is too cold. 

 

blah

"I can't seem to find a forward path, because I keep living in my past."

-Charles Denison

why is it i all of a sudden have add?

Lately I can't concentrate. I've tried to do my stats and study for that midterm exam. I have to write a paper. I should really write that paper.
But all i can think about is my consuming unhappiness. My thoughts race back and forth in time.
Uneasy thoughts that lead to uneasy feelings. Uneasy memories and moments. I often feel haunted. It's like I'm haunted by these moments in time that should really have no effect on me anymore. Sometimes I wish memory erasing (like they do in Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind), was possible and prevalent today. A spotless mind would be nice to have. But, if i did that, i wouldn't know what i know now. so, maybe i should be grateful?

O'Hare Unease

We met at the airport oasis once.
It was by chance, even though we planned ahead.
Looking each other in the eyes,
we carried on like it was fine (like we were fine).

Smiling and laughing because it seemed like the right thing to do.

But we both knew.

We both knew.

Knew that like the plane she would leave on,
A part of us, each of us, is gone (taken away) by a force greater than our own.


We carried on the conversation just as we carry on our lives.


But we both know (it's always in the back of our minds and sometimes even the fronts).
A part of us is missing, a part of us is gone.

ripped corners

it started with a simple scribble, a line on a page.

I was given it when I was young,

told to take care and create it into something beautiful.

an almost unmarked sheet awaiting its future.

they began scratching

and shading,

marking the print.

the slate is now altered, far from the same.

parts of the page are torn, the corners ripped.

although it is difficult to make out

the original comes back, sometimes when i squint.

i wish the image would have been

differently drawn

maybe if i find the right artist, (you),

you could remove some of the marks and somehow erase the permanent pen

so for the moment--i hope they can all let us be

just take my hand, and draw the lines of life with me.

old stuff 5/9/07

Swallow it down

Suck in my sobs

Put up my mask, bare my facade.

Noone needs to see, to know.

The train rolls on, and my sorrow only grows.

more old stuff 8/28/07

Unwanted and used--she puts up her smile.

She pushes her worries aside 

just for a little while.

Why doesn't he really want her?

Why doesn't he care?

She smirks and remembers what she's been told.

life isn't fair.

It is done.  She lays alone.

Her soul aches as the pieces of her heart are carelessly thrown.

Why can't she stand to look at herself?

She bottles up her emotions

 and sets them on the shelf.

old stuff

I cover my worries and pretend like it's "fine."

I convince myself it's okay...

just drink the bottle of wine.

Inadequacy swirls through my veins.

My heart is broken, numb from all these

stains.

I can't see a future, I hate to look at the past

I need to move on--God--how long will this last?

It stings. 

It burns.

I can't imagine a love that's real.

Everyone will fail me.

Will I ever be able to truly feel?

joy

this morning i woke up happy for the first time in what seems like foreverrrrr.

 

if only he knew

2/24/09

The other day my dad told me I needed to start being nicer to boys.

How ironic.

If only he knew...

If only he knew how, every time I shake hands with a boy,

I wonder whether or not he's talking to me because he likes my "perfect ass" 

or my pretty blue eyes.

I know it's only a matter of time until he grabs my "perfect ass"

or gets in his mind that my pretty blue eyes want nothing other than to

fuck.

him.

(because who wouldn't want to fuck him, anyways).

and surely my smiling at him and wearing shirt a little too tight gives him every right.

surely me being passed out on HIS couch

gives him

every.

right.

because i smiled at him, right?

because i took the drink from him, right?

if only he knew.

if only he knew how i want to make myself throw up when i think about any boy I

have been nice to. 

if only he knew how tired i am of being nice.

I often wonder why it is I always have these
tension head. aches.
the pain seems to start in my heart and seep deep
up to my head
my neck
my shoulders.
sometimes the pain of a headache like this is
comforting.
like a hard run, a cut on my wrist, a good puke,
or a tattoo.

(maybe a should get that new tattoo?)

pain and pleasure are supposed to be opposites right?
why is it, then, that i somehow feel a strange relief when my body's pain (for the moment) matches the pain i feel inside?

Hollow Musk

Nights like these are easy to find.
Rush of your musk. Rush of my
loneliness.
Rush of the smothering unsubsiding thoughts
of you.
or the idea of you.
sometimes i pretend.
i pretend that you are someone you aren't.
if i pretend, i can be happy.
(at least for the night).
I mold you and fit you,
twist you and turn you,
into my own version of cinderella.
But, when it's all done,
I'm missing both slippers instead of only one.
My feet are cold.
My heart is pounding.

Your hollow musk only turns circles in my stomach now.
I am still somehow empty.

it is the same kind of emptiness I feel even when you are inside of me.

tulip lips.

I watch my little girl with her father, hands intertwined. Their unmistakable happiness floods from their inners, beaming for all to see.
She is precious.
Innocent.
He tickles her as she sticks her fore finger between her tulip lips sucking for comfort (and out of habit) as small children do. He holds her close as he promises her a golden life,
full of fairy tales and shiny dreams.

I watch as the same little girl, far from innocent, is shaking uncontrollably on the bathroom floor.
She sticks the same fore finger between her lips, still tulip in shape, straight down her throat,
hoping to purge herself of all the unaccomplished fairy tales, all the pain.
Time after time she hacks like an old woman or lung cancer patient, trying to rid herself of the plague.
Her plague, green with disease,
infects her.
It infects her entire being.

love is a harsh thing

why did i love him?
i often wonder.
was it the way he made me feel?
certainly, it could not be.

i wasn't myself.
i wasn't happy.

wasn't skinny enough.
wasn't pretty enough.
wasn't enough.
i'm never enough. i never feel like i'm enough.

so i often wonder what love is supposed to feel like.
agonizing pain?
a hollow, useless sentiment?
or a temporary body to fill me for the moment.


i spin in
circles.
twirl around.
maybe if i spin enough, I think.
maybe i will spin myself into understanding.

so i spin and stumble.
twirl and
tumble.

I only find myself more mixed up than I was before.
I have nowhere to go.
nothing left i can do.
so on i spin.

love is a harsh thing.

Word Painting

"I'm unhappy," I told her with shaky hands.
"What do I do, what can I do?"
She, from miles away replied.
"Paint," she said.
"Paint?"
"Write?"
"Pray," she said.
So, here I am.
Painting a prayer picture with my words.
It's words that haunt me.
Words that hurt.
Moments.
Moments full of words.
Pain.
Words. Moments that leave me fragmented.
"I wish it was easier," I say to her.


I wish it would all just disappear with my words.

Run

run.
i'm at work, and it hits me all in a rush.
i want to run.
i want to beat that
renewing.
rhythm.
with my feet.
run.
away.
i want to run it all away.
i think to myself
maybe if i run fast enough?
maybe if i run far enough?
long enough?
it will
go.
away.