||[11 Dec 2009|08:44am]
My feelings for you shame me into silence. The truth of this and your name will never be revealed. It is you who has made me realize the failure of my life. The thought of you fills me with longing and at the same time, a burning humiliation that produces scar tissue and dead brain cells. Your existence mocks me and I am unable to confront this. You have no idea of any of this. None of this is your fault. It is completely with me. It is you who makes me see what I really am. I am weak and out of touch with myself.
||[21 Oct 2009|11:56pm]
i swore to you i'd leave before you yet
here i am, sitting in a worn leather couch
i've sat in every day for months on end
for more months than i can swallow
and you're far away, tiptoeing mountaintops,
so high you taste the rain before it falls and
i hate to say i miss you
it is wrong and it is death
two things i see too much of to allow for this.
but then i remember
who you are
in relation to
who you were
and remember this:
you are not mine.
you are not who you were
and neither am i
||[18 Jul 2009|12:07am]
at sixteen, i was illegal and brilliant,
my fingernails chewed to half-moons.
i took off my clothes in a late march
field. i had secret car wrecks,
secret hysteria. i opened my mouth
to swallow stars. in backseats
i learned the alchemy of guilt, lust,
and distance. i was unformed and total.
i swore like a sailor. But slowly the cops
stopped coming around. the heat lifted
its palms. the radio lost some teeth.
now i see the landscape behind me
as through a claude glass—
tinted deeper, framed just so, bits
of gilt edging the best parts.
i see my unlined face, a thousand
film stars behind the eyes. i was
every murderess, every whip-
thin alcoholic, every heroine
with the silver tongue. always young
paul newman’s best girl. always
a lightning sky behind each kiss.
some days iwatch myself
in the third person, speak to her
in the second. i say: i will
meet you in sleep. i will know you
by your stillness and your shaking.
by your second-hand clothes.
by your bruises left by mouths
since forgotten. this is not
an elegy because i cannot bear
for it to be. it is only a tree branch
against the window. it is only a cherry
tomato slowly reddening in the garden.
i will put it in my mouth. it will
be sweet, and you will swallow.
|everything that kept me together is falling apart
||[16 Jul 2009|11:28pm]
what i really hate is that every single hour that passes by is agony because it's another hour farther away from the last time i saw rachel. everything i do feels wrong, i don't feel like a whole person. i don't feel like a real person. i dread going back to regular life because that will make this entire nightmare feel real.
we went to her apartment today to see bug. i went in her room. it smelled like her. her blankets were still messy from when she slept there this weekend. her shoes were in the exact place that she took them off on sunday. her jewelry and makeup were out where she left them. sunday's crossword was almost finished and lying on the floor. i sat in the middle of her room for a good half hour, maybe more, just breathing. i took mental pictures of all of her things, things that are so fucking familiar, they could've been mine.
losing rae was like having this enormous, gaping hole torn in the universe. everything i see is laced with her and everything i do and say has this heavy shadow around it. i was with her at 8:45pm and she was gone at 11. since the moment zak called to tell me the unthinkable was happening, i haven't slept right, haven't eaten right, haven't been alright. i just can't wrap my brain around the idea that such a vibrant person, such a bright, exciting life can just be snuffed out, that i'm going to actually exist in a world without rachel.
i wish i'd stayed out at the bar with her longer.
i wish i'd hugged her harder when i left.
i wish i was certain that she knew how much i loved her.
i think she probably does.
||[27 Jun 2009|01:19am]
the way to get what you want is not by pretending you already have it.
||[15 Jun 2009|09:09pm]
when you start to know someone, all their physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell in their energy, recognize the scent of their skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That’s why you can’t fall in love with beauty. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and your body but not your heart. And that’s why, when you really connect with a person’s inner self, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant.
||[07 Apr 2009|08:51am]
YOU WHO NEVER ARRIVED
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me--the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
rainer maria rilke
||[04 Apr 2009|09:56pm]
while the day outside glides by like ticker tape,
the night brings violets,
tapestries of eyes,
the soft anonymous
talkers: 'you all right?'
the starched, inaccessible beast.
dead egg, I lie
on a whole world I cannot touch
||[03 Apr 2009|10:23pm]
this night of joy
||[03 Apr 2009|03:45pm]
SO MANY PEOPLE SUCK SO HARD. SO HARD. AND I WANT TO HURT THEM. I WANT THEM TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE. SERIOUSLY. YIKES.
that said, there are plenty of people who don't suck and i'm glad i know some.
today (these days), i'm feeling really overwhelmed yet really stagnant and bored. i'm in the process of applying to a couple of schools (Eugene Lang, CUNYs, etc) so i can transfer the fuck out of USM and get on with my life/actually do exciting things/be somewhere that isn't portland, but i'm also grappling with the idea of maybe just sticking around here for a couple of years and just getting an english degree.
What's really strange to me is that the whole time i was living in boston this past fall/winter, all i wanted was to be in portland. and while i'm convinced it wasn't just because Sam was here, i can't seem to find the reason i came back. I'm convinced that i genuinely felt like portland was the right place for me to be but now that i'm here on the regular, i want nothing more than to get the fuck out.
sam and i watched gonzo last night. hunter s. thompson really led an amazing life and did amazing things. i fell asleep after watching it and had wild dreams about doing crazy shit and really living my life instead of just watching it happen from what feels like the sidelines.
2 years ago, i feel like i was really living. i was writing all the time, experiencing some really fucked up and monumental things on a regular basis, and surrounded myself with plenty of insane, beautiful people. i felt things on such a deeper level than i do now. but i was also being stupid and i was hurting myself and everyone around me.
i feel healthier now. i'm in a healthy relationship, i cut out the people that made me want to kill myself, i've made responsible choices about school/work/blahblahblah but i can't help feeling like i'm settling. thing is, i don't write well anymore. the things that appear in my head don't even seem worth putting down on paper so i just don't bother. i feel like i've become lazy and inept and it's really bumming me out. what will i do if i don't write? maybe it's still in me, maybe i just need a good kick in the head or something.
i'm being nullified by the goddamned daily grrrrrind,
and the restlessness that's always been around is really chewing on my sanity.
i can't help but think about doing something crazy and probably inevitably detrimental.
one question just keeps ticking relentlessly by inside my mind:
would i rather live peacefully, calmly and responsibly and get a legitimate job doing something mildly boring, yet also mildly fulfilling, or would i rather fucking live?
||[10 Mar 2009|12:26am]
i feel like something catastrophic is about to happen but i can't seem to make myself care. i'm completely disconnected from the situation i've been placed in and i don't really know how to deal with it.
||[27 Feb 2009|01:33pm]
1. a picture of you in your room.
2. a picture with someone you don't actually like.
3. a picture of you very drunk.
4. a picture of you on your birthday, or your favourite holiday.
5. the youngest picture you can find of yourself in digital form.
6. a picture of you in one of your favourite outfits.
7. a picture of you making a goofy face at the camera.
8. a picture you miiiiiight have edited to make yourself more attractive.
9. a picture of a night you regret...
10. a picture of you truly being yourself.
11. the most recent picture of you.
12. a picture of you being absolutely ridiculous.
13. a picture of you showing off a new haircut/color.
14. a picture of a time in your life that's over, but you wish it wasn't.
15. a picture of a time in your life that's over, and you couldn't be more thankful that it is.
16. a picture of you when you were anything but happy.
17. a picture of you that you had no idea was being taken.
18. a picture of you when you were a different person than you are now.
19. a picture of you with someone you love.
20. a picture of how you'd like the world to see you.
21. a picture that describes how you'd like to spend every day.
22. a picture of a time when everything was changing.
23. a picture that makes your heart hurt.
24. a picture that makes your heart smile.
||[03 Feb 2009|09:45pm]
the sky fell from the center of my lover's eyes
ominous and foreboding and dark, very dark.
first thing every the morning i ask,
"do you still love me?"
hold my breath and wait for his answer
not knowing what i'll do if his
dreams have changed his mind
||[03 Feb 2009|09:21pm]
the most lonely i have ever been was in the morning
laying beside you while you slept and murmured disjointed sentiments
as your dreams ticked by.
it was cold and the sun streamed in between the blinds
and the space behind my eyes ached and my body
begged for sleep but i couldn't do it
so i just lay there, wishing you'd wake up and hold me
wishing you were closer to me even as your breath warmed
the inside of my mouth and your pillowlips grazed mine
as your breathing deepened and you sunk farther into sleep.
the most lonely feeling was laying beside you,
trying to will your eyes open, make you see me,
convince me i'm alive, not alone.
there is nothing more empty than
our cold room in the morning
when you're not awake.
||[09 Jan 2009|12:48pm]
1. Pick 15 of your favorite movies
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search or other search functions.
1. I love you Harry. You make me feel like a person.
2. You mean she would rather imagine herself relating to an absent person than build relationships with those around her?
3. Baby, this is the truth, okay? Little girls like you, they have to work in dark factories, where they go blind for $1.60 a month just to make Mommy her pretty shoes. Can you imagine that, Caitlin?
4. Trucks came to pick up the children at the mental hospital. The other children asked where they were going. "They're going to heaven," said the nurses. So the children got on the truck singing. You think I wasn't raised right, because I felt pity for them?
5. This afternoon, we walked into a fruit store, and the clerk thinks I'm some out-of-town hick. "Those apples will be two bucks each," he tells me. That's where I outsmarted him. I pass over a five. And as he's about to give me a dollar change, I say, "Keep it, we're even. On the way in, I stepped on a grape."
6. Today I've come up with the perfect sentence. The rhythm, the syntax, the dipthongs, the dissidence--ahem--Last night, I dreamt of Glocca Morra... again.
7. Liking both Marvin Gaye and Art Garfunkel is like supporting both the Israelis and the Palestinians.
8. If you ever carried out your proposed threat you would experience such a shitstorm of consequences my friend your empty little head would be spinning faster than the wheels of your Schwinn bicycle.
9. This is your fucked-up country, it's your responsibility!
10.We are very rare and we are mostly men.
11.Let's never come here again because it will never be as much fun.
12. Ah, hon, ya got Arby's all over me.
13.You show me how to control a wild fucking gypsy and I'll show you how to control an unhinged, pig-feeding gangster.
14. Leslie and I have an amazing relationship and it's very physical, he still pushes all my buttons. People say 'oh but he's so much older than you' and you know what, I'm the one having to push him away. We have so much in common, we both love soup and snow peas, we love the outdoors, and talking and not talking. We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about.
15.I'll tell you in another life, when we are both cats.
|you don't get it.
||[08 Dec 2008|07:17pm]
you ask me what i get from
negative thinking and i smile
and remember my young mother
with her hands in a bowl of flour
sifting it through chalky fingers
telling me stories wrought from
hours in the wrong man's home.
she convinced me that
life is never really fair and
my dad, he used to chew
and he spit it in the shower,
little dirty rivers running down the tile,
grainy pools of molasses
left to clog the pipes, there were always
little flecks in my shampoo,
between the bristles of my toothbrush,
on mom's ivory bars of soap.
never really heal
you will never understand, it's like
the light on her ring on the windowsill
or dad's smoke in the backyard
where his cigarette's still burning
in the grass.
|here is your haiku
||[08 Dec 2008|07:10pm]
lonely people still
write love poems as if to prove
that they learned nothing
|color movement explosions and light
||[17 Nov 2008|01:43pm]
on tired august days i rushed to your house
unbuttoning my shirt as i stepped from my car
in the still, quiet air of your room
you waited, skin alabaster smooth
your hands move forward,
making birds fly on the wall
i hold my breath, my air,
while my words move through your
life is our business. we occupy quiet corners
tell midnight secrets to the bedroom walls,
scare the birds from the sidewalk like its something new
everyday we play, kissing autumn leaves
kissing each other--late nights, even later mornings
we drift hand in hand through midnight streets
rain falls and we pull our scarves in tighter,
pull our hats down while we chase
the tail lights of a taxi.
everything is colormovementexplosionslight
|it's a kafka high
||[17 Sep 2008|03:25pm]
i skipped an interview today at this
swanky bar downtown, i couldn't seem to see a point if you won't
be here when it's over, i stayed in bed instead, 'cause it smells like you
but listen, this could've been it! this could've meant freedom.
i could've become the best waitress in boston,
serving drinks to the men in their suits after work
could've found one to love me, one to take me home
to give me that thing that's been missing
a stable something to lean on
for the rest of my life,
some man to show me the purpose each day holds. i could
burn his toast, toss some cream in his coffee,
some cheese in his eggs and wish him good morning
it's what i'm born for, that thing, that thing, that
chance to be a real woman for someone, anyone
who isn't you because you
you make me crazy all day with one smile
make me the loopy-eyed lover with your hand on my knee
and when you leave, you leave me
high as hell, left to turn up the music, left to wait for the crash
watching dust lilt on a breeze blowing through
my tiny, empty room.
and boy, you're all wrong, like a cold cup of coffee
you've got nothing to give me but days in the sun
stories and laughter and moments to float through, a hand in mine
and i'm eager to see you
a dog in the car on a long ride home
born a ghost in the room you created, catch myself in the comfort
a warm place to go
i lie flat on my back, point my nose to the ceiling
i pretend that i don't think it matters but, baby, it does, i do!
i care about every moment you've lived through, every
sentiment you've clung to
every person after person after person who's
left or disappointed you.
now i'm in here without you
in this house of stone and shadow
sprawled over piles of clothes, just wishing you'd call me
call me call me call me call me call me
take this damn drink from my hand and just call me
tell me you'll move to boston, you'll get a job
let me make your eggs in the morning cause i'm born to
love you. right now i'm born to hold you