drinking perrier, listening to & ampersand

i won't quite know how to finish this...
but that still doesn't stop me from starting.

she needs to find an everlasting love.
be it man, deity, or poetry.
she needs to wake to find...every single breath is something to worship.
how hard this life already is, to make it harder on yourself?!
that. is blashpemy.
to break your own heart?!
to make yourself miserable for nothing's sake?!
i've had it up to my ears with my own self-pity.

i won't wallow in another's.

...

i'm not sure what's going to happen tomorrow.

and i'm not sure that i've still got poetry running through my veins.
something happened to me that makes those sloppy adjectives and strung out metaphors seem like a thing of days gone past.
like i haven't got it in me anymore.
and the fact that i don't want to squeeze the words out...
makes me realize that maybe i never needed them in the first place.

perhaps poetry was something of a crutch for me?

ten ten

she speaks to me like family.
saying things she's come to know about me.
things i already know.
such as, "you are as wild as the wind."

i tell the gravedigger that my heart...and my body...belong to thieves

i am my actions.
but moreso than anything, i am words.

and they'll never be able to speak my poetry.

but she and i...we need each other like antiques need the past

fuck your christmas bonus in the ass.

i hate the holidays.
i already miss the snow...

he won't know. he'll never know.

got a "merry christmas" from a person who used to call themselves my friend

i told her to fuck off. and damn, it felt good not to forgive someone for a change.

because i'm fond of them

open letter.
one chance. one chance is all i'd need to prove myself.
i'd be the woman standing on the mountain top, giving every last breath she has, to praise your existence
i'd be the sum of all the broken dreams you ever had and never intended to keep holding onto
i'd be as delectable as your favorite beer, and maybe you'd keep a little bit of the foam on your lip to lick off later
i'd be a cheap date
and i'd hold the door open for you and would thank you if you did the same for me
i'd find ways to make doors open for you
you and i, we'd do big things
and we'd make little things...that would grow into the concrete face of our love
all at once, we'd both be strong enough to carry the armor the other provides
but we will let it slide off easily for each other
i'll mend your broken bones with splints made from the rusted roots of my being
i'll give you terrible haircuts
i'll make those bad dreams go away by bending my fingers intwined like dream cathers and you will sleep and dream of love
i won't argue politics, unless provoked
and i'll root for your favorite teams
i'll never surrender so that your victories will be more fruitful
respect. i'll deem you in the highest regard
i'll spend my own money
some on you
more on us
like time
like moments
like writing you letters
and you'll have always loved my words

even though i can't promise you the world...i can give it what i've got

an oldie.

i'll tell you what i see when i look into a mirror...
i see a little girl, who has a long way, still, to go...
i see my father changing faces, changing moods, but never changing his mind...
almost foreseen, he doesn't give a shit about seeing his kids.
i see my mother, standing tall, living up to no one's standards, making sure to make due.
almost forgotten, she doesn't know how to let go of this child's eyes.
i see those eyes, stare back at me...and i wonder, who is it, i'm supposed to be...
i know one day, they won't be able to talk to me like they did in grade school...
and if they do, it won't hurt me like it used to...
i know one day, this face will grow tired...i'll earn wrinkles...my hair will gray...
i will finally be looking at the person i would aspire to become...
and i'll have sworn that i could already recognize myself...
hopefully, by then, i won't need mirrors.

if i were jesus.

if i were to raise up my father, in a light he didn't deserve...
to deify him...
so that he were considered a god.

perhaps he would love me as much as his other children.

maybe if my mother were more like mother theresa...
people would remember her in a different light...
they'd see that she truly was a saint...
she was all seeing, all knowing, and could heal the sick and wounded...
but what saint, has ever healed themselves?

if i were jesus...
i'd make the rain fall a little bit, every day...
i'd tell you not to pray to me...but to yourselves...
and you all, would finally know, finally see, and finally feel...
my love.