your voice is a rhapsodic melody,

gleaming hallelujahs

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

i keep dreaming of you and i in an ice cream parlor
it's 1956 and your collar is crooked
our sundae has two spoons, long
like branches of an willow, dipping into
two ice cream scoops like the moon into the clouds

there's chocolate smudged on your upper lip
and i wipe lovingly away with a cloth napkin
leaning a bit too close with an insecure smile
oh god i wish it were that easy
but when i wake up i'm still vying for your attention
leaning too far over the handles of my bike and eating
sixteen cupcakes in one sitting

i'm still on tiptoes walking by the jukebox
head down as i see your arms around another girl,
the smell of your james dean jacket
lingering around the red vinyl booth
with the big springs poking through

maybe one day it will be my bony shoulder
your arm lays on, my blushing cheeks
my lace and chiffon left with wrinkles
unironable and spelling your name

but i'm still stuck pouring your coffee
writing love poems out back by the dumpsters
clutching ivory napkins you used to wipe your lips
nesting it in my pale palm with the bulging veins,
wishing it was my lips you had used instead

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

head propped against a sweaty palm
on a muggy june afternoon; air thick with
water and knowledge and lust.
hair pulled into a lazy pony-tail
limp blonde locks curling at the end (a flourish to a love letter)
tired from years of straining not to be neglected
left hand slips quietly into the
pocket of your old sweatpants,
a sight unseen by all but the likes of me.
i am the ever watchful parent of the door
as their child is on a first date,
hands wringing as i glance toward you for the
sixth... seventh. time in one minute

my tongue's bloody from all the words i've
battled to keep from you, the god of war,
my enyo, destructor of cities, reigning supreme over

Sunday, April 20, 2008

you are everwhere; screaming
powerfully and without any meaning
standing with melting backbone as
words wilt upon your lips
your body twists, to spite me
tasting of penchants for other women
and the devastation of something sacred
the moon, at once, suffocates
on her loving gaze and subtle smile
turning from mother to sister
in a moment, she is leveled
expansive but still limited
left to ache for her sun king
to deliver her a rose bouquet

Sunday, March 30, 2008

I just feel sick all the time now.


I haven’t been into town in a while. I’ve been getting the groceries delivered and the mail is shoved through the slot each day so why bother going out when I can just stay in? I walk around the woods enough and I trim the hedges and speak to the trees so it’s not like it gets too lonely. But today I’ve decided that it’s time to reintegrate into modern culture. I will buy a cellular phone and an internet connection, even if it costs me my soul. Besides, everyone is doing it. I button up my wool coat and lace up my boots. A feeling inside me starts to grow, a feeling I haven’t felt in years. It’s a vague uncomfortable knot in my chest. Insecurity. Is my hair too long? Are my clothes too outdated? What if I make a fool of myself? But I decide not to care. I pull on a knitted cap and walk out the door. The walk into town doesn’t take long, only forty-five minutes or so, but it gives me enough time to turn back once or twice. But I don’t. I keep going. I round the corner and I begin to see buildings. The street has a sort of hum to it. Stopping in front of a store window, I stare for a few minutes before moving on. I almost forgot what it looks like to see a saleswoman try to compliment someone into buying a $200 sweater. I look down at my tattered coat and begin to feel that insecurity again. This time it doesn’t go away. As I walk towards the heart of town, the street’s hum gets louder and louder and when I reach the biggest intersection the noise is almost deafening. I realize that I’m sweating. And now this newfound uncertainty is consuming me. The bustle of town is too loud, it’s too much, and I can’t take it. I hear a small whisper from somewhere and after spinning around I realize it’s me. The whisper is growing. There are no words, just something short of what I think someone being strangled would sound like and now I’m screaming. The screams bounce back and forth between the buildings like the big rubber ball I have at home. Home. I look down the street, mapping in my mind the quickest way back to the road that will bring me back home. I begin to run down the sidewalk, dodging passerby and leaving broken grocery bags in my wake. Now I have made a fool of myself, running down the street screaming with my hands over my ears. Maybe next time I’ll just stay home.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

I took Everything Is Illuminated out from the libary about two weeks ago, but to be honest, I'm not enjoying it. I'm only twenty five pages in, which is ridiculous for me. I'm just not getting into it. I'm not even interested. So on Thursday I went back to the library and took out two books of poetry. Charles Bukowski's "Sifting through the madness for the Word, the line, the way," and e.e. cummings' complete works. The first I picked up because of the cover, which looks like paint thrown up against a wall. The second, because I love e.e. cummings, duh.

I also read a blog entry that Zack had posted, which (I wish I was kidding) made me cry. He doesn't even realize how much he doesn't want to be with me, how terrible we were becoming for each other. Even his own best friend told me that Zack's codependency was at fault. I'm not looking to blame anyone, but he can't pin that bit on me.

Oh well. At least I can write again.

each day i watched the flower grow
from seed to root to bulb to blossom
the silent beauty in it's petals
would keep me captivated 'til dusk
i didn't want to lose it to the snow
so i sliced the stem clean off
but when i put it in a glass to drink
it would not even sip and wilted
so i pressed the poor thing
in a book of love poetry
to absorb it's quiet touch
or something
but my flower now lay brown and dead
so i buried it, and marked it's grave
in it's next life it will be a dove
and i will shoot it down

Thursday, October 04, 2007

I walk through the hallways and say nothing. I only watch my friends go by, go on. I can't help but feel sick. The classmates I had in middle school have gone from being promising to depressing. Getting high and getting off are the new main attractions. I don't want to be one of them. I want to be so much more. ramble ramble ramble.

I want to leave a legacy, or roses at your feet
I want to be an icon, or a demigod at least
I want to take the honey and escape the angry swarm
I want to feel wind's icy cut, but still remain quite warm
I want to create matter where there once was nothing there
I want to be a blushing bride with raindrops in my hair
I want to have a humble home with ivy at the door
I want to throw my head back and let out a lion's roar
I want to never miss a friend or shed a single tear
I want to lay myself to sleep without a doubt or fear

Song of the moment: "Hussel" by M.I.A. ft. Afrikan Boy. I want the Kala album so badly. Next time I go out, that baby is mine.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Insomnia is crazy tonight. I just had an Oreo crisis, with an amusing Jack Sparrow-esque stumble into my kitchen after stubbing my toe on the floor. Wish I'd had a video camera. Anyways, I just wrote a song. I don't really know why all of my songs are so short. That bothers me, a bit. Oh well, tired brains do not good song machines make. Or something.


compare me to a summer's day
anything will do, anything will do
voice your wish of me to stay
anything will do, anything will do

a reaching hand, a quiet plea
anything will do, anything will do
a sign that you need only me
anything will do, anything will do

and my self esteem has dropped
i cannot seem to reassure
since the compliments have stopped
i realize that it's immature

for all i've given, all i've got
which, frankly sir, is not a lot
are words of lame apology
and projected guaruntee
which quickly turns around
who expected that rebound
i'm slowly seeping inside myself
i hope this letter helped

compare me to a summer's day
anything will do, anything will do
voice your wish of me to stay
anything will do, anything will do
anything will do, anything will do