“The dog will return to eat its vomit.”|
When I was 14, I carved the name of a boy I liked
into my hip with a kitchen knife.
I’m wired that way.
I can only tolerate a love that hurts, that cuts jagged until it reaches bone.
I was born with my father’s eyes and his constant need
to destroy the body the soul sleeps inside of.
When my fiancé I broke up,
I started to drink. Drink to get drunk, smashed, black out,
drink to fuck the first man in line, and the man after him.
I let them do whatever they wanted. I was a rag doll full of whiskey. I never said no.
I was drinking rum & coke when I met Paul.
He was gorgeous to me, because I knew his lifestyle
would kill him young.
If his drinking didn’t kill him, his chain smoking would, his drunk-driving.
All the recklessness inside of him would eat him like a thick virus.
(Blue jeans, white shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn
it was like James Dean/ for sure)
When I was 3 years old, my mother warned me not to touch her curling iron,
so I wrapped my tiny hand around it
and I screamed through the burn.
(You’re so fresh to death & sick as cancer)
Paul liked to get drunk with me. He liked to say “I love you” when we fucked,
which he didn’t, and I knew that. I’m a smart girl with a bad heart.
To hear the words, though. To hear them and to know they’re lies, and
to say them back.
To know the truth is a horrible thing to live with.
Someone once said “to tell lies to others is cruel.
To tell lies to yourself and believe them is insanity.”
He left me with no warning. That whole summer I felt haunted,
like the ghost might come back. I waited up. I sat on my bedroom floor and drank Miller Light by myself
until I was drunk enough that standing up was fruitless.
I fucked my best friend for something to do.
Before Paul, I was dead. That summer, I was buried underground
and I was starting to decompose.
(I was like “no, please—stay here”)
Michael is a good man. My Uncle Charlie told me the best way to live your dreams
is to write them down first.
Michael drives two cars and he tells me “if we ever want to get a house together,
you need to get serious about your 401K.”
He let me inside him like salad—muscle-strengthening, good for the body, doctor recommended.
He talks about how lucky he is that he found me, as if I were something
that someone had been searching for.
I cheated on Michael with Paul, Michael and I went to a concert.
The building the band performed in was mirrors, wall-to-wall.
I felt Paul’s seamen swimming inside me, and I kind of liked that—
like pieces of him could not leave me, even if they wanted to.
Every man at that show looked like him; they held their beer bottles like he did.
I was trapped in a house of mirrors with my lover and a sea of faces to remind me
of what I had done.
It’s not that I don’t feel guilty.
People think that if you cheat once, you fucked up, but if it keeps happening
you must not even care.
(Being a bad bitch on the side/might not appeal to fools like you/but, you haven’t seen my man.)
I could love Michael, one day. I told him I loved him a few weeks ago.
I thought if I said it, maybe the love would come to life.
Maybe this love this love this love love was going to save the fucking world, I don’t know.
Saturday was Valentine’s Day. I heard early in the morning
Paul had a new girlfriend.
I felt sick with it for hours—the inappropriate rage washed over me until my throat felt thick with tears.
(love you more than those bitches before/say you’ll remember)
Michael sent me roses at work that day with a love letter.
(Say you’ll remember.)
When I was 7, my mom told me “look where you’re going, not where you’ve been”
in the busy parking lot of a strip mall. She held my hand and I kept looking back
at the car, wanting to return to it.
Apr. 19th, 2015 @ 07:17 am
my heart climbs love's lattice |
towards a softening sun
my vines beam with envy
as i present you
the fruit of my existence
with enough seeds
for a million
I’m watching the world|
Through my Midwest filter
A Michigan perspective
With a dash of Detroit
World events seems so distant
And national news so scattered
Only the local news is tangible
Though mostly through proximity
But who can encompass the world
And so much happening from afar
Those strangers in strange lands
Whose problems are not my own
It’s not a matter of apathy
Or some lacking of empathy
It’s a matter of effectiveness
Which points I can address
The stream of my influence
Rarely reaches a confluence
And the ebbing in my flow
Leaves a long, long way to go
Still, I can make a ripple
Reaching ever outward
An echo to show others
Of our commonality
I’m not expecting the world
To solve all of my problems
Nor even really to care
Though I dare not say they can’t
I just do what I can
To make this life better
For my friends and family
And, yes, yes, for myself
But I help where I can
Or try not to hinder
The efforts of others
Just helping themselves
If we all made a point
Of trying to do better
For ourselves and each other
Our news would be good
Everyone help another
Each sister and brother
Each father and mother
Such a world we’d discover
It looks so much like a dream
Through my Midwest filter
But I hope someday to see
It has become reality
Time is Change, and|
Change is inevitable
Thus, Time is inevitable
Neither Time nor Change
Are exactly the same
Yet, both are inescapable
Yet Time and Change
Are all about Matter
Which ceases to matter
Sudden spring shower|
Brings a chill to the warm air
Winter’s last echo
Head’s up on each April 1st|
When folks try to trick you
Pulling pranks and joking
Don’t be an April Fool!
Be mindful of dishonesty
In what folks do and say
Be wary and mistrusting
Watch out for games they play
These words are important
And not just for today
‘cause some folks try to fool us
Most every single day
So always keep your wits sharp
And question what folks do
And don’t fall for their antics
Don’t be an April Fool!
Tytle: A part of me|
Date: 22 February 2004
The level of English at the moment of writing: May be 15% :)
Life's roads are very very tangled.
There is no help of traffic-lights,
And all the streets are overcrowded,
There are no days, there are no nights.
There is just rudness, there is slush,
No love, affection and no crush.
I can't find out any way
To save all beauties of the day.
I stay up all the nights and days,
I cry, I can't find out my place.
There is no confidence around,
And to my mind the life goes down.
There is just selfishness around me.
I need more love happy to be.
I need more tenderness. Believe me,
It gives me power, helps to live.
May be you are that special person
And you will change my inner world.
This is the most important reason
You have no price as has the gold.
You are! I thank you that you are!
I thought I'll never have a friend.
It's sure that you've stolen my heart,
And I will love you till the end.
Is it the love? I think that Yes!
And you're my only man.
I need only one thing: God's Bless
And then... What will be then?
Mar. 31st, 2015 @ 10:28 am
A singular power|
A finite measure
Clear and definitive
A truth immutable
Alpha to Omega
Beginning to end
As a part of it all
Yet still individual
Each thing unique
Each thing its own
None ever repeating
Nor exactly the same
You and I, and all
Each of us is one
Together in many ways
Yet always separate
As flowers in the field
I’m often baffled by technology|
And overwhelmed by new things
It’s not that I don’t understand
How these things work, or why
But frequently I’m left wondering
“What the heck is happening?”
When this newfangled gadgetry
Starts doing stuff all by itself
Stuff I did not ask it to do
Stuff I do not need it to do
(At least not at that moment)
But the gadgets just ignore me
Thinking they know better
What I need them to do for me
(Or someone else told them)
They rarely ask my permission
They just go ahead and do it
And most of the time I can’t stop it
My opinion simply disregarded
Leaving me feeling rather helpless
Once again baffled by technology
i study the echo of my rage|
refracting and distorting the light,
and see only
the same scream
over and over like the ocean
trying to swallow the world
as the atmosphere burns
caustic star dust into my skin.
a small reveal
of the earthquake confined.
A disaster of epic proportions
propels itself further and further
into the future.
Gaining the Fury
not to be Fucked with
as the casualties continue to rise
with the seconds of this silence.
Searing the supposed sun
to a tender tempting blister
pulsating in the heat
of your rage-