Thoughts April 26th 2014

I’m in a weird place tonight. Currently I am laying on my best friend’s couch, in Vancouver, British Columbia. My heart doesn’t seem to be beating anymore. But my stomach is filled with lead. Anxious isn’t the right word to describe how I feel, but I wouldn’t say it’s wrong either. I am so terribly homesick and yet I couldn’t tell you what part of home it is I am craving. I miss my cat and my room mate and my bed and the smells and the noises that I have come to associate with home, but none of those things are things that would be unbearable to go another day without. Yet here I sit, sleepy yet forcing myself to stay awake. For if I were to sleep it would be tomorrow that much sooner, and I would have another full day away from whatever it is I am missing to endure.  

Experiments With Haikus

There are too many
Battles I wish I had been
Brave enough to start

Is it fear or self-
Preservation that stops me
From poking the bear?

And if it were the
Cowardice of my own heart
Is that feeling wrong?

Don’t patronize me
Am I not allowed to ask
Questions anymore?

Is my fear and love
And hate and  mistrust of you
Not valid these days?

Maybe I was wrong
Or destructive or maybe
You’re just a liar

Love Letters To No One (part three)

Like the tide caresses the beach,
We came together only to be rushed back home again.
You left bumps and bruises;
Seashells littered on the shore.
A long black hair in your bed leaves the taste of my lips in your mouth.
I would have sneered at the sight if it.
I always knew this would never last.
Nothing easy lasts forever and a rolling surf
Turned flat romance just the same.
I put my cigarette out on your arm
Listen to it sizzle as it sink to the bottom of the ocean
Even lower than your new found opinions of me.

Love Letters To No One (part two)

We were wanderers. Lost in a world illuminated by translucent light, organized like the candy aisle in a grocery store. So seemingly innocent, but anything can be abused. Sugar highs and hysteria is what we know. You pop m&ms like pills as I sob; deep child like heaving breaths, a hiccup, a splatter of drool as I suck at hard candies. Nestle them under my tongue and imagine the whole of you inside them. Dissolving away bit by bit. The flavors fade away, they all end up tasting just the same as any other; the way I have confused one man’s hands with the feeling of another’s. But you, you have stained my tongue.

Spring Secrets

A single eye sat upon the face of a tree who’s bark was as fair as my own skin. Kindred spirits so to speak. I think about the things that tree and I have seen as I trip lazily down the side walk. Grown men on razor scooters and pretty girls in button ups. A drop of sweat falls from the tip if my nose and I think for the first time in months ‘I’m too hot’. I wish the air was always freshly bathed and that it rained petals everyday. But that kind of thinking Isn’t productive, so I give a wave to my friend as I stumble Round the corner and whisper to the wind “at least it’s getting warmer”

In Response To ‘Advice From My Sane Self’ by Cynthia Ni

If some one tells you
“the timing isn’t right”
kindly tell them 
to shove it up their ass

this person does not love you

if some one is waiting
for some internal alarm clock
to go off and alert them 
to the matter of proper fucking timing
they will be waiting forever
and in turn so will you.

life is too messy for such shallow dreams

“later” never really comes and
nothing really ever changes
the scenery might be different
maybe you’ll have stopped curling your hair
but no matter how many pages
from the calendar have fallen
no matter how much weight
you have lost, or acquired
no matter what changes on the outside
deep down you will still be a silly girl,
who talks too loud

who holds too much hope
far too close to her heart

who is still waiting on some boy,
full of empty promises
to love you “later”

 

Love Letters To No One: part one

It is a good day to be alive. I suppose any day is really but this one seems particularly full of breath. All the houses are dressed in their Sunday’s best; tulips and iris petals and flowers who’s names I’ll never know explode from their yards. Blades of grass gone untouched reach out and brush against my skin; ankles bare in high waters for the first time in far too long. People and birds are chirping to one another, an unrefined orchestra so raw so real. Sometimes I wonder why people even bother to create music when the whole world is singing for them. Each drop of rain and hum of engine, machine and vegetation and man and animal, all their noises and disappointments. All the beautiful things and all the sad ones. Played out like a mix tape. It was all for you. It was always yours for the taking.

Thoughts On April Fool’s Day 2014

I’m not sure if I even really have any thoughts. Currently I am sitting in a terribly uncomfortable swivel chair in the Portland Community College Library. My ass hurts. The white noise that resonates through places like this, places of “education” and “community”, simultaneously disturb my stomach, and dry out my eyes. I have all the physical side effects of drinking too much coffee and smoking a butt-load of pot without any of the more preferable mental side effects. I, being of strong heart and stable mind took out 1800 dollars worth of school loans to endure this bizarre sensation (oh, the sarcasm, do you feel it?).

But we must all learn to be reasonable. Despite the discomfort caused by my chair, the boredom I feel in the very depths of my brain, and the headache that pulsates every time some one clears their throat, I am getting a proper education. Praise be the Lord Almighty.

Other things that I am unreasonably annoyed by/ungrateful for:

  • My room mate and dearest friend telling me not to do things, although generally he only requests that I not do things that really no fully grown human being should do (e.g. turning the heater up to ninety degrees, letting the cat drink out of my water cup, placing his video games literally anywhere other than their cases, laying down on top of hard inanimate objects, you get the picture)
  • Being compared to any animal ever no matter how cute/complimentary you may think that animal is.
  • The fact that I cannot pronounce the word “cinematography”
  • The expectation that I should be able to do basic math (I can do basic math, but come on man calculators).
  • Oprah

In addition to the above list, I will add a list of things that I am unreasonably pleased by/grateful for:

  • My water bottle looks like a beer bottle and some how I feel this falls under the category of “sticking it to the man”.
  • Anything that looks even remotely like a penis.
  • Adam Scott
  • Children falling down

Smooth Transition

I really haven’t anymore to say.

My Museum Pass Has Expired

Love was a strange idea to me
Even at an early age.
I watched my parent’s
holding hands, giving kisses.
I witnessed stranger’s swooning
and young men with flowers for pretty girls.
I could see love,
and hear it,
and taste it when i licked my lips
and when i breathed in deep it burned my nostrils
like campfire’s smoke.
and yet,
i found it to be entirely separate from me.
I was standing in the heart’s museum,
looking up a grandiose painting of love,
of love and all its eternal glory;
and if only i could reach out,
brush my fingertips against it,
secretly and swift,
i would know
and know for sure
that it was all so very real.

But the guards were always looking,
and I held fast to my doubts.