oh my

I wanna drink you up, the moon through my window, your touch along my shoulder blades
I can't wash you outta my mind, thoughts of you and yours in my me, slenderness and sweetness, tenderness blue on blue, red on red, twists and shades of blonde and brown, porcelain on milky white eyelashes, hands, fingertips and lips, wild, roaming, lost, wandering curiosity the winner in this game of whispers and smiles in the dark pillows fallen to the floor drunk, drank, and dear, I could never have too much

I'm talking to myself here

I know what you're saying.
and yet I don't.
so many voices in my head.
conflicting agreeing whispering
"I love.."
"I thought I told you..."
"You're so..."
"You've got to keep them at a distance..."
a time bomb of thoughts ticking exploding in my brain each minute I let everything go silent
when the water drips off the tips of my still curling hair in the shower and I'm not sure if its fresh or salt water.
I can't control my brain.
what do I do to you? what do I do to myself? what do I do to myself by doing to you?
I want to sing a song, strum notes on a guitar I don't know, and curse emotional instability due to rags.
I'm placing blame here and I'm not denying it.
all my fault. its always all my fault.
and you won't talk to me. and you will. what makes you think...?
and I'm being selfish. excuse me for a moment.
[these are the days I warn you about]
so why don't I stay away from what I'm making this into?
why deny how I'm feeling now, this happens every month so it can be something to be expected right? so its normal right? feeling this way is normal right?

so many kind words and I want to hate myself. sometimes its just so easy. so easy... so easy... so many encouraging words and my failures stand out all the more and I feel ashamed for who I've let myself become. if I feel bad for what I've done then isn't it regretting who I am now? don't I love who I am now? or is it just because usually in my la la land that I let my life be I don't mind pretending the bad doesn't exist so I feel like I love myself. its all a lie isn't it. emotions just a dash of seasoning to spice it all up. if I hadn't done everything I had would I be a better person? or would I lose what I think is part of what makes me... I like to call it cultured. cultured like something in a petri dish and my nose feels like I've just had too much wasabi without that burning sensation although I do have tears curbing on the lids of my eyes. hello waterproof mascara I'd like you to meet my tears. who will win this battle?

hooray for babble right? my mind numb with exhaustion. and have I mentioned how much I dislike church? it makes NO sense to me. what they talk about that's from the bible, none of it, logics, philosophy. maybe they just don't read the good parts? but then, if they didn't read the whole thing.... what would be the point of the bible? small parts of a person do not make up the whole of who they are. a person is more than their errors and pretty smiles.

am I though? who am I to you? what am I to you? because sometimes I feel terrible that I'm not more. often I feel miserable that I'm only words on a screen that you may never see. usually I just sit here in the sweet glow that erupts in a shower of greens and rain drops landing on my silky milky white face reflecting leaves and veins in my eyes, usually I just sit here tears sitting on the tip of my chin, they don't have the balls to dive landing inbetween the cleavage of my breasts that I don't have. usually I just sit here thinking. does it matter, do I care, do I know? why did I do those things? why didn't I say those things? why can't I say them to you when the time presents itself? instead I just blink and answer how I think you would find appropriate. because deep down and not so deep down I'm afraid of you. I fear your wrath. I want to just crumble into tears when you say the right things and usually I do. but I look away because you tell me I have to feel a certain way because there's no pointing in sitting here crying. but why bottle it up? why not let them run their course?

its so complicated. all the in and outs all the working and working not so well bits and pieces of my life, your life, his life, her life, their life. and giving up is not an option.

I care. that's what rips me to shreds.

who are you pretending you are?

it's so sad

sleepless, sleep ridden
we're all portraits of the past
ours we hope, me mine you yours
and yet I feel
they are trying to make me
a portrait of.... myself from them
me in you
and we were driving today
and I laughed, I saw a sign "come unto me"
is onto and unto synonomous?
I just like saying synonomous.

I've got the will, keep walking through, I'm no prize for you
and in the eye of the beholder, is it just beauty that can be determined by them?
should you let him[er] think you are so much to them? or should you open their eyes to what you think is the truth

get the cool, I don't know what I'm talking about.
my fingers, I think, are on the wrong keys
I meant to say, I meant to do, I meant to feel, I meant to kiss you
when you were looking, in the other direction, at me, squinting in the sun

I'm starting over.

do you believe in fate?

throw away

Maybe I'll find you in a study room. Quiet and in thought, dreaming up the next life time, wondering why the 'she' of then is not the 'she' of now. Wondering where you yourself will first stumble upon her. A blind corner along the street, you'll mumble something, what exactly you'll never be able to remember--not even minutes later as I'm giggling over tea trying to decipher what it was you said--. A blind corner but not a blind eye, you'll think. *Eyes of the pacific lips, melting red m&m's for lips, skin the color of whipped cream mixed with a grande vanilla chai* Which is what I would be drinking. My breath mingling with the steam of the chai, the warmth ridding my fingers of the cold. The blind corner would be an introduction you hadn't even thought of. Brushing a curl out of my eyes as if that was some sort of signal you ask me if I'm busy. The effort was pointless as I shake my head no and they're back in my eyes. Idle chit chat as we enter the cafe on the corner, the sun just peaking into the windows, casting dancing shadows on the table tops and off the cushions of the most comfortable looking leather seats you've ever seen in your life. I try to pay for my own drink, you try to pay for both our drinks, but Mister Barista refuses to accept our cash or credit for what we ordered, which was actually quite a bit.

"Beauty this early in the morning pays for itself dear lady and kind sir."

and then reality. you did turn that blind corner. and there she was. the sun walking on the sidewalk. the clouds floating above the earth under her feet. the air caressing your lips and you're stayed. you're moved. forward, reaching out, a beat within, pounding, your head. you must, something, anything. Now. fate at your finger tips and all those images you imagined. all those dreams you saw as you stared out the window of the boxcar train. every word we exchanged when your lids were down. and all you could do was smile when she turned, a sway and bounce and you had never seen a more radiant beam of glorious beauty in your life. moisture was pouring out of every pore of your body, every pore that didn't matter.

"dear you're breaking something in me and you haven't even spoken yet."

keep it to yourself

I would always say "if all goes well"
and maybe, as a certain grant said, "maybe that is a blessing"
I've thought about it, this time I thought "maybe it is."
I've tried, before this, to not think, to not have to say
"I wasn't accepted to VCU. my photography wasn't as good as some other person's who applied the same time. my photography wasn't [fill in blank]"
and I am one who--call it selfish, I've been labelled that a lot--dislikes making art FOR people, living FOR people, loving FOR people, creating FOR people
in the end its inevitable
but if what I love isn't what others love
I'll go somewhere else with my love
until I find others who find my love
like mind, like loves, like lives
and yet completely different

blank

curls, or a fro, depending on how you view it
perspectives, point of views, perceptivity
can we make it to the bell?
[ding!] just like anybody else
we're all so much more to ourselves
than we wish we were to everyone else
or so we think, and we do, think I mean.
lies, all lies, lies, lies
and truth. did you see?

and when you did, what did you think?
I can handle the truth, so dish it out.
its just a beginning. just a beginning.

its too bad, does this mean I'm a failure? or I just didn't make it this time.

with an emphasis on the ooh
and yes
it is too bad
too bad we became strangers
too bad we started out as something
too bad that dream I was breathing life into deflated
too bad it seems you're saying in other words
its a waste, but none of it was
none of anything is a waste.
everything has its purpose, everything has a purpose

Numba two! Please step foh-wad!

The sky said, the other day, tomorrow I'm going try something different. Another flavor, another tempo, a faster beat, a forgotten language, and all of it is gonna be good to the last drop.

The static in the background, however, had another idea. Dial-tones and static, lost channels and mixed signals. Humanity, the prodigies of the earth, isn't going to understand. That feeling no one understands but it just won't go away, you know the one. In the silence and even the light it convinced us we want. We want over what we need and we've painted an illusion for ourselves.

Society, a tv show no one likes to watch, but the remote is lost in the universe that is the cushions of the couch or its batteries are eternally dead. Society, its own savoior and its own satan, drags itself struggling and screaming down, down, down. Society, that riced up to tackiness import passed by the soccer mom's of the world, and it asks itself why, when, where, how, and who.

Innocent aren't listening, prideful don't see, compassionate don't feel, and the curtain hasn't even fallen yet.

"You smell that?" asks the sky, " that is the smell of inevitability. That is the smell of that one missed call, that is the smell of dry mouth when you finally come to the realization. You smell that? That is your own rotting flesh, your eyeballs turned into dust from jelly, your organs juices eating themselves, and your fingers reaching for me. You smell that? That's me saying I don't care. And you know what? I'm going down with you."

and then I said


"I think therefore I am."
muffled
hums, thumps, and I wish the voices were raised.
"SING ALONG!" I would say, loudly
in beat with the music, "AXLE ROSE STYLE!"
and time, ticking slowly by
I was missing you
or was it vice versa
its busy, you see
eyes closed, laughter in the background
and today
today, I've had too much
I've had too much today
feelings, rushed, quickened
pulses, passing by
breathes forgotten
fingers wha wha wha
the email the email wha wha the email
and that thing, again
laughter, hahaha
how long can we go
"after the first time you gave me coffee, you don't let me have coffee anymore, why is that mommie?"
and you wonder why you wonder why
when its obvious
oblivious and a poison to remind you
I'm there, she's there, he's there, they're there, we're there
remind you that a reminder is necessary
and you called too late
again
repeat,
you always do
dimples and we just don't know

so you see

so you see?
and I said
no

doesn't help that we're not looking
and I'm not seeing
red eyes red lies red lips red tips
and I had to say goodbye
words are words
but to you
to you, they translated to so much more
you didn't know who or how
so you let one word be everything
and said no more
all I could do was comply and say "yes sir, no sir, I've no more bags to fill sir."
as the bags under my eyes are not
sometimes we don't let things be
them being one

do you see? do you see?