Relinquish disaster, stay intact for tomorrow. Among make-shift gifts for the holidays, hostility is the only bargaining I’ve been doing lately. The surprisingly sane one in the corner might beg to differ. Regardless, I’ve been a frequent visitor to this daft, grummy place off the brinks of prudence for a while now and with experience and without good reason it seems I’ve made a bed here—one much too comfortable to abandon. And so it goes without stating too bluntly that this is an alarm to the nearing train heading my way.  Bearing fond memory and a distaste for this new breed of disorder, I feel it is only necessary to disdain from any sort pride that may suggest to me another idea of soon-to-be failure. Its best to just stay on my tracks for a while.

"More", Again

I guess we’ve all been attached to the word “more”. The idea of seeing more, having more, being more. Satisfaction isn’t a feeling we’ve been engrained with. But what we’ve always been endowed with is energy. And it’s what we put our energy into that essentially constructs us. We can spend all our lives sculpting something that is permanent, so that it’s thighs are thinner, that it’s face is clearer, so that its nothing of it’s original state. But what we’ll end up with is a corroded and rusted statue that’s been drowned in glitter in hope that the sparkles fill the darkness that persists within the hollow structure. And we become bounded by the pearl necklace and adornments. It’s when we try to be more, that we become of less use. But, we could preserve the roots and let ourselves blossom into a thing of beauty that, with light of the sun, will never loose energy to keep growing. That captures every opportunity the wind blows and strength the hurricane evokes. That will benefit the world. Don’t seek to be more, seek to simply blossom.

I can't talk to anyone so I blog my secrets to anonymous online readers

1. I don’t think I’m pretty. I don’t think I’m cute. I don’t think I’m sexy. Or attractive at all. I've started to deny my hunger.
2. I feel useless, worthless, and helpless.
3. I’m cynical almost all of the fucking time. I don’t take really anything seriously anymore.
4. I do not trust many people. If any at all.
5. I’m very stubborn. It takes me a little while to warm up to things. I won’t always be willing to give your shit a try. 
6. I'm not always the most caring person, because for so long no one has cared about my shit, I've learned to not care about yours.
7. I do care about certain things. My interests. Obviously.
8. I’m not a fucking ray of sunshine all of the time. My attitude sucks, and I need someone who fucking understands that. But I get it. Who wants to be around such an unpleasant person?
9. I stress out about everything. I’m always stressed, despite how great I hide it. I will crack every once in a while, which is happening to occur more and more frequently (sorry). Just do yourself a favor and fuck off when I’m in that sort of mood.
10. I sit silently through my tortured nights, my dreams repeating themselves over and over and over. I can’t escape from the hell that is my mind, so I wallow in sick insanity and pretend I'm fine.

hands
   and
eyes
   and
lips
   and
thighs
   all
wrapped
   and
tangled
   and
tingling

doneeeee

From where these hobbling sticks do strain to stand, 
I find myself unable to stargaze, 
for something more than city smog 
obscures my farsighted eyes. 
Crystalline twinkles do flee, 
and I chase comet tails, 
though much to my dismay, 
they remain like the nymphs
so elusively far,
as glistening bodies do in
faraway shades so unlikemy solitary seat.

“Hello, you’ve reached…”

I held the phone back from my ear and just stared at it, unsure of whether the voicemail greeting was the echo of a promise broken, or just an inconvenient moment.

It’s funny how hope can be turned to dust with just three words.

I hit “End” and smiled bitterly at the connotation.

Peachy

Isn't life funny
how some days
you know with confidence
that you
are the peach,
sweet and full of
life
while on others
you suspect
with quiet apprehension
that instead
you
are the bruise
that is so
carefully and
meticulously
eaten around

I'm so scared my depression is going to beat me again

I've found myself in the sea, again. Sorry. How many times has it been now? Whenever I’m out of ideas about the sky or time or anything else, I’m tossed back into the ocean to either drown or draw a way out. Or both. Because I lean on waves to carry me. And the moon to hold my head above the water. But I’m tossed back and wading so often, it must bore you to read. I’m sick of it too.


Maybe I’ll just quit reaching for kites since too few have passed as of late, and forget about the air, turn my palms to the seafloor. And grasp at crescents of sunlight, long sunken and silent. Maybe I’ll just quit the air, at least for a little while.


I’m going to need a mermaid. I’ll need their lungs.
But they probably won’t come.
They’ll probably be climbing a cliff.
I wouldn't want to be around myself either.

Being

The metaphysical aspects
of Being were examined
by Aristotle and Plato
straight forward to hacks
like Gladwell
We’ve found little out
since the ancients
and it’s rare when anyone 
has anything new to add
Perhaps Being is so fundamental,
we’ll never be right on

life came from these pools

The streets shimmer
wet with hopes, visions
saturated in reflections
of light and movement
captured in ripples made
Pointillist by the drizzle
the chill seeps into our
bones, the air hung
with necklaces of dew
as we shuffle past one
another trampling the
portraits of our world
stitched into the asphalt
wishing for warmth but
appreciating the balmy
cool for its absence of
heat, hugging our coat 
or sweatshirt or sweater 
for its breadth, loving 
its glowing embrace

3rd Person Perspective

Her mind is full of situations that will never happen. But they do happen, in her mind, over and over again. All the worst case scenarios, the best case scenarios and every single scenario in between. She imagines unimaginable situations, conversations, happenings. In her mind everything is possible, even the impossible. Sometimes her brain is so busy calculating all the ‘what-ifs?’, it has no time to do anything else. She has such trouble forgetting about all the things that could possibly, or impossibly, go wrong. Almost compulsively she has hundreds of variables in her head of how past situations could have gone different. Some of them keep coming back; they haunt her, they taunt her. She tries to oversee everything, not just this moment, but the next one, and the next day, and the next week, and the next month. She tries to figure out all the possibilities, so out of all of them she can try to make the best one actually happen. One of the possibilities is that you let go. I know it is difficult, but you might be happy.

Better get here early
Grab front row seats
It's a must see:
My self-destruction

Contradiction

I am a complete contradiction, yet a constant and consistent. I am hysterical, hopeful, hatred-harboring,
loathing, loving, lost, left behind.I am musical, miserable, a miracle. I am quiet, calculating,considerate, caring, calm, warm, warning, warned, harmed, hurt, healed, sealed, concealed,
a confused contradiction.

simple

For you, with you
I’d lie and lay
To flay and find
Animals in clouds.

We’d rest in rows of Queen of the Night
As sunlight filtered through petals
Like stars.

To share
Smiles and miles and
Solitude and solace and
Succor
Sweet strawberries and Salinger
Together.

this morning

sometimes the morning after is too bright. the sunlight drenches all of yesterday’s choices in an uncomfortable staggering illumination and my chest hurts. my mind delivers me to each significant crossroad and i stand still trying to see beyond the fog by borrowing today’s brilliance. but the fog doesn’t evaporate it creeps into me seething over each sighing aching memory as i walk home. the smell of cigarette ashes is pressed into my skin.