Well,

Okay, so here’s the deal.

You like Hugh. You dig Hugh. But in a drunken night with legs over the lap and hands in another man’s hands, he turns ya down flat. Through the ear of a friend, which is always the way. So it stings a bit, leaves a bruise that needs being rubbed. But you say – hay okay, it’s a new day today! maybe hugh would have been…a good lay, but you knay? I don’t even want anybod-ay!

Then Kyle rumbles along and you don’t even notice him. Cuz Hugh’s still tingling in your mind as much as you don’t know why. Shuttup Maya cuz it’s already been resolved. No more thinking on it, and really you’re not. What will be will be. Que sirrah sirrah.

But with some talk and some ice cream and why’s he keep on walking with me in the store? And near hand touches and blanket shares on the floor of Hugh’s room…he likes you. You liked him. Well bloody hell almighty maybe it’ll just be perfect! Things are bursting up roses in bloom and yellow tulips on the ground to skitter your backside!


oh hay

hugh

he vants yugh.

and suddenly it’s a torrent of wanting and hatred and I MEAN hatred. not a bone in my body does want him and I thoroughly find mr cannon to be the same. he’s an ass! a prick! a non-toucher in the late nights when the movie finds our dark faces. He’s a sitter on the edges of beds when my thigh is a-achin’ for contact. he is here, not there. he is everything that kyle is not and everything that’s bad, and still I esteemed him.

then I talked to kyle and had a bloody fucking great time doing so. I wanted him to be there. here. I wanted to kiss him and smile at him and be EXCITED about him

but even when I think of being with him, of giving in and being his love-indulged toddler

hugh’s gone and spoiled it. he’s spoiled it, the rat prick! because I want to be the flame that lurks beneath his skin? itching and killing the surface because it would bake his throat to let it out. I want to know if maybe he looked at me with a look, or pushed his lips in my direction…would I feel the same giddiness? deeper? sterner? would I understand that it was moving him to do so, that he could remain for hours without a touch my way but in that moment…oh how he would kiss me.

what the hell am I talking about. it doesn’t matter, it’s certainly not deserved, and it’s all about boys. guys. emotions, rather. it’s more than just ohhh I want some puppy love and LOOK! at all these options. it’s simply wanting to not be such a bitch. leading him on or leading him to a healthy gulp of water I don’t doubt im doing both. and if hugh finds out he’ll drop it, drop it like a hat

but he’s gone and spoilt it!

but if he bucks up and tells me. touches my hand and tells me, stammers or doesn’t and looks at the floor and tells me with kind of a laugh that he wont let out…how could i? how could I smile like a bashful arrow at kyle and then turn to his best friend? his bosom buddy? his kindred spirit? how could i?

I couldn’t.

my only sensible option would be kyle. for hugh thinks me to be in the dark so no loyalties would be broken, no promises seared. only a man’s affections quelched like his latest drop of a program that didn’t pan out.

but maybe I take hugh. maybe we suppress it? maybe we wait but don’t wait and maybe, maybe kyle, long distance isn’t good for me? stupidest fucking excuse ever and he’d see right through it at lover’s first embrace

fuck all

there’s really no solution. go back to sara, kyle! flee and find her! I do not want to be the girl that you despise! I do not want to be the one that you are bitter towards. the lying whore. the little cusp of a cunt who only ever wanted hugh and laughed and chided you into caring.

what do I do. I see no way out. I want to ask hugh. I want to tell hugh. I want to slap and hit hugh.

fine maybe he’ll stop anyway. and it’ll be simpler and nothing and a smooth path. and yes the perfect edges of the idea will be burnt and crisped black, but we’ll move past it. I’ll be fulfilled, I’ll stop wondering, and happiness will prevail.

I like hugh. and tomorrow night I will be with him and something with GODDARM happen or rest my soul

that something will not.


.me.

Okay

I don’t have any money.

Turned down

And broke

And the dream sizzles

And I’ll still go

Still be defiant

But I’ve got nothing

And they all think I’ve got something

Will get something

I’ve got nothing

Turned down.

Not so special

Not such a dragon in a field of thieves

Just a child

With nothing

And no money.

.me.

So Close, Lemonseed

Alright, that’s it.

I wanna be there. I’m dying for it, gagging for it, lusting for it in a carnal way that attacks my bones. And it sits in all the pictures with people crossing two and fro – not knowing what they’ve got. And maybe it’s not so great, but I want it. I want it! I’m pleased that I want it. I’m pleased knowing that all my flitting aspirations halted when it came to this, that all my worried doubts about losing passion, losing love, losing life: fuck it. Fuck them.

Cuz it stuck. It sticks. I see the pictures and the paintings and I get all tip-toes and leans.

Reaching through the glass I see myself among them, among the nothing, and I’ll loop an arm around the lamp-post and swing this way and that, tipping my head to the winds.

And God can make up for what he’s done.

Right?

So maybe I’m not so perfect. Maybe I haven’t got the assets yet. Maybe my scarf will look a fright and I’ll be the rump of the land. I don’t CARE! Not about any of them. Only the land. The rolling, stiff, cold land. The cold of the touch, the brusk of the cement.

And if it isn’t there, okay. Okay. Because it’s the feeling, the feeling that I seek. And will keep seeking. I’ve got at least a few years, yeah? No run-ins with monsters or sharks, permitting.

I’ll find it.

So take me in, England. I’m leaving all and leaving everything. And right now I’ve never felt so stupid. Or never felt so happy for it.

STUPID. :)

.me.

Uhh

i'm stressed.

and i think that money should just be given to those who need it, who need it need it need it. but i dont need it. but you force me to live in this world where money rules the root of all things living and dead and then you tell me i dont HAVE any? i dont have ENOUGH! and you wont give it to me because i am undeserving, moreso than the girl from surprise, arizona.

york is such a lovely town and a lovely place and a lovely village and it makes me want to love the loveliest things around.

and they may take a girl from surprise, arizona. because i dont make as much of a difference. and all my helen keller quotes are just fillers for an empty mind.

and i know i want to go so far and do so much and see so much driven from my hands onto others onto souls dont waste this passion it feels so good that to lose it would be unbearable PAIN.

PAIN PAIN PAIN.
so i ride it like a coastal wave and try to scoop in what i need, denouncing the lust for money and wealth and yet feeling filthy in that i need it, in that i fight for it. i can only be who i am and that is my downfall in multiple categories.

and there's no reason to falter now, but i can taste the salty brick on my tongue and if you yank it away so help me God.

st andrews is a lovely place.
not half so lovely
but maybe as lovely
in lovely ways

money money money

you all frown at me

and i feel betrayed

i just want to be there
to see there
to FEEL there

and there i go again

knocking down doors.

i'm stressed, banjo, i'm stressed.


.me.

Side

I’m glad no one reads this

Because in the shadows of this concave

I’ve told you all I ever wanted

From these past couple years

And you’d never pick up

Through the metaphors and garbage

But the struggling sensations

Are enough

Just let it be.

.me.

Obviously

Shit

Shit

And with those words

I saw it coming

With her secret little smile

And the way you bowed your head

I was the spider in the corner

Scuttling side to side, wanting you to notice

And please leave me be

Put away the newspaper

Rolled up tight rolled up tight rolled up rolled up rolled up

So Damn Tight.

And you can grin at me all you want

With that vote-worthy shimmer

And the bigness of your ambivalence

You big big big fake

I don’t feel so bitter

As stupid and crushed

Feeling crushed

From a mush

In the middle of Oregon on a hot sunny day

I’m the mud on your shoes

As you wade through the marsh

Holding her hand to support her dainty ballet.

You can’t DO me like this, mama.

I haven’t felt so in a long while

Had pushed it away in lullaby comforts

Does everyone have to follow the songs

And accept the power of carnal affections?

I reffUSE

You are nothing

And still a smile

Branded top my skin

Shit

Shit shit shit

I’ve never been so fuddled

As when I heard those words

And realized that I was as stupid as I sounded

And worse

As stupid as I knew as stupid as I knew it would always be and

Best

Stupid as shiiiiiiit.

.me.

Tea and Toad and Tea and Toad and Tea

She drank her tea beside the toad, and didn’t speak once. And eventually his gullet, like a great balloon, swiveled his head yonder and he locked blackened pupils on the lines of her face.

“I’m drinking my tea.” She protested calmly, an edge to her tone. She took another sip, for effect.

Her misted grey eyes stared out at the swamp with waves that matched the wisped clouds above and the slosh of the algae below. And the delicacy of the teacup in her hand showed the travesty of her fingers, thick with caked mud and sliding grass stains as she twisted the porcelain in slow half circles, periodically raising the lip to her tongue to taste the swirling black liquid. A pink ribbon twisted and wriggled in her hair, tugging at its hold as the wind whipped it feverishly behind her thick chestnut hair.

Only shoulder length. Mother didn’t like it any longer.

The edge of her tongue tasted her pink gums, collected the tea’s residue into the back of her throat as she cast her eyes to the moss of her sullen perch.

“I’m cold. Let’s go in.”

Indeed, her pale arms rose with goosebumps on the full flesh. She placed the cup beside her and rose in stages to her feet, bending to collect it once more as the toad picked up its gaze to peer at her. Speculatively. She wouldn’t get away that easy, not before her morning dues.

“What if I…sing for you?” she offered, swishing her hands back and forth idly as she met his gaze and found the childish innocence he so adored. It wasn’t natural in her blushing cheeks anymore. Now she harnessed it in the ultimate satire.

He was not so easily bought. He garbled, and the balloon at his throat wobbled to and fro – a warning sign. She blew out her cheeks, grinding her teeth back and forth as she charted the possible take-downs. “I’ll…write for mother. ALL morning, stitch and stitch til my fingers bleed.” She pushed every word with painful emphasis, playing up the agony of such a prospect. It was worth the trade, she would work for her comfort.

He hopped, two feet forward and a shake of his rotten gullet. Her knees locked as she pulled her body back from him, breathing roughly through her nose. She could’ve cried or stamped or shown him a wicked face. But instead she caved and softened her brown-o eyes, hanging her head in the shameful way she’d seen in all of Auntie’s favorite stage plays.

“So let’s go, then. My shoes will be filthy and I won’t be able to stop coughing for weeks but if this is what you want, then alright. Alright. Alright.” She rumpled her nose and twisted it round to show her discomfort, and he gloated with a thick thump of his throat.

He hopped to turn, thrust his oily back at her, and lopped and flopped around the marsh. She lumbered in his trail, kicking off patches of stringy moss from her feet and swaying to and fro with the moans of the bayou.

“And papa was a lonely man…he kissed me til I could not stand…round and round the table legs…another day for other days…” She sang softly, filling the grey air with her soupy voice.

Crows and caterpillars followed her voice long after her footsteps had stopped squelching, the weight of her frame rising up with a suck and a pop. And their ribs and feathers spoke to one another with a rustle and a squinch, for soon their winds would cease to blow and the green would leave the marsh – and the girl would die at talons and guts before they’d see it fall.


.me.

BumbleBee

It’s drivin’ me cra-zy

All these jumps and halts

All these tumbling through somersaults and air

And all these let downs and highs

It’s drivin me CRA-zy

All these you don’t know’s

And all these you’ll know soon's

And all these take my heed

Take my ultimate warning's.

You’re drivin’ me crazy.

This inner mind

This judging eye

This slanderous mouth

Those cold-blooded lips

So callused with care

And pretend that you care

I don’t care.

Perhaps if I’m cra-zy

I’ll find all I need

A Stability

In crude, lifeless care

In direct passing passion

In hommage to life

In writing

In writing

Find me.

.me.

The Fox and the Hound

On the teetering edge

Of Perfection

And shipwreck

You ponder if you’ll go on

Or if you’re just another failed mortgage

If you’re just another “I can’t help it”

“I’ve got things”

“Empty things”

And on this precipice of hope and terror

You reel with the change of a thousand suns

And assume one month

Two months

Mere weeks in segments in time

Have changed it all

Have stolen your heart

Have wiped your canvas

Well it isn’t so

I won’t believe it’s so

The same passion floods in my veins - drives me

The same way it always has

The same trail that same burnt path

I walk it now

I crawl it now

I eat the dust and taste the peppery disgust

Now

Now

Now

And now is all I have

And all I’ll ever want

And now is what’s so hard

And now is what’s so trivial

And now, and now, and now

I feel my bones a’creakin

And realize that failure is the backbone to a true success

That experimentation breeds both genius

And lament

And you can scoff my work

And claim I’ve lost my touch

But a touch clings to my fingers

It embeds in my hard-hearted skin

I will not allow its departure

And we’re far too in love for a mutual dispel

Stroke my face

Call me baby

And see the sun rise again.

.me.

MmmhmmM

Sometimes I forget how hard it is for me to breathe. When they’re around. How the heat between them is like a sticky side of the underbread and their moist tongues so soiled with hatred, simmering hatred stuffed under the pots and pans, that they’ve forgotten to pretend to notice. And when I slip backwards, shed the limelight and watch them, hear the way he makes her cry, hear the way she makes him beg. It’s all so shrill, all so twisted in some vortex of steel and sympathy. A cacophony of cries. And you’ve never felt so worthless as when your name gets trickled down like a lost pet, like a needle that sticks up at your skin and keeps scratching and scratching and scratching. And while one clings to the clothes for their life, the other’s been pushing to burn them for months, years.

I am naught but a burnt rag.

Sometimes I forget how much it sucks to hear them fight. How much I quiver in fear at the thought that someday I, too, will venture into the realm of love and romance. For after all, that was where this began, was it not? Or was it merely an unplanned pregnancy that smushed the two together, like two cheeks and fat rolling around in grimacing smiles and crackling flashbulbs. And all this time it’s been so hidden, they’ve thought common sense to swim from the gene pool. But I watch and I see and I wonder if I will cascade into this shimmering trap. If metal fangs will pierce my ankle, watch me struggle and bleed as I weep just to touch the shining sting once more. And thrusting fingertips into gaping bone, vein, tentacles of destruction winding through my ripped limb and squelching blood…tiny eyes will watch in my stead, sucking in breath like seaweed and pushing their skin from their body.

Innocence is relative. Purity the same. And whilst I keep one close to my pocket, the other strokes like catfish whiskers at my fingertips and swishes away. I choose to purge myself of reliance if only to keep that which I hold dear at bay from the greedy mongers, from those who would see me fall. And the failures and the mortgages and the crying toddlers that wail their mother’s name as she stares at them in grief, astonished grief. It is all for the watching eyes and watching hand, for the weakness of the day as they forgot their independence, ventured into the cushion that would see them dumped. So swaddle me in mummy’s wraps and squeeze my paper hand.

I will lie in this sarcophagus and you will close the lid.

.me.

One is a genious...

.me. .lit'rally.

Breakfast Club

Why can’t we write

When pressure comes close

When expectant faces peer

And hearts shudder in repose

Why can’t we write

As our fingers freeze

And we picture rejection

Agonizing on our knees

As we plead to the skies

Vivid pain on our lids

And we clack out more rubbish

All we are is what is

We are the earth

And the sky

And the water below

As it sloshes our ankles

And tightens the bow

And an arrow shoots through

Pierces freedom in its wake

And we sit and we weep

At the rubbish we make

Falling through rubber

Shattering skin

Melting our fingers

We are but men

We are but workers

Busy as bees

And soon we may realize

However you plead

That only our eyes

And only our noses

And only our lips

May shove out such proses

Such delicate buds that you kiss and you milk

We are the poets

We are the poets.

We are what is.

.me.

Geometrics

She will drown in this sorrow; she will drown.

The words sloshed around her mind like empty rain, crashing in waves and torrents ‘gainst the back of her eyelids til she squinted to keep the screams at bay. Shallow breathing, her cheeks rubbed raw like perfect egg shells, she steadied herself against the bar, clasping the rounded wood.

“It’s not like it was before. It can’t be.”

Her whisper sounded like the watery pleadings of a lover who already knows they’ve lost the fight. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let her head droop between hunched shoulders, the fabric of her t-shirt ridging between the blades.

Soon would come the doctors and the lawyers bereaving what the doctors had done and her mother wiping away tears that stained her skin and her father, nodding behind the walls as he brushed his fingertips against the belly of his flannel shirt. Images like flashes of fire swam before her face and with a violent huff, she blew them away. She had recovered, she’d been a medical marvel, the doctors had said! Children had written her, told her what an inspiration she was. The television cameras hadn’t left for weeks. And now in an empty studio it had all washed back upon her, drenching her clothes and sinking into her poisoned skin. With a crippling cry she sank to the floor, pressing her palm to the underside of the wood and resting a cold forehead against the mirror. A silent and stoic face held on her features, lips twisted in a painful grimace even as her heart squeezed itself dry.

A trickling sob escaped her and she clamped a hand to her lips, shaking her head violently, biting scolds to stop her. Like a fallen ballerina she crouched, sucking in gulps of air and tasting the salt on her swollen tongue. Blood swam in her veins, gushed out like a broken spicket and already she knew, it would all return. She’d tasted her freedom, felt it sprinkle her skin like peppered needles.

And now it would all be back.

The questions, the wires, the chittering monkeys that bounced in her face – it would ALL be back.

And again, the world collapsed.

.me.

This is what we call it, now

With a fork and a knife

That shine

Oh they shine

Cut open my face

Let it bleed

Because I have a mask

That falls and it slips

And I shove it back on

To see that it’s there

But I like my vulnerabilities?

I like to use them

As distractions

Confirmations

Of how it is I feel

For I’m as lost as all of you

Cut open my face

Carve apart the skin

Shatter the bone

And with creaking footsteps

See what lies beneath

I am disgruntled

Disgruntled, I am

For no one truly knows

It is only me that doesn’t know

Is it only me that doesn’t know

Whose face I plaster on

I want you

Put down the utensils

Release your sullen grip

You are no surgeon

I’ll take it myself

New age weaponry

And I’ll pry apart muscle

And flesh and dry skin

And I’ll tug with flexed tendons

That tingle in strength

But I won’t feel a thing

Save the deepest of deep

That runs in my veins

Curiosity

As I cut open my face

Hollow out eyes

Crumble porcelain lips

I’m cutting open my face

With this fork and this knife

To let my bloody head fall free.

.me.

Laahhhhhhhve It.

Love

Love poems

The poems of love

That you see

Remind you

Of the emptiness

That love

Just cannot be.

I make no sense

I make no rhyme

I make no love

By choice

I see my eyes

I see my face

I see what love

Spews from my voice

And I hate it.

Have you ever written honesty

Written truth upon a page

And expected glory to find you

Expected not this smoking rage

For life is not a poem

Not the life outside these doors

So I’ll stay within

And spin and spin

Upon these inky floors.

.me.

Offensive Time!

I don’t

Like

Love poems.

I don’t like ‘em

And it’s not for lack of love

The ability to love

I have

But I never see the feelings

Those pleading, burning feelings

That poetry entwines

Inside sweet, perfumed words

Returned

Without a second’s

Doubt

Returned

Without a frown and a shrug

Love is not a tennis match

Unless you play

Against yourself

And leap and bound to and fro

Across the court

In order to catch that flailing ball

In order to catch your thumping heart

And send it back your proper way

Love is not a poem

It is a stain upon white linens

A black inky river that scorches the starch

And it blinks with such innocent

Such naïve wedded bliss

That promises life

And love

And happiness

It is no binding contract

It is no words of eternity

It is you

Yourself

And all alone

You feed them scrumptious poetry

Spoon feed them printed hearts

And they swallow it

With lumps in their eyes

They can’t see

How smooth

You’d love to make it

They cannot provide you with passion

But you pretend they always have

And to convince yourself

Of their fervor

Of your paralyzed poor heart

Of that needle that they hold

You write yourself

A love poem.

.me.

Err

I’ve got here

A shopping bag

A nylon bag

It’ll stretch

And I’ll stuff it with bobbles

And smiles

And laughs

And I’ll stuff it with sobbing

And talking

And loving

And I’ll stuff it with you

And your heart

And your voice

And I’ll stretch it

And pound it

And shake out the air

And I’ll suffocate the insides

Make ‘em fit

They’ll all fit

Organizaion takes time

Time that I never took

And to take all that time

To acknowledge

The need

For taking

And time passes on

And my bag will not give

But im trying and trying

To push what I’ve got

And to convince those around

And my own aching heart

It’s enough

I’ve enough

For ever.

Forever?

I’ve enough

For ever

The forever

Without you.

.me.