TheCourtRose

Vigil of Frost

2011-12-22T22:11:00.000-08:00

His skin is cold on this cold winter night
The longest night is too long
Blue and bloodless
You hold vigil a thousand miles away
for the man who once held you high
It could've been you instead
in his frost covered grave
The tracks of a thousand regrets line
his lifeless limbs
One path too many

I am here, wishing I was there
Not for him, but for you
because it could've been you
It may have been you
It could still be you
Tears are ice down my cheeks
I am helpless tonight to help you
and I hate every moment of this longest night

Winter ground and fallowed fields,
frozen lakes and forded rivers stand between us
Never has there been so much distance before
Yet I can feel you weeping and tearing in my chest
The cold catches the clouds from your mouth
and puffs of air blow through me
You are in me
You have always been in me
If you follow him to the grave
I will not be far behind

For the sake of us both,
please live
Forge a different path and lay different tracks
I cannot stand vigil for you
because I will lay with you in the ground
Living and breathing
Blue and bloodless
Covered in frost for the lack of your warmth
For my sake alone,
please live
Do not follow him to the grave

Abiding Words

2011-12-17T23:05:00.000-08:00

Wicked, tripping, useless words
I cannot abide them today
So when you slip inside me
No please, no thank you
No here, no, no there
Only want and need
When my spine arches, you'll know I want you
When my toes curl, you'll know I need you
When I come hard, clenching and surrounding you
I'll kiss away the words tumbling on repeat from your lips
Wiping them against the paleness of my belly
There they will stay and dry, for a later day
When I actually care to see them

On a Different Note

2011-12-14T11:52:00.000-08:00

How did your voice already become soundtrack?
All at once this song
rumbles and humbles me
A floating, free-falling baritone thrumming in the background
So quickly, this music begins
I cannot let you be the melody
but neither are you simply a rhythm for me to dance upon
You can be my harmony, though
and between the two of us
we can cover all of sound together

The Witch on the Wall

2011-12-13T17:37:00.000-08:00

Her half smile looks on
and no one meets her gaze
Trapped in feaux '60s Paris
We all know acrylic and canvas cannot hold her
for long
A virgin and a candle would set her free
One we have, the other I haven't seen in years

The Secret of Leona's Truck

2011-12-13T17:03:00.000-08:00

Down a highway
with 8 full wheels
Leona's, it says
and the average Joe
rightly believes it filled
with food
But on the inside
there's a life
There's the patch of quilt
his friend from Nicaragua says
looks like the River of Blood
A collage I made him
for his 30th birthday
There's a papsan chair that
has followed him everywhere
and will come home again
As he does, every time
In a borrowed truck now,
maybe a duct-tape car next
Makes you wonder what else
those trucks are carrying
down the road
It's been so easy to assume until now
Leona's was carrying his life
and because I love him
it was carrying my life, too

Sugar Skull

2011-11-12T18:26:00.001-08:00

We don't have funerals for the living
No cedar box to lay those tired bones to rest
No quiet urn or shading tomb of granite
Stone angels shed no tears for us

I am dying again
Longing only for respite from the pain
I am not who I was and who I loved is gone
Even now as the earth is freshly turned
a part of me is mourning

Place a sugar skull in my coffin
and board me away for a time
I am breathing euology
She who lies here...
She who loved him...

The earth is new and full of oxygen
Underneath the dandelions is a corpse's breath,
fertilizing the soil with heart sinews, old limbs and
the bullshit of a thousand mistakes

Funerals are not for the living
but always and only for the dead
May the stone angels weep for me nonetheless
I may bare scars of a thousand deaths or more
before I truly meet the grave

Echo

2011-10-21T07:46:00.000-07:00

I can smell you in my mouth, still
Echoes of your scent on my skin,
clinging to my hair

How did we let it come to this?

We've talked so much of thirst
but are yet afraid to drink

Chasing Snow

2011-10-12T09:52:00.000-07:00

Snow has clever fingers,
I watch them move while she talks
and always feel the tug of familiarity
Ice blonde hair and blue-grey eyes light up and smile

We live so far away from each other now
but I chased her across the city this week
because this is what she loves
Nothing compares to Snow in flight

I am shaped like harvest, the smell of apples in my wake
So hard to keep up with her
but we follow each other and play tag across oceans
We catch up and say farewell again

She is so warm when we hug to say goodbye
and I am left a little colder as I watch her leave
The leaves are falling golden and bright
It is my time now, but as always, I feel a little lost without her

Occupied and One Cup of Coffee

2011-10-12T09:31:00.000-07:00

I am am severely occupied and
preoccupied with survival and dignity
Lost my bus pass last night, means of getting around this city
with an inch of independence
A wonky, cascading domino effect
Use food money to get to work, tired at work because you didn't eat
Gotta walk home now and save on that one bit of faire
None of it's fair, but we knew that going in
Praying at night that some of the struggle lets up-
not all of it (I'm not greedy) just some

Big hearts, strong souls and working hands
Wanting, needing to contribute
But how not to worry about the next day?
How not to worry about children yet to be?
How not to worry about looming loans in the distance?

I am preoccupied with humility
One hand, two hands, three hands offering to pull me up
Wipe the dust off my back and remind me of less rain ahead
They say,
I know what it's like to struggle
How much it means to buy that one cup of coffee
So I hitch a ride with the windows down, relishing time off my feet
and company in the next seat
How can I say now that I have not tasted the kindness of another?
Such words would make me a bitter liar

Spines of steel and hope swinging high
People marching in the streets
I'm sorry I'm not there, sign in hand
I am working to eat, eating to work,
and still praying right before I sleep

We are a preoccupied people
A majority of the not-poor-enough, but not-rich-enough middle
Maybe we occupy too much space,
have too many hopes for all those taxes we pay
Perhaps this movement is no different than the rest
but sometimes green must rise up to cancel the red
I fear more that we will stay sleeping,
than the revolution that must come
In the end, whether blue, red or green,
majority is the color of human flesh

I am preoccupied and sipping my coffee
My tummy is rumbling and I tell it to shush,
We have to walk home first
I remind myself that this is not as bad as it seems
(and superstitiously knock on wood)
Within a people, there are sympathetic souls
willing to shelter you, encourage you,
remind you what you're working for
I am a blessed human being, and so afraid
the kindness being bestowed upon me can never be repaid

Clever fingers, quick-witted tongues and finally having enough
Wake up, Sleeping Giant
No dream, but a nightmare
There are so many of us
Surely, together, we can make a change

Choosing Gratitude

2011-10-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

Gratitude is defined as "The quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness."

I've been starting to shut down a bit lately. Not in huge amounts, but getting up later and later for work, having a harder and harder time waking up, not doing as much around the apartment. I don't think I'm depressed (been there, done that) but I am bone-weary and very frustrated. My life simply is not what I thought it would be, or what I think it should be. But should is a very, very dangerous word.

Should is defined as "1) Used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness, typically when criticizing someone's actions- He should have been careful. 2) Indicating a desirable or expected state- By now students should be able to read.

However, looking back, I can't identify the point when I knew exactly where my life was going, or having any specific goal in mind. All I know is that I wanted it to be easy. (Even reading my own commentary makes me cringe.) That is very hard to admit. I wanted my life to flow unhindered. I wanted my relationships to have depth and meaning, while never getting in my way, or making me doubt myself. I wanted interpersonal communication to be natural. I wanted jobs to fall all over themselves to hire me. I wanted romance and adventure, and stability. I wanted my life to just be the way it should be for me. But it's not. I left a 6 year relationship for legitimate, and not-so-legitimate, reasons. I've had to let go of several friendships. I've struggled with my family, watching them become strangers from far away, wondering if we'd all survive each other. I am working at a job I am beginning to hate, for pay that barely covers half my bills. I am living with a fabulous roommate and friend, but am embittered by my own need for help right now. In short, most of the time, just beneath the surface, I want to rage and cry and scream. I do not recognize myself, or my life.

This is where gratitude needs to step in. Although I can't afford my own place, I have a roof over my head because my roommate cares about me. I don't have the ideal job, but in this economy, I am able to pay a majority of my way which is more than many can say. I am not eating all the things I want, but I have food in my belly. I have the necessities, and more importantly, I have developed a network of people who genuinely care about me and my well being. These are wondrous things, worthy of gratitude.

But I realize I am not behaving grateful. I am feeling spiteful, shut-down, arrogant, and whiny. I am feeling humbled that the Universe did not recognize my own magnificence and hand me my desires immediately. I am having a hard time, right how, while I'm writing these words, even believing this is coming from me. Is this really me? How did I become so arthritic? Where did I develop such arrogance? Well, when you stick to what comes naturally, to what you know you're good at, you start to think that life is easy when it's not. I'm smart, I travel well, I have a knack with people and a way with words. I have coasted on these gifts for a very long time.

But that's only part of it. I am feeling entitled. Not only am I not feeling grateful, I am feeling like the Universe owes me because of what I've had to struggle through, and damn it, why can't something just be simple for once? Everyone is blessed with certain gifts, and everyone has darkness to overcome. The darkness in my past has left me shaken, un-trusting, and with a sense of entitlement. Being grateful, truly grateful, is a vulnerability I rarely allow myself to feel. It's been my experience that gratitude makes you beholden, makes you obligated and leads to victimization. So, even when the chips are down and my amazing friends are pulling me out of the muck, it is very nearly impossible for me to admit gratitude in a healthy way. I am either so ridiculously grateful that it makes people uncomfortable, or my back goes up and I act as though it was only a matter of time before I got up myself, but your assistance is appreciated thankyouverymuchindeed. Like always, I am searching for a way in between. I am seeking healthy boundaries that protect me, while also allowing me to just be fucking thankful that my friends didn't leave me in the cold when I needed them most.

Where to go from here?
I'm not sure, quite honestly. A good place to start would be to get up on time, and not to be late to work. Do the dishes and clean the apartment because it's my living space and deserves some respect. Being thankful and appreciative of my friends and my roommate for helping me. And possibly trying some things that don't come naturally to me. I could try practicing gratitude, and letting go of some my resentment and embarrassment. I could stop saying should, because whether I like or not, whatever my plans were originally, this is my life. Some things I can control, a lot of things I can't, but one thing is for certain- every day I have the choice to be grateful for my life, its gifts, its lessons, my friends and my choices, or not. I want to be the person who chooses gratitude.

Bodies

2011-10-07T07:13:00.000-07:00

The word body makes me uncomfortable
a here-ness
an earthy-ness
You simply cannot deny physical existence when you say this

I don't want it on my tongue
or in my mouth
I don't want it near me at all

I've watched her my whole life
Closed bathrooms door, hours logged away-
shaving, plucking, pulling, yanking

I wonder who it's all for
It may never be for her
A tiny ivory body topped with pitch dark hair
lost in the current of needles and noise

In Constant Pursuit of Gold

2011-09-07T08:33:00.000-07:00

What do you tell a man in constant pursuit of gold?
With wild eyes and desperate hands
A mad craving in the depths of his belly
Always searching, never stopping

Just around the next corner
Hidden in an unfound stream
There is gold! he says
Mountains and mountains of lustrous gold!

It's a dangerous fever that's overtaken him
He sold the house and left his dog
No time for family, no time for friends
The hunger pushes him forward, alone

What do you say to such a man?
Tell him there is no gold?
Of course there is
The world is full of gold

Maybe not around this corner, but the next
Maybe not in this stream, but one more over
He is not wrong in his dreaming
but neither is he right

You tell him that he will find his gold
and fill his pockets to the brim
He will find even more yet
Bags bursting from the weight of it all

But there is no one at home to bring the treasure to
An empty house awaits after his cravings are done
It is this and this alone
that makes him a very foolish man

A Handful of Rubies

2011-09-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

They gave me a handful of rubies
and said,
Now build your life with these

What was I to do?
I knew no better

So I begged and borrowed and whored
until I amassed a pile of jewels bright and pretty
I hoarded and discarded little bits of love at my whim
I played games on the beach and learned how to win

I became very, very good at the bluff and dodge and evade

Surrounded by cold, lifeless gems and nothing else
My heart now at a loss
Where did I go wrong then?
I played the hand dealt to me without question

Who now is to blame-
the woman or the girl? the peddler of jewels?

With a handful of rubies-
scant few treasures, handed out meagerly
over years of sweat and strain and pleasing-
Built a sandcastle of reflection and pleasure
with naught but buckets and rocks

This is what I know of rubies
Have not let myself know anything else
and soon the tide will come again

Red and Yellow Stallions

2011-09-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

The Stories say that in a man's soul
the war rages on

A Red Stallion strains against its tethers
A Yellow pulls in the opposite direction
The integrity of their owner begins to split down the middle
while holding fast to both

Experience is key! Knowledge and pursuit!
cries the Yellow Stallion, shaking its golden mane
Let's go and see! Let's explore!
Too many sights and sounds, too many new touches and smells
to stay in one place

No! cries the Red Stallion, ruby eyes rolling
Passion and roots are more important
Deep abiding love is true
What about lives built in blood, sweat and tears?

And so they argue
day after day
Only quieting down to sleep
and sometimes not even then

Knowledge and Love
The battle ensues

The owner's limbs grow weary of holding on,
wondering tiredly
Should I let go of just one?
Both?
Will the fighting never cease?

Leather snaps inside metal rings
Blood froths on equine mouths

This will rend me in two, he thinks
How can I ride away on one without pining for the other?

The Yellow Stallion will search continuously for new horizons
To see every corner of the Earth, taste every different kiss,
and know every language to know

The Red will go deeper than any have gone
Boundless humility, unconditional love are forever its pursuit
A profound and sweet reunion

At what cost?
he shakes his head
Straps bite into his tiring hands,
blood dripping slowly to Earth

And I ask this man, this Story
how to bear a cross of chronic worry
that you will pick wrong between the two
Surely it's impossible to choose
one half of your soul over the other,
splitting apart one failing human heart

Story, show me the path between!
Prove that there is a middle way
Give evidence of freedom in love,
and a home for every explorer

If I am to survive this life
there must be a way to become united
Straining against myself
limbs fighting, lungs struggling,
feet moving in opposing directions
Make love, make war
Flesh becoming a divine battlefield

An internal refugee to my own indecision
There is no shelter from a self-waged war

From Across the Room

2011-08-25T20:48:00.001-07:00

Music flowed stronger
than the whiskey and wine
Voices and strings plucked together
by the unseen hand
Your eyes, never meeting mine
You heard my song
from across the room
and said my name
Unstrung, unsung
and smiling
that I was seen among so many
without being seen at all

Polka Dot Heels

2011-08-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

There's a woman in my mind
She's wearing my red heels with polka dots
Long dark hair tied with ribbon
White skin a slash in the darkness

There's a man there too
Poor soul
Naked, hands bound with chord
Not red chord though
She doesn't seem the type for cliches

There's a plain wooden chair
It's the chair she'll ride him on
Pushing his flesh against her flesh
against the grains of wood
Her thighs
twin pistons of milk and ivory

I wonder if she ever unties him
I wonder why she's wearing my shoes

Soundtrack

2011-08-23T21:34:00.000-07:00

got here again
vicious cul de sac veins of the heart
breathe me, forgive me
fell for a liquid blue unavailable love
in creeps the dissatisfaction
wakeful night and groggy morning
no man has yet to walk those 500 miles
maybe this love story is a once, or maybe a forever
right now is not the time to know
already heard all the songs
wish it could just be a kiss in the moonlight
but the fall already happened slowly
no where to go from here
back to the same street
walking to the soundtrack

For Baby Harry

2011-07-11T10:40:00.000-07:00

We've only met once
You were too little to hold your head up,
I was too scared to hold you for long
I'm painting your bedroom mint green,
hoping your Mom will keep the wood trims black
Nothing like a bedroom that looks like
mint and chocolate chip ice cream
The apartment is quiet now
I'm wondering why I'm here

It's Sunday, it's hot
I should have something better to do
than to sit on a stained, gray carpet
covered in paint
(Sorry about the stains, by the way.)
writing to a baby who can't even read
When you're old enough
you'll wonder whose half-toe print is on the carpet
near the door maybe
You probably won't ever know it's mine,
unless I stay here and get a chance to watch you grow
Me staying put is never a guarantee

Hopefully I'll finish your room tonight,
give your Mom one less thing to worry about
Even now I'm being selfish,
curious if you'll think of the random woman
who painted your bedroom
I should be putting wishes on the walls for you
Hopes that you'll grow up to be feisty like your Mom,
and stronger than your Dad
But honestly,
I don't know what to wish for you, Harry

Being strong and feisty,
being a survivor,
isn't always what it's cracked-up to be
Pain catches up to you,
no matter how far away you move
Truth is, none of us really survive,
at least, not as we are
People die, rebuild, and die again
The world will crack you open, Harry
But don't be afraid of this
You will travel to the deepest caverns in hell,
the highest peaks in heaven
Storms will rip away all you thought you were
If you let it

...I got a wish for you now
May you be brave enough to let life unfold,
and dig deep in times of trouble to discover the man you are supposed to be
Don't hide, baby
Don't you ever hide

Field of Fireflies

2011-06-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

Never did see a lightning bug until I moved here
and I've lived everywhere
Until here,
they were just a fairy tale

Even through a cloudy lens of heartache and confusion
they light up the summer sky

I learned how to catch them-
always catch and release
No jars, no lids
No watching as the sparks die away

Sitting at dusk and overlooking
the neighborhood of my new life,
she said that in some places there are
whole fields of fireflies

That's where I wanna go

I need a night-time road trip
Steal away into inky blackness and follow the lights down south
That's where they are, supposedly
These whole fields of fireflies

My face will reflect their light
I'll close the car door quietly,
because it'll be one of those sacred, hushed moments
that only a fool would disturb

I will stand, surrounded by silent, iridescent wings
Lightning will strike against my skin
Again and again and again
Until I am whole, until I am healed

It's silly, I know
Thinking finding a field of fireflies
will make everything okay
I know it won't, really-
but I like to pretend

It's a Holy Grail,
these floating lanterns
Maybe only a journey of the heart,
but important nonetheless

Just leave this jar for a time,
see how far my sparks will go
Remember how to fly again

Follow the darkness to find the lightning-
instead of sitting at my window,
waiting for something new to strike

She's Still in There

2011-06-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

She's still in there
in the country house off the dirt road
30 minutes from the red, tower lights

She's wandering around in there
touching the fraying carpets and splintering doors
waiting to be saved
wondering why no one believes her

I can see her through the grimy, caked window
No amount of flesh and love can erase her from my mind

I walk the hallway behind her
a grown-woman shadow of what is to come
following what has already been

She's still in there
She's still in me

Storm Tossed

2011-06-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

There was an arrogance in my withholding
A brass assumption you would always want me
even after I left for good

You were an anchor for my sailing ship
Afraid you would drag me under
even as you saved me from the wind

You move on
and I am broken open

Maybe if I had the strength to pull you up
Maybe if you had the courage to let me go
Maybe this story would be different

I miss you tonight
and how you held me in your sleep
Wishing I could kiss your bronze eyelashes
and regretting every time I walked out
Ashamed I sought in someone else
what I should have found in you

I am sailing away, too

Perhaps it is fear of the unknown
that storm tosses my dreams
or
the knowledge that I gave you so many reasons
to be glad I'm gone

There is no more pretending,
no avoiding the deeply rolling waves,
no way to not see I was half the problem

After these gales
you may never know how much I loved you,
or believe me when I say
I know you loved me too

Wishing if we were always meant to end,
that I had tried harder
loved harder
been less afraid
been more than the sum of patched and crooked sails

I will find a new horizon,
but not tonight

Tonight is for love and regret,
and the taste of sea salt on my lips

Joni

2011-06-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

No money for food

and nowhere to go.

Wash this all away

and sing to me today.

Empty living room floor-

barefeet on bare wooden planks.

Ain't got no place to be,

so why don't you sing to me?

Take your voice and lift me up,

a merry cloud in a cloudless sky.

Only your words can set me free.

Why won't you sing for me?

When all else fails

and the world is old,

tired faces and tired hands,

take me in your arms

and sing to me.

Ain't no place I'd rather be.

Tale of Masochisitic Tongue

2011-06-17T12:27:00.000-07:00

I hate your love

Bitter-wife and envy

I need your love

A chronic taste of longing

I will never be satiated

I am your undoing

A slow, psychotic unravel

of both

Wicked, sickened cocained smiles

Full of promise and charm and up-tucked beauty

Handing-holding wiles

Obligation, with unwanted duty

Who am I to you?

Two silver tongues

dancing their silver dance

Ever touching, ever leaving

A moonlit kiss to fade away in daylight

Feeling Heat

2011-06-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

Sweat gathers over brows and upper lips

Heat pulses against the tops of thighs,

making every step a burden-filled backpack

Beaten down against the sun,

swimming through shimmering mirages

Profound and holy discomfort

One foot, then another

A cumbersome, awkward dance

and wishing for sweat-slicked bodies in a different kind of waltz

An afternoon of ice on heated skin,

tracing water with tongue over collarbones,

cooling breath in the crooks of elbows and backs of knees

Feeling the desperate heat

Would trade it all-

one sweaty afternoon for another

Skin salt-stained and fatigued

One with rosin glow

One with peeling burns

Take the one where water, love and sweat all taste the same

Metal

2011-06-13T10:35:00.000-07:00

a storm rages on

recession, regression, regret

there was a softer way I could've chosen

a path without thunder or brambles or thorns

but I am finding the metal of me

wind rips away hair

rending flesh from skeleton

exposing sinew, bone and organ

to the elements of fate

there is no shelter here

I will find the metal of me

unsure, insecure, scrambled footing

in the screaming gall

one surety ripped away from another

counting lightning strikes inside the silence

will I be steel, or silver, or gold when this is through?

already my reflection is a brass-filled stranger

She Calls Me Songbird

2011-06-08T13:47:00.000-07:00

My newfriend calls me Songbird

ElvisPresley is close to my lips while I work

Theothers laugh and I smile-

worthyof the hour and a half of trains and buses

bothways

Now Irecognize the sweet face

of thedriver who picks me up at night

Her familiarityis comforting

as arethe other commuters on the train

Wetalk about the movie “Hair Show”

Oneapologizes when he curses in front of me

Thesenew things

aregreen, overturned leaves,

unexpectedcolors in a life I thought I knew

Mychoices are now off the already beaten path

Shecalls me Songbird

I amfollowing the sounds of this bird

tosomething completely different

Apples to Apples

2011-06-08T13:40:00.000-07:00

Let’splay a game

I sayTemptress

and you call my name

But I’mtired now

oftrying to be Snow White

I amno raven and alabaster beauty

I’vetasted many kisses

andtossed many dice

I amlonely now,

wearyof pretty princesses and their 7 little men

Toolong have I waited to be saved

fromthe dark recesses of my bloody, beating heart

I don’twant to sing Manzana’s Song

or flyfrom mouth to mouth in a frozen dream

Caramelcannot mask the taste of poison

I amdone with this fairy tale

What Iwas-

broke

Theceramic apple fell from my chest, rolled to my feet

andwhen my tears fall in regret

I cutit in half to find the hidden star

Eventhough I chose a bitter path in the dark,

it wasthe right path for once such as me

So,drop a word, write a line, give a rhyme

thatmirror, mirrors salvation

I sayRedemption

and you say my name

Let’splay a different game

A Pale Green Cup

2011-06-08T13:36:00.000-07:00

Theprince hid amongst the cow herd

with theentire Universe down his throat

and hopeinside his chest, fluttering on white wings

Sothey say

And Idrank that tale like ice-cold milk from a pale green cup

Always,there was room in my heart for the adventure of it all-

for believingin the wondrous

Thereis room still

to findthe key to that secret garden

to feelwind whip through my hair as I travel to the edge of the compass

If aprince living among the cows

is hidingthe Universe

then Istole my eyes from a sleeping tiger

and mytongue will sing a thousand starry lullabies

My heartbeats for the story

and thereis room enough for it all

Toolong have I stayed behind white picket fences

When Icome to my end

throatfull to bursting, my chest fluttering slowly

I wantto be stretched around the world so thin,

cradlingevery inch of earth until I am transparent as a pale, jade cup

Icecold milk will pour forth between my teeth

andyou,

kindreader,

willdrink my stories-

thestories I was unafraid to live

Two Wishes

2011-05-10T14:12:00.001-07:00

Wishing today that love wasn’t the ichor in my veins
or the driving force inside every sandy step
Wishing that I could want what is good for me
or perhaps
what others are convinced is right
Looking for that guarantee-
that what I desire will long for me too
Seeing so clearly to the other side of the water
with no path in between but waves and wind
Yet that’s the way it’s always been for me

A map-less and certain vision

With a bloody compass etched into my arm
and a mighty star to guide the way,
I may yet sail from these familiar shores

closer to the heartbeat of it all
closer to the truth
closer to what I always dreamed

I yet have hope for me

Modeling Segment for WCIU-the U: Hot Bridesmaid Gowns

2011-05-10T12:52:00.000-07:00

Hot Bridesmaid Gowns

Another fun shoot for Aleah's "Fashion Express" on WCIU. Only problem is they never let you keep the clothes...

Modeling Segment for WCIU-the U: Slimming Styles

2011-05-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

Slimming Styles

Video segment and shoot I did for the wonderful Aleah on WCIU's morning segment "Fashion Express"! It was ridiculously fun getting to play around in Lane Bryant for the afternoon. :)

Wish

2011-04-28T15:30:00.000-07:00

one day we'll collide
you and I
our dance will bring us together

out of the vast chaos of space
moving toward destinations
twirling in dust and light and sound
there will be another star
moving in the same direction, at the same velocity
as me

it will be a miracle
this collision
that of the millions and billions
of stars and planets
in untold galaxies and universes
two stars find each other at all

like the love between heaven and earth
like the gravity holding every foot to the floor
I will wait for this collision
'cause everything else is milk pale in comparison

Jenga

2011-04-27T17:31:00.000-07:00

No successful words to say today
Glowing, mismatched pieces
all scrambling to find their place again
A swaying jinga tower
and upturned puzzle cascaded on the carpet
Put the metal tweezer next to the funny bone
and was buzzed away from the board
Seems, sometimes,
no matter how carefully words are chosen,
it all comes tumbling down
Thing is though,
if it falls and cracks so easily and so fast
it would never have survived
Words are the heaviest pieces to play
but I was never playing

Eric- On the Corner of Archer and Western

2011-04-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

Smile for me, Sunshine.
48 colored crayons.
I used to repair bicycles.
What's your name?
You sure you don't wanna drink and smoke with me?
You're an English teacher.
Can I be your student, Sunshine?
48 colored crayons!
Need any chapstick?
Did you tell me your name?
48 colored crayons...
How you feeling, Sunshine?
See? See what you gone and did?
You made my day.
You wanna know a secret?
If I told you it wouldn't be a secret.

I will play you like a cello.

2011-03-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

("Woman Playing Cello" by Lara Bagdasarian)

I will play you like a cello-
place you between my thighs
pluck and prick and twist, until you hum to my satisfaction

I will drag my bow across your belly
until you weep and scream my song

I will play you hard
drive you up and down registers
one octave to the next, until you shudder between me
your wood glistening with tears and sweat

My touch will be soft
because I understand your nature
I know the curve of neck and dip of your side
and how much you love to be used

I will play you so exquisitely
you will beg for my hands to ignite you to cinders

And when I am done
when you are warped with condensation
and lamenting with lust
I will put you in your case
and forget we ever made music at all

(Published in Movement: The Arts Issue. Issue #131, Spring 2009)

Every Second Sunday

2011-03-22T10:10:00.000-07:00

When we meet like this,
the lights low,
the curtains always shut,
she stands naked in front of her full-length mirror,
face flushed from the wine we finished downstairs,
and anxious for me.

I kneel in front of her
and begin to paint.

I brush the soft bristles over her belly.
She shivers.
A ballad this time,
line by line,
down the swell of her stomach
and around her navel.
She turns slowly,
slowly.
I drip prose down her thigh.
She drops her head back
and a sigh escapes her mouth.
Practice makes her turn again.
I paint tanka on her
lower back, her buttocks.
Standing up behind her,
my breath trailing her spine,
she moves her hair.

Haiku is caressed
onto the nape of her neck
where the dark hair curls.

Her hands are braced flat on the mirror,
the gold ring clinking against its reflection.
Shoulder-blades bowed back and jutting,
breath coming faster.
Circling round her, I stroke iambic rhymes on the insides
of her wrists
and the crooks of her elbows.
She is shaking,
her knees giving way.

"Now" she pleads,
"Do it now."

Kneeling again
I read the ballad on her belly,
Slowly,
luxuriously,
carefully.
I whisper it close to her skin,
my words drying the paint as I recite.
I murmur every inch
of poetry and prose,
of rhythm and rhyme
cascading across her body.

The tremors rocket through her limbs,
but she makes no move to touch me.
She never does.
When I reach the back of her neck,
my tongue lolling on the secret words
by her curling hair
and behind her ear,
her back arches,
and she cries out,
falling to the floor.

Lips trembling, eyes glazed,
she looks at me and says,
"You can go now."

I gather my brush and paint,
and close the door behind me.

Every time I come here,
after I take the money on the front table
next to the empty bottle of wine,
I always wonder what she tells her husband
and how she explains the paint in her hair
when she can’t wash it out.

(Published in Word Salad Poetry Magazine, December 2009)

Gulls

2011-03-21T09:04:00.000-07:00

the grip of winter is lessening
through pink-shot morning skies
I can hear the cry of gulls
renting the moist air

my bones shiver from the damp, from the cries
as if every important memory is found in their call
echoing inside me

Galveston Island, with brownies and bright sandy buckets
Swansea, Wales and creaking windows against stormy gales
Chicago, Illinois and...
waiting for winter to pass
snuggling deeper under the covers while light fills the sky

at every pivot point the gulls herald their arrival
I think it should always be this way for me

Phoenix Song

2011-03-14T17:22:00.000-07:00

the story of the phoenix
doesn't mean much
when it's told over and over again
but no one stops to plan

it means you gotta die
no roll of the dye
you have to choose to die
in order to live again

we keep talking of ashes and flames
but it's just games
until someone grabs the torch
and makes the choice

to expeditiously expand
their own demise
in order to move beyond
simply surviving

the story of the phoenix is bloody
and lonely
the song of the phoenix is melancholy
and wondrous
but we speak so easily of such things

as if putting your Self on the altar
is no mean feat
no force
no remorse
your choice

your voice screeches higher
as flesh and blood
sizzle away in self made fire
cracked tears and dried lips
praying
you weren't wrong
praying
you'll wake up on the other side

on the inside
when the song of the phoenix cries
better say goodbye
'cause swim or burn
sink or fly

either way
you're gonna die

Flowers Like Chatty Freakin' Cathys

2011-03-02T14:25:00.000-08:00

The crackling sound of falling rose petals
while I'm trying to sleep
Dried and hanging on the wall,
a bundle of memories, incessantly talking

Dark Pink, from coffee-guy at work
who has yet to actually bring me coffee, is the newest and irritated with
the Lonely White for being my own Valentine for the first time in 6 years.
Yellow-With-Orange-Trim, from a friend who followed the trail of sunbeams and blood, is proud like a peacock still and overshadows
the Sweet Blue Rose, simply because Blue Rose likes to read
The Glass Menagerie before she goes to bed.
The Red Rose, old and shy, traveled from desert to sea to city.
Carried everywhere and shedding petals, she was loved so hard,
doesn't say much because after 6 years there isn't much to say.

Thinking I should learn how to press flowers,
instead of dry them
Suffocated blooms don't keep you up at night
with self-important chatter

Paper Hearts, Paper Butterflies

2011-02-22T13:50:00.000-08:00

Wily Jack and Chapters 1, 2 and 3
Paper butterflies next to electric candles
but they burn anyway
Maybe there is some hope for the flowers after everything
More music than I can remember tonight
Strumming fingers whispering over strings,
whispering through strung up paper hearts,
papering the table next to the candles

Put a heart down my shirt, one down my boot-
so in the morning
(after chapters 2, 3 and 1)
I'd remember you and all the music
Butterflies resurrect so easily, after all-
dying and reemerging
Wishing I could say the same for my pounding head
and new found hearts,
after my night with Wily Jack

The White Mansion

2011-02-22T09:36:00.000-08:00

1
Here was I again, in the mansion made of white.
White walls, floors, furniture, ceiling,
except for my lips. My lips were blood red.
Everyone was there-
friends, family, enemies, old lovers.
Smiling teeth of bone white,
circling each other with ivory limbs.
Yet the storm raged outside and I knew something was coming.
Snow was piling against the windows,
the wind shrieking madly in wild gales.
Bundled in scarves and kid gloves,
they looked at me and smiled their bone smiles.
Stop fretting, they say.
You worry too much.
So much drama over nothing.
No one believed a word I said.
They continued to sip their drinks from white trays, and
glasses of the clearest crystal.
And I, I was alone among them.

2
How long had I been here? A day?
A year? An entire lifetime.
Pushing against the throngs I made
my way down a hallway.
Could they not feel the beasts outside?
Maybe only just miles from the house.
Time was running out and my blood was going cold.
Every glance to the windows afforded whirls of
snowy darkness, with no world beyond.
I stopped.
This was a hallway from my school years,
and instead of classrooms lining the sides
there were window shops.
This was not the white mansion.
This was not real at all.
My heart thudded madly. There was a way out!
It’s only a dream.

3
I pirouetted in the hallway.
My movements were slow and perfect.
It was a dream and I exploited the rules while I wondered-
How do I get out?
It’s a labyrinth in here. There must be a way out.
Yet there was still a sharp edge to time.
Monsters were descending on this place soon,
and I wanted to be gone before this turned into a nightmare
with blood spreading across the white walls.
I spun on my toes and leapt in the air.
People I knew, with blurring faces, strolled arm in arm
down the hallway. Watching me sadly.
The girl who cried wolves; the girl who had lost her mind.
I tried to ignore them, even though their stares hurt the heart of me.
I stopped spinning.
My white dressed shuttering to a stop about my ankles.
I bit back tears.
Why doesn’t anyone believe me? I wanted to scream.
There are monsters coming! They’re right outside!
I dragged myself back to the problem at hand.
This was a dream. I couldn’t leap suspended in the air
in real life. I needed to concentrate on reality.
I tried to think of my warm bed, and the feel of my sheets.
If only I could get back there.

4
I went back into the throng of people.
I looked through their bone smiles and crystal glasses.
Parents, siblings, best friends.
A room full of people who loved me, and no one there to help.
Then a flash of flesh.
An old love. A love that fell apart.
Bare-chested and in faded jeans, I saw the hunch of his sharp
shoulder blades cutting through the crowd.
Gratitude and fear flooded me.
Not him, please not him.
Too much history, too much pain.
Please don’t let him be the way out.
His figure faded.
I turned and saw the storm gathering rage.
I was running out of time.
There are monsters coming! We need to fight! We need to prepare!
I tried one last time. They looked at me as they
would a broken, discarded child.
Pity and indulgence suffused their icy features.
Poor girl, never knows what she’s talking about.
And inside, a little part of me believed them.

5
I ran back down the hallway,
and right where I knew it would be
there was a set of double doors leading outside.
I would prove there were monsters. I would prove I wasn’t crazy.
I was telling the truth and would see the monsters for myself.
I could feel my old lover behind me.
My white socks stepped into the snow and my dress tugged against
me in the wind. I took that first step outside alone.
Impervious to the cold and barefoot, he walked around me
and sat on a jutting piece of brick.
You don’t need to prove anything, he said.
He held out his hand.
It took every ounce of courage I had left to put my hand in his.
It was dry and warm.
I woke up.

6
I shuddered in bed.
Curled against the wall, I could feel my limbs tangled inside the
softness of those familiar sheets.
Your eyes were looking at me, full of worry and love.
I told you about the white mansion and the labyrinth.
I told you about finding my way out, about being trapped for so long,
about leaving everyone behind-
old loves, my family, my friends
and stepping into the snow by myself.
I told you the man I loved before helped me the last step of the way.
You stroked my hair and said, I’m proud of you
and I hope I’m not a part of the problem.

7
I woke up in bed again.
This time I was alone,
and I was really awake.

Getting Published!

2011-02-22T07:31:00.000-08:00

The South Boston Literary Gazette has graciously decided to print 3 of my poems in their 23rd Issue. You can read The Dregs, In Case of Emergency and Building Wings here on my blog.
When I have more information of where to buy the published gazette I will let you know.
Cheers!
A Friday Poet

Waiting

2011-02-14T07:51:00.000-08:00

Realized today
that I was waiting

Something missing in the wind

50 degrees with thick, chill air
Took two days and nights
to remember what it is

...Sea salt
Wanting to smell sea salt on the breeze
and hear the cry of gulls rent the air

The quiet wind
whirls around me in a cloak of memory

Can't help but feel the deficit on my skin

Crave

2011-01-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

so much more
do I crave
than the feel of someone's hands
is a life of purpose

independence, freedom
autonomy
are an aphrodisiac in my blood

so much more
than love
do I crave fulfillment

waking up complete
instead of half-tired
and unsure

so much more
do I crave
than what I had
than what I was given
than what I've done and what was done to me

so much more
did people deserve from me
and
there was so much more
that I should have asked of you

more than anything
more than a life without love
do I fear
never fully being myself

always wanting so much more
is something you never understood in me
is a hunger I barely understand in myself

Let's Get Those Smoothies Before the Zombie Apocalypse

2011-01-26T22:51:00.000-08:00

Let's hope
when the Zombie Apocalypse hits
you're not actually in a wheelchair

'Cause I'm not sure how good a shot
you'll be when pushed around
the blockaded mall

We should have years 'til then
Few months, at the very least

Time enough to scrub that smoothie
from the front seat of your car
Even though smelling permanently like pomegranates
isn't such a bad thing

Almost want to leave the berry stains alone
Won't matter anyway
when our blood and brains are splattered
everywhere

Assuming, of course
we make it to your car in time
Assuming both of us are successfully running
from the zombies
Assuming you're not in that wheelchair

'Cause at one point in the dream
I had to fireman carry you
Not sure I'm down with that

Let's sit in your car,
get some more smoothies and make plans

Never hurts to be prepared

Scotch Tape Venice

2011-01-24T08:28:00.000-08:00

Propped up with popsicle sticks and tape from my desk
The show must go on
(whether or not a Universe ceased to be last night)
Broken hearts still beat,
labored lungs wheeze and continue their work
As should I

Tear-puffed eyes labor against sympathetic glances
Spare me your pity, fools
I walked into this love of my own volition
and I walked out the same
There are bills still unpaid, plans yet unfinished

Wooden sticks and sticky tape
cannot heel every hounding thought,
cannot shelter the entirety of this storm-
So if you really want to help me,
hand me a roll of barbed wire and a bucket of pigeon poop

I will make of these miserable remnants
a Venician citadel
(with all due expectation of flooding and raining nights)
This fortress need not last forever-
just long enough to float me through the mire

Eventually I'll let her sink,
but for now, she's all I've got

Hollow

2011-01-22T12:14:00.000-08:00

the picture frames are empty now
filing away photos to look at again one day
but not today

heartbeats echo in my chest
reverberating against rattling bones
there was so much of you inside me
too much, probably

starving for something that cannot be given
only rediscovered in time
what to do with an entire day ahead?
the repercussion of handing you back your life
was getting mine back in return

it all feels so hollow

empty hallways, empty picture frames, empty heartbeats

waiting for the moment when I start to fill in
all those lonely places
to wake up and know exactly what to do with my day
to find I am occupying all my own space
without you

Snow Globes and Sasquatches

2011-01-21T15:53:00.000-08:00

a pale, yellow paper sun is in the sky today
double-wrapped scarves and watering eyes
squint against the winter light-
light clear as crystal and sharp as golden nails

forced to look down, bent against the wind
noticing large, indented footsteps on the sidewalk
passed by so many times and never noticed them before
in between the goth/punk clothing stores and the comic shop

large steps, too long a stride to be human
and on a day such as today
when only soft eyelids and noses are peeking out
the footsteps could only mean one thing

Bigfoot is loose on the frigid streets of the city
he is stomping massive feet into the concrete
but moving quickly for such a large thing
to get out of sight before being seen

it was only a matter of time, really
before Bigfoot showed up
it's snow globe cold out here

there's just enough room left
for a lonely Sasquatch to press his mits
against the glass
before the city gets turned upside down with flurries

A Dance With Vernon, Lonnie and Napoleon

2011-01-18T13:27:00.000-08:00

Early evening ballroom dancing-
a compromise between empty nesters and the daughter they never understood
Couldn't sit down without a proffered hand
"May I have this dance?"
Miles away from middle school slow-dancing
and wall-flowers,
all my protests of ignorance were waved away with
"I'll show you how"
and so they did

First was Vernon and his arthritic arms
that wrapped around my waist for a two-step
Quick, quick, slow, slow
Giggling feet-watching turned into
noticing how bright his eyes were,
how strong his hands gripped mine
Guided and safe, I barely missed a step
even when steered backwards
with eyes tightly closed

Next Lonnie took me for a waltz
with several trips, skips and
I'm sorry!
in between one two three, one two three
We stopped, tried again
and tried again, again
So dizzy I can't remember anything but a
blush in his cheeks as we held our frame

Finally, for a dance or two,
there was a guy so small he came to my chin
Couldn't read his name tag
but his grip was a tenaciously patient vice
One two three, cha cha cha
He taught me the Chase
and thinking
maybe Napolean was just misunderstood

Watching the parents-
figuring their steps slowly, faces alight
Strangers to me, yes
but not so different when it comes to the dance
We found an understanding somewhere
in the middle of the floor

The Dregs

2011-01-18T13:11:00.000-08:00

I have pushpins in the bottom of my heart,
fallen into the crevices from pictures I've put up and taken down
I'm pretty sure they're tangled with those missing shoelaces
You see how silly it is to love me from the bottom of your heart?
No one wants to drink the last dregs of coffee
I don't know what's down there in your depths
I could love you from my left ventricle, or if I ever find that paint covered
step-stool, loving you from my aorta would be more appropriate

Towards the bottom I've got my hands full with socks that have no mate,
and secrets that are trying to weasel their way up through the tricuspid
No one ever warned me how tenacious secrets can be-
if I knew, I wouldn't have kept so many
Poems, for that matter, are just as bad-
hairy, horrible, purple monsters that dance and caper and distract,
yanking at veins and switching my valves
Walking here is next to impossible without kicking up sheet music and half-finished manuscripts

So if you insist on loving me,
find it in the ends of your toes or from the lengths of your hair,
pull this love from tingly fingertips,
find this love in unoccupied spaces
My heart is pretty cluttered at the moment,
but if you give me time to clear out the cobwebs and organize the junk,
when I give you love from the bottom of my heart,
it won't be scampering with critters and covered in dust

Bloody Knuckles

2011-01-17T11:34:00.000-08:00

my hands are bruised
pummeling them against a brick wall for years on end
will do that
my knuckles are scraped and bloody
with streaks of dirt and grit on my face
from wiping tears away

She Said the Answer is Blue

2011-01-11T11:15:00.000-08:00

one moment
and a possibility of not waking full of dull, festering aches

aching for a world of contentment and, dare I say it?
fulfillment

filling up the voids in the earth,
making whole the holes in the soul

it isn't enough
(those meat-and-potatoes times)
but to desire embellishments-
is that not the epitome of selfishness?

it is no answer to simply survive

but despite all my accouterments and derision
all I've done so far is survive with flair

A Mouth Full of Stars

2011-01-08T12:48:00.000-08:00

If I kissed you, Sandman
my mouth would be full of stars
My dreams would be only of you,
even though they already are

Coughing stardust from my lungs
from inhaling galaxies and nightmares
Not so sure it would be worth one kiss-
not so sure this would be fair

You see, I am not free to love you
and you are not free to leave
My heart is wiser than my lips
Maybe we should keep this be

I exist in one world-
you reside in the other
Not so sure where we could cross over
in order to be lovers

I can fold my arms and watch the night,
want to rest my head upon your shoulder
But when the dreams call you away again
I will be left all the colder

A love that never blooms
can be painful and unfair
But when I close my eyes to sleep,
I know that you are there

Heavy

2011-01-08T12:10:00.000-08:00

A question mark
where a face should be,
like a black-and-white frame
with frozen eyes and lips
never to speak or smile
He dances, and the steps
are heavy
Before memory there was a father
but the table was missing a place
Nothing there to hold
He dances a confession-
an extra chair in the first row

He dances
The words are dark and the breathing slow,
but he dances
His steps are torn from the heart of things-
a story about an unknown face
A turn, a drop of sweat,
one more foot placed so assuredly so
A knee bent, an elbow turned up

With each step, not so heavy anymore
All the chairs are filled

Bucket

2010-12-26T22:33:00.000-08:00

Bailing out my life with a bright blue bucket
The drain is clogged, you see
and now I'm strong-arming the waste
Left to fester and mold,
the floor becomes slick and dark

There's no standing in the fetid water
Can't wait for a plumber
Each day I grab the bucket,
a plastic, robin's egg blue
and bail a little out at a time

I could be somewhere else,
with drains that work
and plaster that isn't crackling inside the walls
But this life belongs to me
and I will bail out the mess,
ounce by ounce

No one can take this bright blue life from me

Ode

2010-12-26T15:57:00.000-08:00

angry tiger stripes ripped into skin
dewy childhood flesh coerced into maturity
now scars and spider silk,
trailing behind these knees,
over these breasts,
across these hips

ivory road maps

The Lily and The Rose (in progress)

2010-12-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

1
Nymphaea caerulea,
like pale blue smoke hanging from your lips,
and rivers running beneath your skin
A dab of essence oil at the hollow of your throat,
or the delicate lines of your wrists
Such fragile wrists
You would protest in pain as I tugged and tugged,
wanting you to play with me
No hand could pluck you from your watery rest
An Egyptian sacrament,
a divine province
There was no room for me

2
Always too much
Too many thorns, too many petals,
too fragrant and too strong
Climb the trellis, climb the door
Creep and crawl up the wall
Cling with winding limbs of green
Red hair truffling against the bricks
Hold fast, little one
Winds will buffet and blow,
birds will dip and dive
But even when the vines are bare-
you are still Rose Red

3
You've been clean for 2 months now, they say
Guess they would know better than me
Wanting so much to be happy for you
Disgusted that I'm not
Finally, everyone could see me
without your dynamic and injured cloud
obscuring their vision
And now
instead of pride in you
the old electric shocks of jealousy
return full force
Reduced to the insecure child of yesterday
There is no room for you in me
and all the demons you've slayed
Thinking of you
me
of you and me
Realizing everyday has been lived in comparison
and despite the lure of compassion
finding value in your mistakes
How to raise two flowers
with no ground to plant each alone?
Found identity as you sank into the muck
A crafted foundation rocks as you crawl forth
I wish it wasn't this way

Acid Bones

2010-12-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

Familiar Discontentment
like acid in my bones.
Eating, gnawing, chewing
from the inside- out.
Thoughts,
wondrous, dark thoughts,
intangible and useless without manifestation.
Lamenting the false promises of others,
but nothing to give but empty dreams, too.
So hungry
for a life of purpose.
Starving.
Nothing so far
can slake this appetite,
eating me alive.
Old plans trickle heedlessly to the floor
from a mouth slack with indecision.
No matter where I go, who I love,
where I live,
eventually the Discontentment opens
its gaping maw-
swallowing me away, crunching my bones
and smiling,
with my ragged flesh caught in its teeth.

Winter Queen

2010-11-30T09:23:00.000-08:00

kiss me, my Winter Queen
steal the fire from my lips

pull the fertility from my body
and fallow the soil of my soul

lay dormant the flowers at my feet,
pass your hand over my eyes and ask me to sleep

let me lie in your arms-
a pale December sun
casts shadows through the trees overhead

my heart beating slower,
limbs languid and numb
my time is ending-
not meant for ice and shadow,
wake me when the sun is high again

I am safe in your arms,
eyes closing against your cold visage-
a pale blue sculpture
gazing across a frozen expanse

your world,
not mine

kiss me once,
and let me sleep

Enough

2010-11-22T08:44:00.000-08:00

Stops and starts for months,
a fitful motor that's finally run out of fuel and faith

Singing, Should I stay or should I go now?
Too many years
of being stomped and pushed and misunderstood
Don't know if I have anything left
It hurts to breathe

Words tumble from your lips,
sweet and sincere
I know you meant them last night
when I made love to you when I shouldn't have
I'm sure you'll mean them again today

Why now, for Christ's sake?
After all this time
Hand on the door, foot past the jamb,
nice red bricks walling me away,
so close to not being in love anymore

Even if I had a breath left for us
there is too much prior damage done
I'm aching and tired,
too raw to believe
It hurts to breathe

Add insult to injury,
even if the guilt isn't entirely yours,
can't you see I've been here before?
Love and protection don't mean much to me
Echoes of a childhood on repeat

Just wanting the pain to be over, really
To take a deep breath

One more chance
risks oblivion more than heartbreak
I've been breaking slowly all this time
Worried that your trying hard enough won't be enough for me

This time,
I'm afraid you've asked too much

Almond Milk

2010-11-02T22:22:00.000-07:00

When I poured almond milk into my tea tonight, I realized that this is one of the best days of my life. But let me tell you why.
I woke up in my new apartment today, and for the second morning in a row, the sunlight lit up the living room.
I went to work by bus. (Because now I live just up the road from one of my campuses.) I attended a phone conference for a staff meeting that I helped organized, for a new supervisor who knows my name and actually likes me.
After work, I walked across the street to the neighborhood pound to look for cat that I can now afford to have in my new apartment. Then I walked home.
I made myself gluten-free dinner in my new kitchen.
When my roommate came home from work we went back to the pound to look over kittens together. I am buying a litter box and toys this weekend, in joyful preparation.
Then we went grocery shopping.
I bought food for the rest of the week, gluten-free. I used coupons, bought super cheap milk and eggs, and had money enough for Nutella and almond milk.

This might seem normal and mundane. (Well, it IS mundane and normal.) But it's all mine. This is my life. I built this life. I have earned this freedom. Why is this one of the best days of my life? Because I put almond milk in my tea, and because I was humming and dancing in the aisle at the supermarket. For the first time in years, I feel like myself.
Happy. Independent.

Pomegranates

2010-10-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

Guilt washed her hands in pomegranate-
seeds and ligaments and clots
She left it in the soap dispenser

I washed my hands last night
and could only think of blood

Blue-eyed Boy

2010-10-16T11:31:00.000-07:00

there is a lonely, blue-eyed boy
standing in the concrete jungle

wanting too much,
heart swelling his chest

a gentle blue-beating heart, like his eyes

escaping, cascading down, overflowing to the concrete
soaking the jungle floor

flooding the world with light and heart and sound

lonely, perhaps
but not alone

A Confession (or A Ways from Caramel Apples)

2010-10-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

I must confess, I used to be anorexic.
I figured now would be a good time to just lay that out on the table. Being a hiccup away from 25 is bringing a lot of things to light. I've never shared this in such an open way, but today seems like a good day. Between the age of 13 and 14 I barely ate anything at all and exercised sometimes over 6 hours a day. Unfortunately, this unprecedented surge of "self control" and "dedication" was met with more praise than alarm. I am the perfect storm of components that make up a person who develops this disorder. Some of those components are dark and personal; I won't be sharing those here. However, I did want to talk about expanding.
Ironic, eh? Someone who once dedicated herself so completely to disappearing now wants to discuss actually taking up space in the universe. Lately, I've been desperate to feel some growth- legitimately growing up, with all the attendant responsibilities and heartaches thereto. My poem Rapunzel begins to touch on this desire. I am letting myself grow literally (go-go Gadget hair!) and figuratively. But the basics of anorexia are strong and compulsion is a huge component. It is so much like a dysfunctional romantic relationship it's a little bit scary; Dear Ani touches on this, although nothing but experience can ever fully explain how it feels. Last Sunday I realized that I am still in the shadow of my former relationship. But let me explain, first, how it began.

I remember the moment I stopped eating. I took one bite of a caramel apple and stopped. I looked down at the crispy green apple, covered in the bright, golden caramel and felt nothing but disgust. It was right around this time of year, too, and my middle school was being flooded with pre-Trick-Or-Treat candy and pseudo-Halloween delights. I had been wandering around aimlessly, feeling restless and deeply upset. It was a typical day at lunch; there was no where to sit and no one to talk to. I bought a candy apple in the hopes that it would cheer me up. Eating carbohydrates and sweets had always been my go-to comfort compulsion as a kid; sneaking away Oreos and finishing entire bags of chips on my own was pretty typical. But for some reason, I snapped that day. I threw the apple away, because I finally understood, deep down, that eating would never get rid of my pain. I decided to take control of myself, and to my detriment, that control went way too far. Thus I began my ritual of eating lettuce for lunch, barely any dinner (if at all) and exercising from the moment I got home from school until it was time to go to bed. I was like this for the majority of a year and a half. No one ever noticed or said anything besides, "Your legs are looking so long!" or "You're working really hard." Or, the absolute worst, "I'm really proud of you."

Truth be told, I felt nothing. These compliments fell on deaf ears and a hollow heart. Honestly, I don't remember much of that year. What pieces I do remember have been supplemented by photos because along with disordered eating I had a whooping case of body dysmorphic disorder. These symptoms were at their worst during the angst of middle school, but seemed to let up when I got into high school. I found friends, got involved in theater, and started eating again. My eating habits went back to being compulsive and emotional. I secretly loathed my body, but at least it was getting the nutrition it needed to live. Far more important than anything, I felt like I belonged somewhere. Flash forward 4 years and I graduated with a 4.25 GPA, ranking number 11 out of a class of 800 students. I went away on scholarship to the school of my choice. Always the paragon of strength, intelligence, quirky confidence, and brutal honesty, no one would ever think that I wanted to disappear. Because that's what anorexia does. It taps into your deepest fear that no one wants you, no one sees you, and even if they did, they sure as hell couldn't love you. It's your tool for disappearance. The kicker is though, even after I started eating again, the urge to disappear didn't... well... disappear. I was tired of people saying I was too loud, wanted too much, my dreams were unreachable; I was just too big for anyone to deal with. On the outside I was shrugging this off, but it ate away at me. I started retreating again- my medicine for dealing with pain. I graduated from college Cum Laude; I immediately joined a master's program and after a year, graduated with Distinction. But I am only just now realizing I have never understood how to truly deal with pain and uncertainty.

Today I am here. I am engaging with my life. I have plans. Fuck, I have a birthday party to go to that I've been looking forward to for weeks! Today, I am taking up space in the universe. I've come a long way and the internal work has been grueling. But last Sunday was a caramel apple moment. I was full of rage and anger; pacing around didn't help, walking to get a pint of ice cream didn't help. When I dipped my spoon into the mint-chocolate chip, there was the echoing feeling of despair. I didn't want the goddamn ice cream; I wanted my pain to go away. With tears streaming down my face I ate a couple of spoonfuls (because it's a freakin' recession and I can't waste even $3 on ice cream) and put the rest in the freezer.
This is how far I've come? Nearly 25 years old and being ricocheted to 13 in the space of a heartbeat. I wanted to slink away, be invisible, hole up someplace dark. So, now is the time when I have to get real with myself. There is a strong chance that I will never be completely free of these demons. I might always be battling the Black Wolf, albeit a smaller, fluffier version than before. If I'm waiting for Train Perfection, I could be at the platform for a lifetime. Maybe this is the next hurdle, understanding that taking the next step doesn't mean you're 100% cured and standing still can be detrimental if you never move forward. I've made the mistake thinking that changing my physical location (or hair color) constitutes real change. It doesn't. Expanding seems to be the key- learning how to lift out of the gravity of self and uncertainty to see that there is always another option that you have never considered before. That there is room, so much room, in this place for everyone to be happy, be themselves, be loved.

A part of me still operates under the assumption that as soon as I'm thin enough, my life will begin. As soon as I get my anxiety and depression under control, everything will be perfect. When I don't make mistakes anymore, I'm close to the finish line. A Type-A, people-pleaser hard at work. I behave as if these trials and tribulations are a burden; a sack of unwanted luggage that I must drag behind me until a miracle swoops in and carries it all away. I look around the next bend for that miracle. Just surviving, just holding on, until someone comes and saves me from all this. Me, thinking this. Adult me. With all my fancy degrees and wordly travel, still waiting to be saved. I think it's time to expand, and consider the possibility that no one can carry this all away. My lifetime might be dedicated to learning how to slowly drop these unwanted shadows, learning how to let go. And maybe... maybe, figuring out how to be grateful for what I've learned from all this pain. So, I don't want to talk about disappearing anymore. I AM HERE. I am breathing, living, thinking, feeling, sweating, bleeding, working. I am trying. Really, really hard, I am trying. I am learning. I am making mistakes. I take up a very big place in this universe, and if I have it my way, I'm just going to keep getting bigger. And I am totally fine if no one else is fine with that but me.

So, forgive me but...
I confess, I am learning how to not care what you think, despite how much I may want to share myself with you.
I confess I am sometimes completely crippled by uncertainty, but will probably plow ahead anyway. It won't be pretty or graceful, but it will be growth.
I confess I am completely capable of wondrous things.
I confess I want to break a few more hearts before I am too old to care.
I confess that I am important, and so are you.
I confess that I was anorexic, but am better now, and hope to stay that way.
I confess that I still don't like caramel apples.
I confess that I am excited about being 25 and will probably tell random strangers unprompted.
I confess that my body is imperfect, but it is mine. No one is allowed to criticize it, including me.
I confess that I am afraid, but so are you, and it shouldn't stop either of us from being who we are meant to be.
I confess that I expect you to move over and give me some room to expand, because I want to be in this world, and this world needs me to be here.

Grind

2010-10-03T19:37:00.000-07:00

My teeth are dust.
I worry and grind, chomp and chew.
My dreams are storm tossed seas.
Cool white limbs circle my neck,
pull me down-
a siren's caress.
Bleeding gums stain the sheets.
My empty mouth full of silent crying.
At night, in my own bed,
there is no way to save a drowning man.
They will find my cool dead flesh
wrapped in sweaty sheets-
lungs full of brine.

Parallel to Raindrops

2010-09-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

my fingers against the glass
the cool against heated skin
sunlight filtering through nails

even better when it's raining out
hand slides down, parallel to raindrops

feeling lonely
but not alone, exactly
just listening an internal, rolling soundtrack

something aware of itself, and very quiet
to insert inside this moment
instead of cutting across perpendicular

a song as soft as fingers against glass
or a tentative first kiss

Naked Fingers

2010-09-27T11:44:00.000-07:00

Used to the burden of heavy weight,
it is a strange time to have naked fingers and an empty hand

Time now to sort through the deck of
anger and bitter disappointment
Never allowed the luxury before

Plunging ahead,
always building dignity and identity with blood embedded nails
A shaky house of cards
An old way of life

Now, silence is not fear but necessity
A matter of balance
Had so many heavier things on the one side,
but now swinging freely
No need to bluff

Wanting to pile bones and tip the scale again;
wanting to walk hand-in-hand with familiar ghosts;
needing to be burdened

There is no guide to deal with uneasy equilibrium
Naked fingers sort and deal,
shuffling the new deck

A Promise for January (or Causing Problems at a Hardware Store in Pursuit of Mental Clarity)

2010-09-26T19:06:00.000-07:00

Let's go to the hardware store
where they have doors and doors and doors
Free-standing, oak-varnished,
blue paneled, wondrous doors

We'll walk through each one
Piling into a beach wood with windows
and come out a dark cherry inlaid with brass fixtures

I'll hold your hand and we can talk
what-ifs, ands, and buts

If children get in our way
we'll push them out
Grown-ups are talking possibilities and promises

The staff looks askance,
peeking from the aisle of wrenches and hammers
They, too, can bite their tongues

This is about your January promise
There is no other way to figure it out
than to just go, and see, and do

In fact, I would recommend
walking around on your hands while we do this
It will aid in shifting all
the thoughts and jangles and fluff out of your head
Let it roll on the floor,
leave a trail behind you

Walk on your hands all around,
spread your mind out
We'll go through doors and discover each piece you've left behind

It won't feel so big any more
There will be space in your mind for breath and joy
The fluff and jangles and thoughts will make sense
now that they have plenty of room

We'll walk on our hands through all those fabulous doors
every freakin' day until January
and pose a sit-in if they lock us out,
howl like loons if they haul us away

When they take us before the judge
we can calmly explain that
we are purposefully over-complicating the path to clarity,
so the solution is that much simpler when we find it

And you know what?
The judge will let us go and say-

That's brilliant! Open a sparkly pink storm door for me.
I've always wanted to walk through one of those.

Oh, we will
And there will be your answer, staring up at you with big doe-eyes,
wondering why it took you so long to find it

Even a Sandman Dreams

2010-09-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

1
The devil has a reality show
but no one can tell me the name
Everyone will say it's good though
(No one wants to give the Prince of Darkness a bad rating)
One old biddy says-
It's okay. But an hour too long.
She's still so close to her death that formaldehyde clings to her fingertips
She sold her soul a long time ago, anyway
for a pair of silver knitting needles

I hope she'll knit me a scarf for my day in hell
I hear the farther down you go, the colder it gets,
but Dante always was a bit of a drama queen
(Never appreciated the sunflower dreams I sent on Tuesdays)
Don't think I actually auditioned, but all the big wigs are here
and my memory gets shoddy after the last Inquisition
No one wanted to dream then, just in case of nightmares
Can't blame them, it's nothing personal
Even a Sandman has dreams

2
But I've been here before
The wild-eyed Woman Under the Porch can't remember a thing either
and that's okay
All she has to do is grab the occasional straying finger,
the proverbial shadow beneath the floorboards
At least I've got the backyard,
full of dead grass and trees
A part of me wishes I had chains to rattle
I mean
I've got this killer drawn-out, wailing moan
But backyard ghosting is more of a hovering-type deal, with
a) blinking in and out of the light at sunup and sundown;
b) having the single trailing tear just before disappearance
All a little more tragic than my liking, but you take what you get

The guy in the master bedroom, though
he's a real creeper
Out of the 13 in the house,
he's the only one with red skin and no eyes
The rest are mostly muted gray silhouettes,
standard issue
I hover, visit the Woman Under the Porch
She's really very nice
Unless someone walks over her floorboards,
then she shrieks and scrabbles to touch them through the cracks in the wood,
sticks pointed tongue and long, dirty nails through the slants of sunlight
By then I usually leave
'cause she starts muttering about knitting needles
and I can't remember what she means, even if I should

3
Driving my car out of the living room just isn't going well
I keep bumping into the glass menagerie
Things are shattering all around me, despite my best efforts otherwise
and all I want to do is leave
Not sure how it got in here
I'm tired of waking up inside dreams within dreams,
and waking up to my car being gone and inside someone's house down the street
It's getting colder and my heater isn't starting
My fingers struggle with the buttons
The family who lives here will be home any moment, I'm sure

I have no idea what to say,
let alone any clue as to how to fit a car through the front door
I wrap my scarf tighter around my throat
and grab my lighter and cigarettes
My numbing fingers manage to get the window down
It's a beautiful collection of glass, really
Someone's got a fetish for the devil
A tiny, busted pitchfork is underneath my left front tire
Smoke curls around the figurines
I should probably turn the engine off
Doesn't look like I'm going anywhere

4
The Indian guy looks pretty serious
so we pick up the pace
Five of the others are pelting behind me
I guess he didn't like our jokes
Not much for us to do on the streets anyway
Winter gray is in the sky as we run harder
He follows us to the edge of the city
and out towards the river
Cold air burns my lungs,
through the holes in my jacket
My bright red scarf trails behind me,
matching gloves are alternating blood drops
as I pump them faster
He's moving kinda slow now

The river had swelled with winter rain and ice
Freezing water hit my shoes and I bit back a yelp of surprise
Chunks of ice float by, the water moving swiftly for this time of year
There's no way across
My teeth start chattering
The others look to me, but no way across
What was I doing before I started running?
I've been here before
We step back from the river and turn around
I chafe my gloved hands together,
watching the shadow move closer in the failing winter light
My last thought-
I'm glad she asked for the knitting needles,
instead of the golden fiddle.

How to Live Anti-Angst- The Rules

2010-09-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

Rule #1. Don’t talk about Anti-Angst.

Rule #2. Don’t talk about Anti-Angst.

Rule #3. Go ahead and feed the mother**cking ducks.

Rule #4. Schadenfreude: It worked for the Germans. It can work for you too.

Rule #5. Dio officially made rainbows METAL. Enjoy.

Rule #6. Roller skating under a disco ball increases endorphin production.

Rule #7. Noli nothis permittere te terere.

Rule #8. Cartoons are preventative care.

Rule #9. Sing like you’re in the shower and everyone has earplugs. Life’s short.

Rule #10. Odin invented mead AND poetry. Utilize both.

Stand Still

2010-09-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

The batteries in my apple clock have run out
Not sure when it happened until I noticed that
10:53 is permanently twice a day
My electric toothbrush is dying,
sputtering, and spinning slowly
There's a basket of batteries somewhere
but I can't find it amongst the piles of bills and newspapers

"Recession Over: So Much Better Than Last Year"

Last year I could afford my electronic toothbrush
and my choices weren't narrowed down between
a stick of deodorant or more mascara
and only eating the incredible edible egg
The price-tag of my underused education
swings idly from boots I can't afford
I'm afraid it might be a winter full of sandals

Now I understand being too tired to go to work,
because not having good work exhausts you,
needing to go to the doctor,
but feeling bad makes it hard to get up

I'm not sure who writes the newspapers right now,
but I'm sure I don't like them
I'm getting awfully tired of 10:53

Rapunzel

2010-09-17T15:22:00.000-07:00

a stranger's skin, unwelcome hips
but hindsights later-
maybe not as awkward
all teeth and bones and eyebrows
hair tomboy short

but now it grows, grows
chestnut and honey locks
past her shoulders
down her rounded hips
grow and grow
make a rope
build a ladder
find a way out of the tower
climb your way through the dark

don't wait
don't hesitate
time to be large
take up places in the universe

decorate the braid with wild things
use your hair to lure them forth
make a lasso for your dreams
learn to save yourself, my girl
no one is coming for you

move and stretch in your skin
always your skin

with or without foresight-
grow
all hair and skin and universe

Bullshit and Banning the Burqa

2010-09-16T14:40:00.000-07:00

On September 14th France became the first European country to nationally ban all face covering veils, including the niqab traditionally worn by women practicing the Islamic faith. "...France now joins Iran and Saudi Arabia as countries that tell its police force to use their time to inspect women’s garments," (Dr. John R. Bowen, the Dunbar-Van Cleve Professor in Arts & Sciences).
Really. Really?! So, let me get this straight. France is now forcing women to expose their faces in public, when it goes against their cultural doctrine and faith. Can we say violation of religious freedom ten times fast?
Let me make myself very, very clear. I do not want to be a part of a religion whose conservative extremists believe that women are the root and/or seed of temptation in the world and therefore should be covered up and subjugated. Neither do I want to be a part of a religion whose conservative right-wingers believe anyone from the Middle East is a terrorist and an infidel.
I am American, and I believe in freedom.
Freedom.
This means I believe all people have the right to worship God however they see fit, as long as it does not violate the inherent rights of others. Yes, this means that I will defend your right to keep yourself covered if that is the way you feel closer to God. See how that works? I want my rights to religious freedom protected, so I am going to protect your rights to religious freedom.
Salvation is not salvation when it's coerced. You cannot liberate someone from their beliefs at gun point. If France believes they are freeing these women from a hellish regime, they're greatly misguided.
This has been an on-going controversy for some time. Many schools in France were beginning to ban the wearing of the burqa on school property. There were probably quite a few young women who felt liberated by this opportunity and are now experiencing life in a different light. There are others, I'm sure, who were ashamed to show their hair and faces because, to them, living modestly is a way of being faithful to God. Now, on a nation wide scale, all women must keep their faces exposed.
Intolerance, thy name is France.
Look Europe, I know you have a long history of religious bias, but you're giving the rest of the Western world a bad name. You should be ashamed of yourselves. The European Union is going to review this new law and hopefully force a repeal. If you are truly interested in liberating women (especially Muslim women) give them access to education and resources, give them options, and strengthen their resolve to be independent. Give them a choice. Otherwise you will be as bad as the conservative religious leaders and cultural patriarchs who insist on their inferiority.
Does a government need to step in when women are being stoned to death? Yes. Does a government need to interfere when girls are being castrated and their genitalia mutilated? A thousand times, yes. Does a government have an obligation to ensure that all its citizens have equal access to education? Of course. So where do we draw the line between people's rights and their religions? It comes down to coercion. A government should protect its citizens right to freedom, and a life without coercion.
There are plenty of educated, successful, independent Muslim women in the world who keep their hair, and sometimes their faces, covered out of respect and modesty. Forcing them to stop isn't liberation; it's a violation. Pope Pius XI once said to his delegation to Libya, "Do not think you are going among infidels. Muslims attain too Salvation. The ways of Providence are infinite."
Outside of gross human right's violations, what right do we have to judge the way people strive for salvation? Who are we to judge an individual's relationship to God?
As an American I feel pride and gratitude that my nation has a separation between church and state, and that we practice freedom of religious worship. The more you travel, the more you see the truth of other countries- the more you understand how good American life is. No one can decapitate you for praying the "wrong" way. No one can tell you the name of your God, or force you to believe in God at all. No one can tell you what to wear or how to wear it. This freedom should be celebrated. It should be appreciated. We should do all in our power to defend the spirit of this freedom- because if we defend it now, if we defend it for other people, if the day comes when our rights are violated, someone else will be there to defend us.

Sandwiches and Butterfly Wings

2010-09-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

the corner of Madison and Michigan
a saxophone player underneath scaffolding
"There she is!" as I walk by
I want to believe we know each other

saxophone gliding over my ears, melting on my shoulder blades
the glint of an orange butterfly in traffic
my breath catches, but she makes it to the other side
where the violinist is standing

in the shadow of an art museum, he plays
the push of pedestrians and mad rush on sidewalks
music and art and public places-
like peanutbutter and bread and honey

orange wings float by, skipping on the sound of strings

notes drench the air around me
melody flitting close to my lips, fitting closer than skin
a full-throated soprano calls from the park ahead
a city teeming with music

here I am

recognizable everywhere, anywhere
orange wings carry me across the street
a butterfly finding her way through the traffic

Watermark

2010-08-28T17:19:00.000-07:00

A watermark in my heart
for the curve of Welsh shores,
gray sky slumber
and quilted dreaming

Missing your rose-cheeked faces

Toes are sandy with memory,
the squeak of swollen doorways
and thick-framed windows
against hushed gales

This is a mismatched sunshine

Mumbling, mumbles
in the edge of my mind-
low-slung, keening voices

No way to erase
the tides of rising lines
marking the places I have been

Ghost World

2010-08-20T18:11:00.000-07:00

We shared a movie.
There might have been popcorn.
I remember the florescent light on your strawberry-blond curls.
You liked Enid more than Rebecca.
I felt relieved that you didn't want the blond with tits.
You understood that last drunken night.
All she wants is cock and comfort, you said.
So did I.
But you didn't understand me until 3 years later,
when we were both covered in paint.
The gray flaked over your strawberry-blond curls.
I should have chose you, you said.
No shit Sherlock.

Sunbeams and Blood

2010-08-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

1
I crave roses made of sunbeams and blood
to stuff in my pockets and leave a path as they fall from the hole
in my jeans
Yellow-red petals will trail into the sunset,
bleeding into the next sunrise

2
Genuardi's refrigerated cases full of golden, yellow roses with crimson under-petals, greeted me with frigid blast and the wonder of new experience. There are no Genuardi's where I live. There are no stone houses with turrets and candy-colored trimming. There are no grids here, but wandering, curving streets, full of low-hanging lights and U-turns. I have never been here before.

3
I might be northeast of the last ray of sun when my traveling is done,
with empty pockets and heart pumping full
It will be a conclusion of dreams-
Stranger things have happened being where I've never been before

4
I had no money for the roses but tomorrow is another day.

5
You will wonder where I have gone
Follow the trail of blood and sunbeams
Follow me

Erosion

2010-07-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

The first time I heard AC/DC
you danced in a dress from your mom's closet,
barefoot on fraying living room carpet

You melted to the floor, kissing your girlfriend on the mouth
Your mom in the doorway, with meth-sick eyes, watched indulgently

Thunderstruck
I wanted to dance with you,
wanted my hands on your smooth white thighs
Your mom never liked me

We shot Sour Apple Snapps in your kitchen
and always knew when the paintings were slanted
your mom was in the bedroom

A life of erosion

You kissed girls and had sleepovers in a house more empty than not,
with time enough to be good at math and write stories with me

But eventually you left,
and now you have boyfriends and apartments,
and no one to protect

I never see you
If every time you see me you taste sour apples in your mouth
and see crooked paintings on the wall-
you won't want to see me at all

Red-Pepper Sin

2010-07-06T18:42:00.001-07:00

She won’t touch you
She never does

Just shows up late in a red-pepper dress
with black heels and a smile

Wearing promises of love
she will never fulfill

Dear Ani

2010-07-05T23:44:00.000-07:00

1
I'm in bed with you again
I am kissing your pouting mouth
and soft eyelids
You cling to me like a reckless burr
I can't seem to disentangle myself from your smooth limbs

God
you're everything I wanted to be
your delicate body wedged neatly into mine
Every breath I take
your arms squeeze tighter
Your hip bones
dig into me

I want to cradle you, seduce you, fuck you, kill you, be you

How long have we lain together like this?
a day
an hour
half my lifetime

I don't know if I want you to stay
but I am too weak to make you go

You knew
which is why you came back

I'm not sure you ever really left

2
During your absence
I picked up smoking,
not often
but just enough
to cut the frays
of an anxious mind

I never did learn to crave cigarettes
the way I craved you

3
I can't sleep
I'm not used to sharing my bed

You're polite enough
You don't hog the covers
You don't kick or talk

But you're here in my space,
invading my dreams

I sleep with my back to you,
pretend that you're not there

But when I have nightmares
and wake
sweating and terrified

I turn to you
wrap my arms around your slender frame,
hating myself for needing you

4
I'd invite you out to dinner

but somehow
I don't think that's wise

I'll order a water and salad
because you're watching me
and wondering why I have no control

Your eyes will glitter
with cold amusement

"Fat" you'll whisper

5
Who am I without you?
I'd grab you by your hair,
and kick your ass to the curb
if I knew what I'd be afterward

What will occupy
my mind if you leave?

You encompass every hesitation
and self-doubt

At least, in this
I know who I am in the world

6
I can’t see you anymore

Alone
I lie awake
thinking about the flash of your ribs
with every deep inhale

I used to count your breaths and
hold your icy hands,
the bones crunching into my palm

You always woke smiling
and me
the heaviness of my head made my body ache

I think about asking you to stay again

Just one more time

(an anonymous secret from The Post Secret Project)

Reconcile

2010-06-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

Why am I here,
in the city by the lake-
for love's sake?
Or something a little less complicated.

I came for you,
for me-
so we could be
something more than ourselves, together.

These buildings echo your name,
the soil holds its sway
and I have no way
to find a path through without you.

It scares me to know
that I'd rather be alone
and somewhere else,
than here.

How do we reconcile this?
It was always you and me,
but I cannot be
who I am when I am here.

Your roots dig deep,
but there is change on the wind
and you never bend
even to my tears.

I should not have come here,
for love's sake alone-
love alone
is no longer enough.

Warm Honey

2010-06-29T20:10:00.000-07:00

She said that I am like warm honey

Now I want to put golden highlights in my hair,
just around the face
and lay in the sun in North Carolina

I am craving sweet tea and hand holding
and those soft green hills

I left so much behind

She said I had the world fooled
but I think the world fooled me

The Catwalk

2010-06-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

The wondrous Molly McCaffrey asked me to be a guest writer for her blog "I Will Not Diet" and I wholeheartedly obliged. "I Will Not Diet" is Molly's account of maintaining an active lifestyle and balanced diet in order to keep her weight under control and stay healthy. She absolutely refuses to diet, or deprive herself of simple pleasures. It's amazing to read her discussions about her personal struggles, as well as her opinion on the way women treat themselves in today's society. "The Catwalk" discusses some of my experiences so far as a plus-size model and, I hope, compliments the purpose of Molly's blog. Please take a look a my guest blog spot, as well as the other episodes Molly has written and tell us what you think.

The Catwalk- written by Courtney Butler, guest blogger for "I Will Not Diet"

Divorce

2010-05-18T16:04:00.000-07:00

My Muse left me for a Hobo on State Street
and I am sitting on a cardboard box full of unfinished books
Can't blame her, really
when nothing I do can shake this gray
And after a quarter of a century
my compass has yet to be tattooed where I can see it
The Hobo is homeward bound-
my Muse left me for direction I can't give her
Now I know what it's like to be left behind
In the divorce, I get the cardboard box
and she takes her ideas

Weather the Storm

2010-05-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

I have a thrift store sofa
and a hand-me-down blanket
You're welcome to it anytime
Don't need permission or a ticket
Come and weather the storm with me

Hit a cup of coffee and a walk in the park
instead of that bar downtown
This won't be forever,
windy city seasons don't last for long
Just weather this storm with me

Hold my hand when the bills pile up
Dream of the house we'll call our own
Don't let the unemployment line
make you wait for life
Duck your head as the storm passes over

I won't buy those shoes
if you buy me a stick of red lipstick
A picnic on the side of the road,
under a billboard sign and stars
will help us forget our cloudy day

Come and weather this storm with me
Lay down on this couch, under this blanket
and take a deep breath
We'll hear the rain on the roof,
and be warm and dry together

ChocolateSushiCouture- Photoshoot, April 2010

2010-05-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

Alice in Wonderland Shoot
Not everyone gets to spend Easter Sunday at the Botanical Gardens on the northside of Chicago. I am one lucky bunny.
You can find the entire shoot for Chocolate Sushi Couture here. Luckily, as my experiences with modeling have progressed, I have learned to bring flip-flops or soft boots to any shoot. The ONE thing you don't want is to be stuck in hot little heels all day, especially if you're hiking around something as immense at the Botanical Gardens. I shot first, and then did a double shot with Teslyn Butler. We represented the proverbial "Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum" in Wonderland. I wonder which was which? We were followed by Wanessa, Nichole, Naomi, Jamelia, and Tenia. I couldn't say who got to be the Mad Hatter or the Queen of Hearts. All in all, we had a very, merry Un-Birthday! Cheers.

ChocolateSushiCouture- Photo shoot, March 2010

2010-05-01T07:26:00.000-07:00

Written for Manik Magazine and
Chocolate Sushi Couture.

An Ugly Bed Sheet, and Three Lovely Ladies
Three curvy bodies in three short dresses, a bed sheet colored like a hot-air balloon, a brilliant photographer and one proud designer were all huddled on the steps of Adler Planetarium on the south end of Chicago’s infamous Lake Shore Drive on Saturday, March 6th. The sun was already gone and had taken with it all semblance of warmth. As one of the plus-size models, huddled against the cold in the luridly colored sheet, I could not help but think, “In other parts of the world, March is warm!” Then I looked at the face of Niehla Ollie, plus-size clothing designer and founder of Chocolate Sushi Couture, and remembered why I had agreed to this shoot. Niehla chatted with her photographer and braced against the cold like the rest of us. City buses and their wide-eyed drivers slowed as each model took her turn on the staircase. Just a tad below freezing usually does not count for much in a Chicago winter, but it feels like a frolic in Siberia without a coat. But the three of us clutched our sheet, pressed together and held our heads high! I have to admit, we looked fabulous. (In the dresses, not the sheet.)That thought steeled my body against the cold and planted a smile on my face when I casually leaned against the freezing banister and mentally checked the lines of my body. As the shoot started it was obvious that our brilliant photographer, Chris Woodard, was not pleased with the lighting. An excursion around the premises afforded the sights of the skyline with wedding photos being shot, and stalwart couples cuddling against the last dregs of winter, but did not uncover any power source. Teslyn, Teena and I turned out lovely even in the lack of light, a testament to Chris’ mad photo skill. After about hour or so of preliminary shooting against the Planetarium it was decided we’d cut this segment short and try for a night club. We were, after all, shooting “Girl’s Night Out” for Chocolate Sushi Couture. With the heater going full blast we traversed to Evil Olive Lounge on West Division. Bleary-eyed bartenders were still organizing glasses for the anticipated rush. Commandeering the bar in the back, the dark wood shone in the combination soft/hard lighting used for high fashion. I ensconced myself on the corner of a cushioned bench seat. My “Flounce Dress” was in a Chess color combo and made of rayon blend double-knit. The end result was a comfortable and ultimately classic night look. Feeling ridiculously chic, when I tilted my chin to catch the light, I was the center of the universe. Or the center of the Evil Olive. Whatever works. Teena, a gorgeous newcomer to world of plus-size modeling, wore the “1970’s Slammer in Pitch,” with rayon blend double -knit on top and mandarin brocade on bottom. With her pitch black hair carelessly curled and piled on her head, she was a moody diva lying across sofa cushions. Her caramel skin glowed under the lights, and it was very hard to imagine Teena being anything other than a top plus-size model. Teslyn wore the “Pocket Dress” in a goldrod Thai silk, and leaned against the bar, looking like an inescapable Venus. It was easy to see why Teslyn is quickly becoming a prolific face in the fashion industry. Alas, a party was scheduled to use the bar and management scooted us out the door. Using Chris’ connections from his yesteryears as a valet, our final location was Eugenie Terrace on the Park, a posh luxury apartment complex. After some stalwart ninja-moves (in heels, no less) we found ourselves on the 44th floor around 11pm, moving around potted plants and chairs in one of their party rooms. Our poor sheet lay strewn across a glass coffee table, garish and forgotten in this warm palace on the top floor. The stark black, white and red scheme was an unexpected delight, as was the incomparable view of the city.
We finished our shots sitting on faux-leather chairs, against blood-red walls and lounging on zebra-striped chaise lounges. Fatigue did not show in the carriage of our shoulders, even if make-up had started at 4pm and it was now approaching 2am. Once we wrapped-up, heels were exchanged for battered Uggs and pins were pulled to let down riotous curls. A languid fatigue settled over all as we loaded up equipment and pulled out of the parking garage. I leaned my head against the chilled window in the backseat, curled into my coat and stretching out my tired feet. Three sleepy models, a satisfied designer and ecstatic photographer all headed out from an accomplished night on the town. Chocolate Sushi Couture designs plus-size fashion for the curvy shopper, but colored bed sheets are not included with purchase.

A Wooden Spool of Thread

2010-04-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

We've never met, you and I
but I have your silver sewing scissors
and a wooden spool of thread
A nightmare you didn't remember split your personality in two
It clasped your hands around bottles of liquor
and kept that smile plastered to your face
You woke the household during your spells, when you couldn't sleep at night
Mary, Mary, quite contrary-
How did your garden grow?
You were never there to tend the gardenias

I cut knots away with your silver scissors
and wonder what your world would have been like
in a different time and place
Maybe they would have seen you were sick around the eyes,
and caught your demise early
I would be different had I known you-
had you lived to tell your tale from sane lips
We could have tended the gardenias together,
because no straight jacket would have caught your arms,
and the empty wooden spool would not be rolling
around in the bottom of my drawer

The Devil's Train

2010-04-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

The devil's train rode by last night,
past my window and on through the dark
I started from a stupor with sweat on my brow, my heart racing
longing desperately to fling open my window and call out for him to stop
The devil is not quiet or tricky,
did not slink into my dreams or whisper in my ear
He barreled through my backyard on tracks made of bone
He laughed wildly, yelling for more steam
Thrashing about in my bed, discontent ate away at my soul
As I sat there dripping with indecision-
his chaotic cries sang in my blood, wanting me to follow
I knew that once I boarded the devil's train I'd never step off again
His screams would echo my own until my bones were laid in the ground
I put my pillow over my ears until the yearning faded
Not for the first time I wondered if it was a coward's choice to stay behind
I can sleep tonight
but I dream of riding through the darkness with the wind in my hair

Equilibrium

2010-04-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

It was just a moment
with toes dug into the grass and head tilted towards the sunshine
My jeans fit exactly right, and my stomach was only just-so full,
listening to music only I enjoy
It was a moment without anxiety, worry or the chronic self-loathing
It was
It existed
and I was a part of it, breathing into it and through it
A miracle, albeit a small one
Nothing had changed,
no huge, sweeping wind had carried me away from my troubles
No money was needed, no jewels, no lovers, no friends
Just me,
inside myself and content for a thread of time,
balanced on top of my life, accepting my place within it-
instead of floundering
My voice,
often laying dormant under the demands of others,
or a plague of worry,
was shining and clear
I miss my voice
But now I know it's still here,
because I finally took one moment to breathe and stand still

My voice is still here
I can hear it

Orange and Umber for a Song

2010-02-26T22:04:00.001-08:00

I think of you of my own volition,
remembering there was never enough space,
nor enough air
The lines of friendship and romance
were out of tune,
even in the end when I needed true definition
Wanting to be you, needing to be inside you,
loving the same men you loved,
singing your songs
and missing your smile,
was too much for any heart to endure

I envied the piano the touch of your hands,
and all the recipients of your discordant affection
Somewhere inside you remained convinced of your own deficit
and will ride that opus until all goes silent
Music followed in your steps like children craving candy,
and I was three steps behind every half-note,
no different in the way I begged
I loved you unknowingly,
thunderous and unmerciful-
and you,

you are still like the wind

Building Wings

2010-02-09T17:53:00.001-08:00

a feather for that first heartbreak
a feather for leaving childhood behind for
lonely sidewalks in far off places

wax feathers, silver feathers,
wire-mesh feathers, and feathers turned into roses

a feather for long staircases and sharp, turned corners
ones for picnics on beaches and bright city parks
feathers in my poetry
and sewn into my clothes with green thread,
tied into my hair with frayed orange ribbon

sleek black primaries, or fluffy white down
boxes and boxes of feathers beneath my bed, next to the thimbles
stuffed into pillow cases and underneath sofa cushions

a feather for tomorrow, and what has already passed
a few in my back pocket, just in case
feathers for filling envelopes, sent away to those far off places

kept safe, used and cherished, without knowing why
until I put them all together with thread and ribbon
and took flight
today

Q and Fallen Dandelions

2010-02-04T11:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Q-
You're letting him win, you said,
letting your past ruin what is good today
Ruination and ruin
Like walking amongst the fallen columns of my childhood,
and overturned statues of adolescence
Stepping on cracked foundations and past broken windows
Picking up a battered china doll,
her face shattered, and her dress ripped and dirty
A long, forgotten Holocaust

I do not want to live amongst the ruins

I will wind through the weeds and fallen heads of dandelions
searching for the archway,
following the call of your voice until I find my way out
I know there are places beyond this
In quiet moments outside pain and panic, I can smell the fresh air

Your Cybil

Sleep Talk

2010-02-02T14:19:00.000-08:00

I think our bodies talk to each other
when you and I are asleep
Sometimes I half wake with your voice in my ear and hands caught in my hair,
or startle myself with lips kissing your chest,
body moving against yours,
begging
There is no control, no mind to say no,
no worries of permission-
just suffused limbs, heated murmurs,
and need
Our bodies managing an eloquence impossible in daylight
In the morning I wonder at my swollen mouth
and marks on my flesh
You roll over and pull me close, asking me how my dreams were last night

And why not?

2010-01-30T07:47:00.000-08:00

the nefarious Red Line zipped along its underground way
with so many detached, disengaged or mummified in silence,
hyper aware even as they ignored each other-
then
low and behold
Class herself steps on to the train-
cinched black coat a perfect mirror to
black gloves, hat, scarf, briefcase
and heeled Victorian boots

with a few streaks of blue in her hair
and a proper nose ring
she would be screaming SteamPunk
instead of Mary Poppins

governess it was though,
and she placed a delicate hand into her
delicatessen bag full of goodies,
sitting neatly on the seat beside her

she opened a new box of chocolate truffles
and wiggled her clad fingers in anticipation
of which ball of delight to eat first

on the Red Line, mind you
with crowds of going-oners
and mad push-pushers,
she sat in her Victorian boots
and enjoyed a chocolate indulgence
covered in hazelnut pieces

and why not?

in such a world
no one could begrudge the lady her treat,
especially when every one of us
-muffled in music and newspapers-
were pretending we weren't watching
as her sculpted mouth turned up into a smile

why not, indeed

Just so you know, Yellow Dart

2010-01-16T18:59:00.000-08:00

Your laryngeal prominence
moves luxuriously through
the lines of your throat.

It makes me hungry.

I want to bite through an apple,
and think of you while I do so.

Break Fast

2010-01-16T18:58:00.000-08:00

My insides are made out of runny eggs. Churning, aborted ambitions that never took flight, and only succeed in weighing me down with a slab of bacon and burnt toast. Add a cup of coffee and I only get louder about how messy I am on the inside, not more focused or more satisfied.
I need to stop, need to breathe, but the toaster is bellowing smoke and I can't make the noise stop. I am on a fast from peace. I can't remember the last time I indulged in silence. There is nothing that can break me open and pour me out. I guess I'm not hungry enough to stop my internal, golden undulation.
This is your brain and this is a frying pan, and somewhere in between is a life on drugs. But I say, at least you've affirmed your own existence, even if it's coked-out, choked-up, pill-popping or heroin addicted.
Instead of empty.
Like an apartment with the stove left on, the toaster burning and the breakfast abandoned on the table. I'd take a frying pan to the head any day over a queasy stomach and nowhere to wrench my guts out. But the door is locked and the fire alarm is going off.
And I need to find a quiet place to break my fast and figure out how all my dreams got spoiled.

The Barista

2010-01-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

I come in for chai and your shy smile. In my daydreams I slip you a poem inside my empty mug. I ask you out to a bookstore, instead of out for coffee, because even I'm not that cruel. You say yes because I’m the regular who orders chai with soy and always says thank you. We talk about Keats and comic books, both pretending we know a lot about each. When I take you home, because the quickest way to my bed is through my mind, I finally get to brush those lazy strands away from your eyes. When we wake up, your smile is for me and everything we did last night. But things go stale, like coffee left standing. You finally discover I am impossible to please. So the love goes bad and I put angry notes inside your refrigerator so you're forced to read them before you pour your morning orange juice, telling you that I never loved your smile. Because sometimes I am that cruel. So when I come in for chai, it's better for both of us if I keep my dreams to the page, and leave all my mugs empty when I'm done.

Urban Attraction

2010-01-16T18:54:00.000-08:00

Cream was making the coffee spin clockwise.
Always clockwise.

The dark, molasses black was churning
into a comfortable brown.
Exactly three sugar packets made it drinkable.

The mug clinked softly against
the well-worn table,
next to the
spoon
lying on the napkin
horizontally adjacent to the edge
of the well-worn table,
with the silver perfect
slash of spoon
vertically across the white.

The used sugar packets
were carefully placed into the empty
cream container,
which sat discreetly in a
delicate pile
at the edge of the table.

Well groomed fingers drummed softly
on a closed beige notebook,
pen untouched.
The coffee spun clockwise.

She saw his hands first.
Out of the corner of her eye,
a streak of scarred skin and calloused tips
clasping a shot of espresso.
Then another.
Knocked back with a gleam in grey eyes
and copper blonde hair.
Careless hair surrounding an unreadable face
etched in stone.

The hands were idly tapping
knees,
bouncing with nervous energy.
With a jump and jolt,
he got up.
Left change on the table,
next to crumpled napkins
and a chewed pen.

She pressed a well-groomed hand
to her stomach.

She came back the next day at the same time.
Always at the same time.
She wrote in her notebook,
and didn't noticed that she was stirring
her coffee counter-clockwise.

Lost in Lightning

2010-01-09T15:43:00.001-08:00

She and I used to dress up in layers of clothes and jump into her backyard pool. We’d float there, her blonde hair skimming the surface, my dark hair getting tangled with hers. Giggling as the weight of the clothes pulled us under, young arms ripping frantically for the surface. Over and over again. We swam during thunderstorms, the metallic threads in the air only lending more excitement to our watery excursions. It would never be enough. We swam until the soles of our feet bled, pushing from the riveted concrete of the pool’s floor. Always with the surety that the other was there.
Then I moved away.
When I saw her again lifetimes later, after childhood had been etched away from both our faces, I started coughing up water. It was only a little at first, but soon I was retching and shuddering chlorinated muck from my lungs. She had moved to a different neighborhood, had different friends, left that house behind. My feet began to bleed through the canvas of my shoes. The more I remembered, the more I bled. I heard thunder rolling through the empty sky and felt lightning strike me as I fell to the ground. My feet soaked the concrete around me.
I never left.
Somewhere deep in the back the little girl I had been was still inside that pool, drowning and clawing for the surface. Alone. Needing air, needing help. All the mismatched and ill-fitting layers dragging her under. With a storm overhead and lightning licking at the edge of the yard.
I can only hope that I find her before it’s too late and she’s lost forever underneath the water.