You didn't notice me when I walked in the room. That's ok, I'm used to it. Sit down on the bed, open my computer, try to find solace in the virtual world. You make it look oh so easy.
Remember tonight, man-boys buying me drink after drink, me insisting that I am Taken for good. After all that, you're feet and worlds away from me here.
My stomach turns, the sick is coming-I can feel it.
Somehow, tonight I just want to be loved. Turn and toss-toss and turn. Tonight I feel restless, tonight I feel wild. Sitting there, your eyes on the screen, I could toss myself out the window and you wouldn't bother to blink. So maybe tonight I shall do just that.
"Want anything?" Not a murmur or mumble in response. The kitchen is cold, I shift my weight in a ridiculous dance while I wait for the microwave to buzz it's tired finale. Hot soup burning the taste off my tongue. You don't glance up at my return. I balance the soup on top of the weeks of junk on your table, standing sentinel beside your chair. You look up, annoyed at my apparent interest. Your expression doesn't change as the cold serrated metal slips between your ribs. Your last moments on earth will be spent wishing you could just level your alchemy already.
I turn, ignoring the spluttering as YOU taught me to. If you're lucky, I will notice you in an hour.
If you're lucky.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Something you won't read.
You have four moles on your cheek that look like a constellation who's name I always forget.
I will remember this.
You're just tall enough that I have to stand on tip toe when I kiss your cheek. I think too that I will remember the way you smell after you step of the shower, soft and a little musty. I hope I don't remember how I feel tonight.
The game is on the flat screened tv behind me; every so often I turn to look at it. Not because I'm actually following the action, just because it seems the right thing to do. I stare across the table, looking through the girl who is busy ticking off great aunts and second cousins on her fingers. Instead of listening I count; hockey pictures on the wall: four, cigarette butts in her ashtray: six, people at this table:five, people that I know: zero. I'm comfortable in anonymity. Being a friend of a friend of a friend suits me just fine, for now.
It's not until the talk turns to common ground that I start to flinch. I know the stories by heart. I know the way the ache rises in the back of my throat and how to push it down again. Tonight is different. Tonight they are laughing.
"-walking in the room and pulling off the blanket...priceless expressions...begged us not to say anything but of course we were gonna give him shit."
She waves her cigarette in a lewd expression, trailing tongues of smoke. Pinching myself under the table, I look away.
Before I can remember not to think about it I remember another bitterly cold night. We are in the front seat of your car and I am leaning towards you, trying to avoid the old soda that has leaked through it's paper into the cup holder. You are asking me what I would do if you told me you love me. I am panicking in such a wonderful way. My heart is pounding it into my chest over and over again;
He loves me
BA BOOM.
He loves me
BA BOOM.
To me, that night seemed so real. Now I try to pinch myself out of it before I remember the next part; The way I skipped through the double doors and up the stairs to my bed where I fell asleep, hugging my pillow and still listening to the tattoo of my heart.
A pause in the conversation-everyone looks at me expectantly. Non-committal noises from the back of my throat and they are off again, this time comparing notes on mutually acquainted low-lives.
I imagine their conversation a year from now. I can see them nodding as they talk about your new fling, joking among themselves about this crazy girl who seemed to believe that she was worth a change of your heart. This crazy girl who believed it was worth risking everything. This crazy girl who no one has heard for in months. This crazy girl. But quickly the talk will turn again, and I will be a side-note in your history. Maybe someday you will tell another curly headed girl how you once were silly enough to imagine a future with me; before quickly assuring her that she is nothing like me at all.
Tonight I sit here and think and remember and try to pretend I'm not wilting inside. I drag the smoke into my lungs gratefully, relishing the scratch in the back of my throat. You're somewhere miles away, not worrying about any of this. I try to bed my mind to think of nothing.
Your eyes have little flecks of gold in them that spark when you're feeling particularly devilish.
I will remember this.
I will remember this.
You're just tall enough that I have to stand on tip toe when I kiss your cheek. I think too that I will remember the way you smell after you step of the shower, soft and a little musty. I hope I don't remember how I feel tonight.
The game is on the flat screened tv behind me; every so often I turn to look at it. Not because I'm actually following the action, just because it seems the right thing to do. I stare across the table, looking through the girl who is busy ticking off great aunts and second cousins on her fingers. Instead of listening I count; hockey pictures on the wall: four, cigarette butts in her ashtray: six, people at this table:five, people that I know: zero. I'm comfortable in anonymity. Being a friend of a friend of a friend suits me just fine, for now.
It's not until the talk turns to common ground that I start to flinch. I know the stories by heart. I know the way the ache rises in the back of my throat and how to push it down again. Tonight is different. Tonight they are laughing.
"-walking in the room and pulling off the blanket...priceless expressions...begged us not to say anything but of course we were gonna give him shit."
She waves her cigarette in a lewd expression, trailing tongues of smoke. Pinching myself under the table, I look away.
Before I can remember not to think about it I remember another bitterly cold night. We are in the front seat of your car and I am leaning towards you, trying to avoid the old soda that has leaked through it's paper into the cup holder. You are asking me what I would do if you told me you love me. I am panicking in such a wonderful way. My heart is pounding it into my chest over and over again;
He loves me
BA BOOM.
He loves me
BA BOOM.
To me, that night seemed so real. Now I try to pinch myself out of it before I remember the next part; The way I skipped through the double doors and up the stairs to my bed where I fell asleep, hugging my pillow and still listening to the tattoo of my heart.
A pause in the conversation-everyone looks at me expectantly. Non-committal noises from the back of my throat and they are off again, this time comparing notes on mutually acquainted low-lives.
I imagine their conversation a year from now. I can see them nodding as they talk about your new fling, joking among themselves about this crazy girl who seemed to believe that she was worth a change of your heart. This crazy girl who believed it was worth risking everything. This crazy girl who no one has heard for in months. This crazy girl. But quickly the talk will turn again, and I will be a side-note in your history. Maybe someday you will tell another curly headed girl how you once were silly enough to imagine a future with me; before quickly assuring her that she is nothing like me at all.
Tonight I sit here and think and remember and try to pretend I'm not wilting inside. I drag the smoke into my lungs gratefully, relishing the scratch in the back of my throat. You're somewhere miles away, not worrying about any of this. I try to bed my mind to think of nothing.
Your eyes have little flecks of gold in them that spark when you're feeling particularly devilish.
I will remember this.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The fairgrounds.
In the steel gray moonlight your hair spikes up the wrong way in the front, casting a shadow over your eyes. The wind is heaving and sighing every so often, chilling our bones. I pull your canvas jacket a little closer around my shoulders, centuries of patriarchy have at least given me this privilege. Together we slip through the gate and crunch slowly across the frozen gravel.Across the midway a barn springs up out of nowhere, the wind carries the stale smell of last summers livestock to us from it's open doors. Your hand in mine is strong and reassuring and I clutch at it. My timidity is nothing but a coy mask. Alone I would skip over to play in the looming shadows, with you I shrink into a giggling mess that jumps at the sound of the stars.
"The grandstand?"
"Oh yes! But don't let go ok?"
My boots breaks the ice that has just begun to form over the muddy divits and furrows. There is nothing quiet so satisfying as snapping something brittle and newly formed. I make a point to step on every icy web, grinning at my own childish fun. You stand by indulgently, jabbing your hands into your pockets and clapping your boots against each other. I almost feel bad for taking your jacket. Almost.
When the last crunch has echoed across the grounds I finally let you take my hand again and we turn towards the Everest of steel and aluminum before us. The top row is somewhere above us, hundreds maybe thousands of steps up. Clunk! One step. Clunk! Two steps. Clunk, clunk, thunk clunk. Twenty six steps until the top of my boot doesn't hit another metal tread. Up here there are no seats, just a wide isle backed with chain link fence. We are at the top of the world and only the moon and the stars can see us. You lean in to kiss me, and when you close your eyes I keep mine open, watching your lashes flutter in the ebb and flow of the embrace. You are so fresh, and so wonderful and so new. I watch as you let the kiss die slowly on my lips, and then just before you open your eyes I push.
Clunk
Clunk
Clunk
Snap.
Friday, September 3, 2010
128
Tonight I will not write the crisp plot floating around the back of my head. Tonight I can't do crisp. Tonight is all fuzzy and blurred lines. Somehow want came into the equation long ago and things changed. What I should want, how I should want, who I should want. Want ruins things.
Tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after that will all be cut out of a cookie cutter pattern. I don't have excitement, I haven't earned it or I can't handle it anymore. Better to go slowly crazy as the days drip by then create a cacophonous crash of a mess. I miss mess now, life is too clean and too expectable. I will never be happy here in this life, but I will never be that painfully unhappy either. I will spend days floating in this in between. I'm not the girl I once was, passionate and brazen and headstrong. I feel like false advertisement on those few occasions my emotions get stirred. My wings have been clipped.
One thing, at least, is true. I am sold to the first person who tells me they want me. Going, going, gone.
Tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after that will all be cut out of a cookie cutter pattern. I don't have excitement, I haven't earned it or I can't handle it anymore. Better to go slowly crazy as the days drip by then create a cacophonous crash of a mess. I miss mess now, life is too clean and too expectable. I will never be happy here in this life, but I will never be that painfully unhappy either. I will spend days floating in this in between. I'm not the girl I once was, passionate and brazen and headstrong. I feel like false advertisement on those few occasions my emotions get stirred. My wings have been clipped.
One thing, at least, is true. I am sold to the first person who tells me they want me. Going, going, gone.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Today was a fairy tale
Just like those guilty pleasure songs that I used to roll down my window and fling out my arm to. Something about the wind whipping through my fingers, everything around me became so alive. If I didn't known better, I would think that I had traveled back a year through time. We were still playing card games, I was still pretending to watch tv while really smiling at you playing your game. Once, only, I lost it. I saw those words and saw your hurt and I lost it, silently turning my back to the camera and letting the salt stream down. You told me I'm worth it, told me I'm pretty, told me all the things you're supposed to say. More then that, you meant them.
Day by day I get better, day by day I relearn myself. Now, I don't flinch at those heavy lace up boots and crew cut. Now, I can think about the slanted ceiling and rough smell practically, from a writer's point of view. I could still write murder, if I wanted, but the past is a tool now and no longer the cause. I hear that he's hurting, I hear that he crumbling like I did once. Used to be I waited for this day, prayed for it even. Now I feel pity, genuine pity. I hope he doesn't lose himself, I hope he wakes up to the world. It's a passing thought, gone before I even realize it's there. We live in different universes now, and everything is as it should be.
None of this makes sense, I know. It is 12:58 pm and I will be up again at six to drive myself to my thoroughly frustrating dream job. I am babbling, and it is your fault. I'm so unused to happiness, to contentment, how should I know what to do with it? I am always as voraciously happy as I am sad, it's the actress in me. You can take the girl out of the theater, love, but you can't take the theater out of the girl.
Soon I will be driving, and we will be dancing, and then we will be alone. Too soon again I will be crying and driving, then throwing myself exhausted onto clay stained sheets and pulling your hoodie close in this 106 degree weather. This fall, perhaps, things will be different. As for right now, I'm just happy. Well Miss Swift, I did it, I found somebody today who actually will treat me well.
Postscript- I'm back again. I'm not even sure you knew I was gone, but you're right you know. I can't give this up, it's who I am.
Day by day I get better, day by day I relearn myself. Now, I don't flinch at those heavy lace up boots and crew cut. Now, I can think about the slanted ceiling and rough smell practically, from a writer's point of view. I could still write murder, if I wanted, but the past is a tool now and no longer the cause. I hear that he's hurting, I hear that he crumbling like I did once. Used to be I waited for this day, prayed for it even. Now I feel pity, genuine pity. I hope he doesn't lose himself, I hope he wakes up to the world. It's a passing thought, gone before I even realize it's there. We live in different universes now, and everything is as it should be.
None of this makes sense, I know. It is 12:58 pm and I will be up again at six to drive myself to my thoroughly frustrating dream job. I am babbling, and it is your fault. I'm so unused to happiness, to contentment, how should I know what to do with it? I am always as voraciously happy as I am sad, it's the actress in me. You can take the girl out of the theater, love, but you can't take the theater out of the girl.
Soon I will be driving, and we will be dancing, and then we will be alone. Too soon again I will be crying and driving, then throwing myself exhausted onto clay stained sheets and pulling your hoodie close in this 106 degree weather. This fall, perhaps, things will be different. As for right now, I'm just happy. Well Miss Swift, I did it, I found somebody today who actually will treat me well.
Postscript- I'm back again. I'm not even sure you knew I was gone, but you're right you know. I can't give this up, it's who I am.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Exeunt
Mama. I don’t know why you have to make everything so difficult. I look at having this baby as the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, there may be some risk involved. That’s true for anybody. But you get through it and life goes on. And when it’s all said and done there’ll be a piece of immortality with Jackson’s looks and my sense of style…I hope. Mama, please. I need your support. I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.
That was my thirty minutes of wonderful. For the first, and probably only, time in my life I was a heroine. Yes, there was teased hair and awful high wasted 80's jeans and a horrid wig. But for once I wasn't a chorus girl, and when I died, people cried. I spent my whole life wanting that, and I will probably spend my whole live reliving those few moments. As time goes by I will forget the nights that we did our lines in circles, the nights we wanted to kill our fellow cast members, the nights we caused the director to want to go into early retirement. I will remember the smell of fancy face paint and hairspray, how hot that vest was under the lights, how that one night everything just slipped perfectly into place.
I have spent seven years now learning that I am not an actress, and I will spend fifty more at this rate. But, as the years pass me, so will the roles. Too late for Juliet now, and soon too late for Shelby too. Desdemona, my favorite, has maybe two years left. I am getting too old for the heroine, people get dried up faster in this business then in any other one in the world. So, through high school college, a job...somehow I still read these lines, hug my pillow, and cry.
What can I say. The stage is a fickle mistress.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Middle Plantation and Romance
I never thought I would give up an accurately recreated pair of stays for one hot sticky day at the beach in a 21st century bathing suit. All of a sudden, I can't even get excited about bustles anymore. Pleats and under-petticoats and hoops are all worthless in comparison to brown eyes and a jeep that perpetually smells a little like fast food. What's happened to me, a year and a half ago I wouldn't have recognized myself today.
I used to be in love with fashion, with history, with hopeless romance and intrigue.
Now I'm in love with a man.
One man.
What's more, I think he's worth it.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Birthdays
This morning I will have apple pie for breakfast. I don't care, it's the last day that I'm twenty so I'm going to act childish. I should probably be more excited for tomorrow. I should be texting friends and planning drinks and bars and outfits. But here, there are no friends, so I sigh and wait as the minutes tick by.
Instead of thinking about the relentlessness of time, I'm going to have apple pie.
Bring it, time.
Instead of thinking about the relentlessness of time, I'm going to have apple pie.
Bring it, time.
Friday, April 23, 2010
An Understanding
"Try Burnt Sienna. Hi, sorry. You're Anna, right?"
"Yeah, hey thanks. I'm always so chicken when I dye my hair; I always end up either a tiny bit redder or a tiny bit darker, but I think I'm the only one who even really notices the difference. Sorry, I didn't catch you're name...?
"Emma... Boudreau."
"Oh. So I guess you already kinda knew who I was then. I didn't think you were back yet."
"I just got in. I'm just getting some things before heading back to campus."
"Look, I'm really sorry. I mean, if I was you I would hate me. I didn't know, I mean I did know but he didn't really tell me-"
"No. It's ok. We had an understanding and I went away and here we are now. Just, I'm glad it was only you and not a whole bunch of random girls. You seem nice."
"Only me...yeah. Well- I should probably go. I have a paper to write and a meeting later-"
"There doesn't have to be any problem you know. I mean, as long as you don't try to keep on- I don't hate you for what you did."
"Yeah. I won't try anything. It's not my place. You won't even know I'm around, I promise."
"Don't you live down the hall?"
"Yeah, but I don't get out much. I'm sorry, but I really have to go. It was nice meeting you."
"You too. See you around."
"Yeah, I'll see you."
"Anna? I know how it feels when he lies to you. I mean, if you ever need to talk about all of this..."
"You want to talk to me about it? You don't think that's weird? You don't want to hear what I have to say anyway. You don't want to hear what he told me."
"I can only imagine. But I don't hate you."
"Well thank you. It's more then I deserve."
"It's probably not. But anyway. Good luck with the hair dye.”
"Yeah, hey thanks. I'm always so chicken when I dye my hair; I always end up either a tiny bit redder or a tiny bit darker, but I think I'm the only one who even really notices the difference. Sorry, I didn't catch you're name...?
"Emma... Boudreau."
"Oh. So I guess you already kinda knew who I was then. I didn't think you were back yet."
"I just got in. I'm just getting some things before heading back to campus."
"Look, I'm really sorry. I mean, if I was you I would hate me. I didn't know, I mean I did know but he didn't really tell me-"
"No. It's ok. We had an understanding and I went away and here we are now. Just, I'm glad it was only you and not a whole bunch of random girls. You seem nice."
"Only me...yeah. Well- I should probably go. I have a paper to write and a meeting later-"
"There doesn't have to be any problem you know. I mean, as long as you don't try to keep on- I don't hate you for what you did."
"Yeah. I won't try anything. It's not my place. You won't even know I'm around, I promise."
"Don't you live down the hall?"
"Yeah, but I don't get out much. I'm sorry, but I really have to go. It was nice meeting you."
"You too. See you around."
"Yeah, I'll see you."
"Anna? I know how it feels when he lies to you. I mean, if you ever need to talk about all of this..."
"You want to talk to me about it? You don't think that's weird? You don't want to hear what I have to say anyway. You don't want to hear what he told me."
"I can only imagine. But I don't hate you."
"Well thank you. It's more then I deserve."
"It's probably not. But anyway. Good luck with the hair dye.”
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Fear
Let me make a list of things that scare me. At least then they'll all be neatly gathered in one place.
~Heights. Not the "I can't climb that ladder, I'm scared of heights," indeed I spent much of my childhood clambering on catwalks 20 feet in the air. But one time I was at the top of the Statue of Liberty, we had climbed hundreds of stairs in a line that streachted on for hours. When we got to the top there was one tired security guard (this was before planes started flying into buildings) and he hustled me onto a thin plywood platform. My hand pressed against the tiny window, I could see the whole New York skyline streatched below and before me. In that second I knew two things: There is something about that city that I will always love, and I couldn't have my feet on firm ground soon enough.
~Suspense. When I was eight or nine I went through a phase of not being able to watch any new movies. My little five year old brother scoffed at me, but when my dad would bring home two or three movies I would beg to watch only five minutes of each at a time so that I could find out which one was the least scary. Blood and gore didn't bother me, it grossed me out but I could always make some sarcastic comment about make up artists or special effects. It was that shot from behind that always killed me, the one where you could just see the character and had to wonder if something was about to jump out at them and from where. Now I challenge myself to try to outdo my fear; grabbing my pillow, turning on the light, but forcing myself to watch.
~Cars. Or rather, car accidents. Ever since I woke up in that ambulance, sharp turns and hard brakes have made me forget to breath. Sometimes I think remembering everything would help...but most of the time I'm just grateful that I don't have to.
~Failing. No one really wants to fail, but I seem to have a real talent for screwing things up. Somehow, just when things get good I manage to make one huge mistake and that's it. I know I'm not the sort to really make people proud, but for once I want to not be part of the problem.
~Losing him. My little brother I mean. Because no matter what, he's all I have in the world, the only person who's not allowed to leave me. He doesn't get mad when I tell him I love him, we can go for weeks without talking and then have things be just like normal. I know he doesn't need me to protect him anymore, but somehow I have to try. In the end, he's really the one protecting me. I know there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for him.
~Heights. Not the "I can't climb that ladder, I'm scared of heights," indeed I spent much of my childhood clambering on catwalks 20 feet in the air. But one time I was at the top of the Statue of Liberty, we had climbed hundreds of stairs in a line that streachted on for hours. When we got to the top there was one tired security guard (this was before planes started flying into buildings) and he hustled me onto a thin plywood platform. My hand pressed against the tiny window, I could see the whole New York skyline streatched below and before me. In that second I knew two things: There is something about that city that I will always love, and I couldn't have my feet on firm ground soon enough.
~Suspense. When I was eight or nine I went through a phase of not being able to watch any new movies. My little five year old brother scoffed at me, but when my dad would bring home two or three movies I would beg to watch only five minutes of each at a time so that I could find out which one was the least scary. Blood and gore didn't bother me, it grossed me out but I could always make some sarcastic comment about make up artists or special effects. It was that shot from behind that always killed me, the one where you could just see the character and had to wonder if something was about to jump out at them and from where. Now I challenge myself to try to outdo my fear; grabbing my pillow, turning on the light, but forcing myself to watch.
~Cars. Or rather, car accidents. Ever since I woke up in that ambulance, sharp turns and hard brakes have made me forget to breath. Sometimes I think remembering everything would help...but most of the time I'm just grateful that I don't have to.
~Failing. No one really wants to fail, but I seem to have a real talent for screwing things up. Somehow, just when things get good I manage to make one huge mistake and that's it. I know I'm not the sort to really make people proud, but for once I want to not be part of the problem.
~Losing him. My little brother I mean. Because no matter what, he's all I have in the world, the only person who's not allowed to leave me. He doesn't get mad when I tell him I love him, we can go for weeks without talking and then have things be just like normal. I know he doesn't need me to protect him anymore, but somehow I have to try. In the end, he's really the one protecting me. I know there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for him.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Through the cracks
Tomorrow I'm just going to be a memory, I think.
I'll slip away, into that dark part of the brain that is reserved for the things no one wants to think about. I've lost, I suppose. Some people win and then there are other people too. If one person, any person would notice me drowning that would be something at least. But I won't burden you or anyone else. Especially not you. You told me yourself, you don't know how to deal with this. You shut down. So maybe it's better I don't make you think about it anymore. You can be free of all of this, easily.
And tomorrow, I'll be a memory.
I'll slip away, into that dark part of the brain that is reserved for the things no one wants to think about. I've lost, I suppose. Some people win and then there are other people too. If one person, any person would notice me drowning that would be something at least. But I won't burden you or anyone else. Especially not you. You told me yourself, you don't know how to deal with this. You shut down. So maybe it's better I don't make you think about it anymore. You can be free of all of this, easily.
And tomorrow, I'll be a memory.
Year One
Nights like these make me beg for punishment. Let me pull out old snapshots, let me read the old conversations that are intrinsically bad for me. Let my pull my hair down and let the tears roll awkwardly around my nose to my lips. The salty taste reminds me of those nights, one year ago. Those horribly wonderful nights, delicious sin promising me a world of pain and love.
I wonder if he's thinking about me, sometimes.
Wonder if he ever remembers what happened, wonder if he ever imagines things differently. He wouldn't, it's not his style. Live in the moment, forget regrets. That's what he told everyone anyway. I knew differently.
I can't answer when you call now, can't pretend to be happy anymore. You won't believe me anyway.
So here I am. Punishing myself.
Picture after picture.
Make it hurt.
I wonder if he's thinking about me, sometimes.
Wonder if he ever remembers what happened, wonder if he ever imagines things differently. He wouldn't, it's not his style. Live in the moment, forget regrets. That's what he told everyone anyway. I knew differently.
I can't answer when you call now, can't pretend to be happy anymore. You won't believe me anyway.
So here I am. Punishing myself.
Picture after picture.
Make it hurt.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunshine
Hey there boy. You smile and then here-comes-the-sun. So smile already.
It's rainy and gray here; and all I want is to put my short shorts on and go flop by a lake. I'm sick of life being shades of gray and so let's run away together and make it technicolor.
You're my "thirty seconds of wonderful in a lifetime of nothing special" that I have been looking for ever since I said those words to a packed house.
Sometimes I think I feel your ghost; someone brushes past me in a packed student union and I smell your jacket and almost spin and grab them by the sleeve. Looking behind me they turn into a solid stranger and I am left with a moment of starry cold memory. Tonight I'll listen to you falling asleep on the phone and I'll grin at the memory of you lying next to me, quietly happy. And then I'll smile, thinking of you.
Smile.
Ok?
It's rainy and gray here; and all I want is to put my short shorts on and go flop by a lake. I'm sick of life being shades of gray and so let's run away together and make it technicolor.
You're my "thirty seconds of wonderful in a lifetime of nothing special" that I have been looking for ever since I said those words to a packed house.
Sometimes I think I feel your ghost; someone brushes past me in a packed student union and I smell your jacket and almost spin and grab them by the sleeve. Looking behind me they turn into a solid stranger and I am left with a moment of starry cold memory. Tonight I'll listen to you falling asleep on the phone and I'll grin at the memory of you lying next to me, quietly happy. And then I'll smile, thinking of you.
Smile.
Ok?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Suffragette 2010
Tell me where I messed up. I want to know, what went wrong?
It's my mind isn't it, damn independent thoughts. Nothing a butcher's knife can't cure. Let's carve my brain out and let it land with a satisfying plop on the floor beside me. Then I will be docile, then I will do just what I'm told. But these lips, they must also be punished for whispered defiance. scratch them off my face, peel them away so my teeth are left bare and accountable for their chatterings. Leave only my body for that alone has not yet offended.
I will be your brainless, lip-less servant. I will fetch and carry and sit and stand and kneel for you. I will nod mutely when you tell me I'm worthless and stare blankly at the wall when you strike out in frustration.
I am your diversion.
When things go wrong, it's because of me.
I shouldn't have been thinking in the first place.
It's my mind isn't it, damn independent thoughts. Nothing a butcher's knife can't cure. Let's carve my brain out and let it land with a satisfying plop on the floor beside me. Then I will be docile, then I will do just what I'm told. But these lips, they must also be punished for whispered defiance. scratch them off my face, peel them away so my teeth are left bare and accountable for their chatterings. Leave only my body for that alone has not yet offended.
I will be your brainless, lip-less servant. I will fetch and carry and sit and stand and kneel for you. I will nod mutely when you tell me I'm worthless and stare blankly at the wall when you strike out in frustration.
I am your diversion.
When things go wrong, it's because of me.
I shouldn't have been thinking in the first place.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Star light, star bright.
Alone, tonight, I see the stars.
Sometimes I talk to them, imagining they whisper back to me through the trees. They know all my secretes, those bright points. In the lonely night I tell them how I love and how I hate- all of my sins are laid bare to this supreme confessor.
There are days when I slip away to play in the fallen temples of my own personal what ifs. I run through the city and dance on shiny black stages and in the end I collapse in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Most of all on these nights I am not alone. My star friends take on faces and we giggle together and I am no longer alone.
Then something wakes me up. Someone calls and they talk about the Real World and I am dragged back, kicking and screaming and cursing.
Tomorrow I'll close my eyes again and the stars will come out and I won't be alone.
Sometimes I talk to them, imagining they whisper back to me through the trees. They know all my secretes, those bright points. In the lonely night I tell them how I love and how I hate- all of my sins are laid bare to this supreme confessor.
There are days when I slip away to play in the fallen temples of my own personal what ifs. I run through the city and dance on shiny black stages and in the end I collapse in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Most of all on these nights I am not alone. My star friends take on faces and we giggle together and I am no longer alone.
Then something wakes me up. Someone calls and they talk about the Real World and I am dragged back, kicking and screaming and cursing.
Tomorrow I'll close my eyes again and the stars will come out and I won't be alone.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Home Alone
Tonight I'm home alone. Somewhere someone is making you laugh, making your eyes spark bright in that brilliantly beautiful way. I sip my tea and imagine the taste of your lips, soured by beer.
I remember the days when we were young and stupid and you would take me in your arms and the world would screech to a stop. You taught me so much in those hot dark hours, and then sometimes we would stop breathing and let life go. One night I looked in your eyes and I knew somehow that you would be with me forever, long after I scuttled out the door and down the hall in the early morning light.
Somewhere a girl is looking at you and wondering who you are. Your easy smile is intoxicating, women want to drown in it; I drowned in it. Sliding off your seat you will flip a comment back and make people laugh. Once those comments were directed at me; I would bush past you and flick my hair so the mix of my perfume and shampoo would tantalize you. I haven't showered in days now, I pull my hair back into a sensible poof that explodes at the back of my head.
Once I was exciting and fresh.
Here I am, black and white and two dimensional. Why would anyone want this when they can have beautiful, vibrant color?
So tonight, I'm home alone.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Running away
A part of me is ready to walk away.
I'm good at that, when the going gets rough I turn tail and flee.
I want to sleep through tomorrow, never seeing the light of day.
I want to throw my things haphazardly in my trunk and go
go
go.
Maybe when I see you you'll be mad. You'll get sour and displeased that I threw so much away with both hands. You'll look at me with those deep wonderful browns and you'll sigh and finally take me into your arms.
I want to go.
In five years, ten years, it will all be the same. Who needs a Higher Education to work retail, anyway. Who needs any of this? Without another being to share existence with life is pointless. We will be uncomfortably happy, but that is better then comfortably bitter. And there will be a dog and two cats (yes, I will win that argument) and a few messy children to add volume to life. And I will look back on today and perhaps I will sigh at the illusions of youth, but I will know I chose correctly.
I want to go.
My secret is my suitcase, still packed. I refuse to redistribute the articles inside to a room which feels nothing like home. Cliche or not, my home is with my heart and you are currently my heart's keeper. So it's there, a little bent and beaten and waiting for any excuse I can come up with to fly.
I want to go.
And then I remember your voice, telling me no. Telling me I have to do this, I have to be here now. And I wonder; if I go will you welcome me? Will you smile and tell me you love me? Or will you turn away and point a finger back north.
I want to go.
Here I stay.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Deja Vu
Things discovered in the cracked white plastic of my personal time machine; an old laptop computer. I thought I knew everything. Turns out I knew nothing at all. And when exactly did I think attempting poetry at 3 am was a good idea?
From Erin
This is what I think: I think that we are pretty enough,
& likable enough…
and if even that’s not enough to win
by coloring within the lines- then
we’re smart enough
that we should be able to figure out how
to cheat this whole game!
So, where are the boys?
Where have all the cowboys
gone? Where is My
John Wayne?
Where is my
prairie son?
I’ll do the dishes,
if you pay all
the bills.
Sneaking
Awkward limbs
cramped into a twin bed,
arms tucked beneath stomachs
thrown over backs
legs tangled in sheets.
Existing separately,
Side by side.
Turning,
A stroking finger finds a
Back
Leg
Chest.
Hands sweep hair aside
From the neck
Hot air against a cool ear.
Mouths pressing
Almost painfully
Searching for something
Lacking in this existence…
Hours.
Two,
Three,
Six.
Dimly aware of sunlight creeping in
Through dirty windows
And half drawn blinds.
Gathering clothes-
Searching in the half-light.
A parting squeeze
And creeping down a hall
Stairs
Back to a room-
A roommate.
Wondering when,
Exactly,
This is the person that you became.
I became.
Home Life
Wind
Spray
Ocean
Hair in disarray
True feelings
True life.
Now,
Halogen lights
Razor burn in shared showers
Upstairs,
Sneaking home
2 am.
This is not love.
Life here,
Made of cardboard.
Love exists
Without shame
Without fear
And I have
Fallen
Out of it.
Warning
You told me
Many times in fact,
You warned me fully.
Of my own encouragement I continued.
And now I have fallen
Fallen
Fallen
And still I blame you.
Wolf in sheep’s discarded garments
(aware of that cliché)
To catch me through such means.
I hope my veal is as succulent as it is painful-
My bleats are silenced nightly
In my pillow.
3 am
Coffee is warm and forgotten-
Papers creep across the table
Slyly trying to lose themselves among the chaos
A computer,
Open,
Lingers nearby on the desk.
From Erin
This is what I think: I think that we are pretty enough,
& likable enough…
and if even that’s not enough to win
by coloring within the lines- then
we’re smart enough
that we should be able to figure out how
to cheat this whole game!
So, where are the boys?
Where have all the cowboys
gone? Where is My
John Wayne?
Where is my
prairie son?
I’ll do the dishes,
if you pay all
the bills.
Sneaking
Awkward limbs
cramped into a twin bed,
arms tucked beneath stomachs
thrown over backs
legs tangled in sheets.
Existing separately,
Side by side.
Turning,
A stroking finger finds a
Back
Leg
Chest.
Hands sweep hair aside
From the neck
Hot air against a cool ear.
Mouths pressing
Almost painfully
Searching for something
Lacking in this existence…
Hours.
Two,
Three,
Six.
Dimly aware of sunlight creeping in
Through dirty windows
And half drawn blinds.
Gathering clothes-
Searching in the half-light.
A parting squeeze
And creeping down a hall
Stairs
Back to a room-
A roommate.
Wondering when,
Exactly,
This is the person that you became.
I became.
Home Life
Wind
Spray
Ocean
Hair in disarray
True feelings
True life.
Now,
Halogen lights
Razor burn in shared showers
Upstairs,
Sneaking home
2 am.
This is not love.
Life here,
Made of cardboard.
Love exists
Without shame
Without fear
And I have
Fallen
Out of it.
Warning
You told me
Many times in fact,
You warned me fully.
Of my own encouragement I continued.
And now I have fallen
Fallen
Fallen
And still I blame you.
Wolf in sheep’s discarded garments
(aware of that cliché)
To catch me through such means.
I hope my veal is as succulent as it is painful-
My bleats are silenced nightly
In my pillow.
3 am
Coffee is warm and forgotten-
Papers creep across the table
Slyly trying to lose themselves among the chaos
A computer,
Open,
Lingers nearby on the desk.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Broken
It's four am and I can't breath. It's too late or too early- you are asleep as you should be. The moon is in my soul and I'm restless. A year ago I wanted this, and while you found ecstasy I left wet imprints on my pillow. I love you I love you I love you. So why am I sitting on a crumbling staircase in my oversized jacket and my bare feet? My darling, please believe me. I love you so much it hurts. But I'm restless and crazy. Maybe it's just the full moon and the jazz in my soul; or maybe it's me.
For my part I'm sorry that I put you through this. I will fix it, someday.
I'm sorry I'm broken.
For my part I'm sorry that I put you through this. I will fix it, someday.
I'm sorry I'm broken.
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