tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383300665054555652024-03-05T00:32:34.569-08:00MhhmmmAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-71915999799400762312015-04-19T00:56:00.002-07:002015-04-19T00:58:11.636-07:00throwing Stones at Blood and Bone<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>Throwing
Stones at Blood and Bone </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A part
of me is a gypsy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fluid,
electrifying and homeless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She’s a
siren out of water <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She’s a
magical mess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A part
of me is a preacher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cursed by
a soulful obligation to giving <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She’s a charitable
loose cannon <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Unsure of
how to treat herself like she is living.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I see
what it is to be a gypsy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She is
happier than me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Because she
does just as she wishes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
loves only when one needs her love-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And I grew
up shy of gypsy kisses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I see
what it is to be a preacher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He is
sadder than me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Bodoni MT, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Because he </span>isn't<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> with whom he belongs <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
manipulates a success wherever he’s invited<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Bodoni MT, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But </span>we've<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> both missed home all along. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
anxious and full of motion <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere
in the middle –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A loose
cannon treading water <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With no
destination in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She says
I’m a bitch and a liar <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe she
is right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He says I’m
a pistol and a philanthropist <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe he
is right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wonder
if a gypsy is always a gypsy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A free
spirit, never eternally bound. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She will
go when the wind wills her away <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But she
is the fastest at settling down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She acquires
quite the tribe of souls in her ways <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She is a
wolf mother- <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She leads
a pack of strays. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She is a
settled gypsy now, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Leaving her
soul food outside her door <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And she
resents that I need not be carried, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That I don’t
eat it anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wonder
if a preacher is always a preacher <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With story
after story to tell <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He’s
both exaggerated and nonchalant <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He’s
impossible to know very well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He holds
close to his pod and his responsibility <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He is an
orca father-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Who passively
protects his whole family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He is an
aged preacher now, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Who has
told all his best history <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He’s
waiting for something before he goes home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m not
ready to know if it is me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
swimming in the depths <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere
miles from the shore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am
working my way inland <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Bodoni MT, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To a
place </span>I've<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> been before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The gypsy
in me takes the long way <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But I’m
slowly going home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So I can
settle with whom I belong-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And wait
to make history of my own perceiving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There is
a preacher who deserves home <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And a
gypsy with a lot to learn about leaving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-50820488320857224572014-01-06T19:05:00.002-08:002014-01-06T19:05:41.397-08:00"Take Me in Tender Woman" <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fear:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I forgot that a wolf is always wild..
I guess I got lost somewhere in the heartwarming process of
domesticating a wild animal and I took for granted its willingness to
bite. I trusted him. I pet him. I loved him and held him and put a
collar with a name on him. Beneath his rough fur I convinced myself
he was no more dangerous then a soft stuffed animal. I was wrong.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I found my wolf under the steps of my
house. He was crying, a weak and needy woof, and I felt for him. I
loured him inside my house with some dog food and a blanket and let
him sit on my living room floor. He sat quietly. I watched him for
quite some time,waiting for him to bite me, waiting for him to growl,
waiting for him to tear a hole in the couch or something. He did
nothing. He sat and looked at me, and eventually he fell asleep on
the blanket I'd set up for him with this head in the bowl of food. So
I left for work. I knew then that he was a wolf- I knew then that
when I got home he would attack me- and I knew it would be my own
fault for letting him in. I slowly opened my door, and he got up to
greet me. I was shaking with fear. I stood just inside the doorway,
the wolf next to me, and as my breathing got heavier I knew I was in
more and more danger. He went outside, and I collapsed onto the
couch. What was I doing with a wild animal in my house? What was I
doing alone with a wolf? Why had I possibly trusted him? Why had I
been so lucky with him? Why hadn't he already bitten me? What if he
was sick? I found myself wondering if I could even walk into a vet
with a wolf and have him treated. Then he knocked. The wolf was back
at my door with a robust bark, asking to be let back in before I had
even mustered enough thought and comfort to get off the couch and
unpack my work things. I let him in with no hesitance.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He <span lang="en-US">wagged his tail
as he came through the door and sat back on his blanket. I petted
him, kind of hoping he would bite me. Not because I wanted to bitten
but because I knew that if he bit me just then- I could guiltlessly
put him back outside. He didn't bite me. So I loved him, I called
him into my bed and I loved him. I pet him and I kissed him all night
and I thanked him for being so kind and gentle. I told him I wasnt
sure which one of us was wild- because here I was with a wolf in my
bed! I told him he could stay for as long as he wanted to and I slept
well holding him close. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="en-US">I bought him a
collar and a crate and I came home to him every night for a year or
so. He became a pet to me, he became a best friend to me, I called
him Duke and he seemed to like that. Then one night, a Thursday
night, I let him out after dinner and waited for his usual bark to be
let back in- but it never came. The next morning I got up and
couldn't work- so I searched for him all day. I called his name, I
looked everywhere and I couldn't find him anywhere. I was devastated.
I had trusted him and I shouldnt have. I had loved something wild
against all my better senses and time caught up with me and forced me
to learn my lesson. Sixteen nights went by without him. Then I heard
it, his bark outside the door that meant he was ready to be let in. I
answered him. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="en-US">It has been almost
fourteen weeks that Duke has been in the house again. He somewhere
outside lost the name tag on his collar, and I have yet to get a new
one made. I shake when he sleeps next to me, almost as bad as I shook
while he was gone. I am hesitant to pet him now, though I sometimes
do, because I know he can smell my fear- and worse yet, I know he
likes it. I know he likes knowing I can no trust him and I can not
turn him out. He likes knowing he has the upper hand and that he
could turn on me at any second. He likes to come up to me like he
still loves me even, he likes to rub his head on my lap- but then he
likes to growl. He sometimes doesnt come back for a couple days,
because he doesnt care when he hears me calling. Ive even seen him
stand just on the top of the hill at the bottom of my street and howl
at the moon instead of me. He likes to make me feel inadequate like
that, he always wants me to know I will have never done enough for
him. He wants me to know that he will never consistently love me,
that he will never consistently come home to me, and that I wall
never consistently satisfy him. He wants me to know that just because
he wants my pets doesnt mean he is my pet, and doesnt mean he is any
less of a wolf- or that I should be any less scared of him. </span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="en-US">I am scared of him.
Scared that he will hurt me. Scared that he will leave me. Scared
that he will wreck the home I have built for him. But most of all, I
am scared that each day will be one of the days he doesnt care about
me. And thats how it is loving a wolf and letting yourself forget
just what he is.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-57220473136454739072013-09-19T19:31:00.001-07:002013-09-19T19:32:35.327-07:00looking up to you <div class="MsoNormal">
I remember standing in our entranceway in our federalist
style house in Virginia Beach. I remember that we were supposed to be doing
anything but what it was that we were doing, and I remember loving it. I
remember the way that my barefoot feet felt on top of your sneakers and I remember
just how far back I had to stand in order to not hurt you as you spun around
and around on that wood floor. I remember how great it felt to know how special
I was to you. I remember you dancing with me in our entrance way- I remember it
because it was there that I learned the truth of your nature. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The truth is, you’re always celebrating your children. You
always feel compelled to spin us around and show us off. You respect us more
than we respect ourselves, you forgive us before you know what we have done,
and you have bigger dreams for us than we can imagine. I know you want a house
with a four car garage for us each, but the tiny apartments and trailers we all
found at one point or another never made you anything less than proud. You celebrate
our small victories and you tactfully fail to remember our times of
shortcoming. I’ll never forget that I locked myself out of my apartment and you
came and lent me your car because I needed you- but you’ll never forget. I
remember all the checks you wrote for me, but you don’t. I remember, though I fail
to acknowledge it, just how much you’ve always celebrated me- and the truth is I
am lucky that it is in your nature. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In all honesty, you’re absolutely crazy. You’re high
mantinenace and unpredictable. You tell way too many stories and you lie too
often. Youre too modest and you keep too many secrets. You call your family
more than you need to, you give us way more than you have, and you live a top
dollar lifestyle on a dime. You make too many excuses for the people you love.
You don’t ever protect yourself. You don’t get mad at us often enough. You are
too forgiving and generous to a fault. But truth be told, I’d be absolutely
proud to take all your bad habits if I meant I’d grow up to be half the person
you are. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truthfully, youre a great role model. Youre an aging man who
went back to college, who saved his money for something he loves, and who took
in his siblings when they needed him. You’re generous and loving and forgiving.
Youre old but you’re vivacious, and optimistic whenever you can be. You love
children and animals and you love your kids. You’re a hero and a godsend and I don’t
take that for granted. Truthfully, Honestly dad, I still look up to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am an independent adult, but I still look up to you. I am
no longer a little blue eyed blonde standing on your sneakers as you
spontaneously dance in our entrance way, but I am still your daughter. I still
want to grow up to be the woman you’ve always hoped I could be and I want to
give you real reasons to be as proud of me as you already are. I want to dance
with you at my wedding and spontaneously misbehave when we are both much older
and im sneaking you out of your nursing home or letting you drive after they
take your license. I want to thank you for celebrating me for no special reason
as often as you do. I just want to tell you that I love you, and this is the
best way I know how to spontaneously embrace you. This is me, stopping in the entrance way
and spinning you around to no music. This is the only way I know how to make
you understand how special you are to me. This is my thank you, this is a party
for you, this is my father-daughter dance. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-11692380463581839202013-04-29T20:09:00.002-07:002013-04-29T20:09:35.146-07:00I Won't Mind <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was sitting next to you <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With your hand in my hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We had no where to go, nothing to do, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet I was more content then I’d ever been <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the timelessness beside you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Therein is a tenderness not everyone does find <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So if next to you is the most blissful I can be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sure won’t mind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was telling secrets with you,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You had stories falling in my ears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can tell me anything you want to <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As long as you keep listening better than you have to- <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To the secrets I let fall in your ears. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our stories will build us a haven, me and you, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if for eternity-to you- my truths bind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And no other sould knows a story of me <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rest assured, I’ll still feel heard, and I wont mind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wont mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am patiently waiting for you <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To give me peace of and make up your mind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So someone can finally know what you want to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though so many others can promise titles and security <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Id still so much rather be mindless with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re co-writing a story with no outline<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as long as I know we still have a story- <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I’ll wait for an ending and I wont mind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wont mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was doing all the little things for you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting you presents, “goodmornings, how are you,” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not because you asked for them but because I wanted to <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was doing more than I have ever done- <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And ideaing up more because nothing is good enough for you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is so much gratuity from being kind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I wish I could get wealthy serving you-<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I could pay these bills with your smiles and “thank you,”
I wouldn’t mind <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wouldn’t mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was laying next to you <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With your hand in my hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though there were places I needed to go and things I needed
to do, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was too content to move <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because I was blissfully close to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Youre a tender timelessness I have been fortunate to find. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So If ours is a story that never sells, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rest assured, you’ve been heard, and ill buy every copy with
a smile and “thank you” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I sure wont mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-79712570220115381162013-03-28T21:53:00.001-07:002013-03-28T21:53:22.588-07:00All My Cats Were Strays <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My next door neighbor is a miserable woman; I kind of like
her. Her house is in pristine condition and her yard is perfectly sprinkled with
matching flower beds. She drives a reliable family sedan with racing stripes
down the left side past both doors. She paid a fortune for that stripe and the
poor thing has seen about as many miles as one loop around a race track. She washes
that car out in the driveway once a week. Once, my youngest son asked if he
could help her and she let him. My older boy and his friends lost a baseball in
her flower bed one afternoon last spring though, and we were paying to have the
flowers replaced and a professional to come replant. What is hers is all hers,
she deserves, and she holds to the highest of expectations. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has no children. She has no spouse. We are probably very
close in age though we have lived very different lives. My husband is jealous
of her. Her five bedroom house has had two renovations in the five years we
have lived next door and now has a Jacuzzi room and a fitness center she never
uses because she prefers the high end gym on the corner of Fifth and
Haydenberry. She works a consistent nine to five job as a foreclosure officer
and is home every weekend. She owns a summer home down on the coast in Savannah
and asks us up for the Fourth of July every year. My husband refuses to go and takes the boys
out fishing but sometimes I’ll sneak up for a hard lemonade and some girl talk.
I think she needs it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last fourth of July She told me when she was seventeen her
high school sweetheart snuck out in his parents car to run away with her. He wanted
to wait till graduation when his BMW was inspectable but she was in love and
she was impatient, and he would have done anything to keep her. He was killed
by a drunk driver at the top of her street. She said her whole town tried not
to blame her but it did no good with a conscience like hers. She hid for three
days she told me, not coming out of her room to eat or anything, then rode with
her parents to the service in a dress she planned to wear to prom with him that
was labeled in dirty whispers by his loved ones as “disrespectful” and “selfish”.
She stood through a third of the sermon she said to me, listening to all the
chatter, and then she walked out of the church down six streets to Main and
Maple, crossed, walked three doors down to his house, dug for the key to his beamer
in her bag, and then started the ignition and backed out of the everything she
knew. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since then she has been divorced twice and lost all of the
friends she ever had, four women and one man. She has walked out on them all
after a fight or a lie or a scene. You can tell in her baby blue eyes that she
still doesn’t understand why it is so easy for people to let go of her. She
tells me of a time someone hurt her as though the separation that ensued was
painful but obligatory on her part and then boasts a little about how she
managed a large settlement in her second divorce or about how she got a couple
grand off a furniture set for using her married name at the Aaron’s on Ninth
because her first husband’s second cousin works there. I chuckle a little to
myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took me a while to overcome my jealousy. I earn good
money and work my ass off and have substantially less building and property to
show for it than most women my age do. But then I remember that I have priceless
roses on my birthday and mother’s day cards from hallmark. Sometimes I wish I lived
alone and didn’t have a house full of needy people to take care of but as much
as I am in many ways the biggest provider for my household, It takes everyone
else to take care of me. I wouldn’t trade my husband for one night alone.
Despite his two separate incidents of one night stands, his needy family and
our constant bickering, without him I’d have to learn what I want in my coffee
because I can’t walk into the Starbucks on Peach and say “can you make that
with a little extra love today I’m feeling irritable, and can you seal in my
flavor with cat hair and chaos?” Without my two boys I never would have paid
1000 dollars to take an adult learning algebra class to help with homework and I
could have Sunday nights back to sleep instead of paint. I never would have had
my house searched by drug dogs for cocaine my eldest was “holding for a friend”.
But without those boys there would have been no tears when I finished my half
marathon and saw them out of class early and skipping a game to stand with
their father holding a sign with my name inscribed. I used to think without
that family I would know nothing of mistrust, disrespect, and heartbreak. That’s
true, but also without that family I’d know nothing of responsibility and
loyalty, I’d know nothing of pride and appreciation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband and I can barely afford our five bedroom on both
of our incomes. We have the two of us, a sixteen year old hockey player mathematician,
an eleven year old Picasso, My childhood best friend who needs a placed to call
home when she isn’t away on business , my sister-in-law who has a pug dog and a
disability check, and three cats that once were strays. We do not have a Jacuzzi
or a fitness center. We don’t even have a membership to a gym. We have sneakers
and a safe neighborhood though. My husband works as a writer from home and I teach
a couple classes and wait table because I love it. We don’t have much time for
leisure, much money for saving, or much food for sharing but we always manage
and we’ve made ends meet no matter how hard it was for us for over seventeen
years. When there is money to spare we trade in one of our three household
vehicles for a newer used model or go on a quick vacation. Though my husband
always wishes we had more of the tangibles our neighbors do, I just chuckle to
myself- “Babe, if I wanted to be comfortable in life I never would have married
you” I tell him again and again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That lady next door has so much to spend. If we just had
more money this month we could take the boys…” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“it isn’t worth the price she pays babe, it isn’t worth the
price she pays.” <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-50085920019244841662013-03-22T08:26:00.001-07:002013-03-22T08:26:47.953-07:00Touch I could live on the way you touch my skin.Never before have i liked to be touched the way i like the way you touch me. I have never been one to cuddle, to fondle, to rest before you. never have the physicality of two people's body been more of an idea to half-heartedly toss around when i casually poke around with a vibrator. That was before you though, before i felt the way i feel about (your) hands on my skin.<br />
I love how crazy you are. I love your tendencies towards fetish kinks and your poetic softness. I love your snowflake in a rainstorm kisses, hard to distinguish and too quickly melted and meshed into the cold concrete that is my skin. It is crazy how you torture and tease me and possibly ever crazier how much i crave that.<br />
I love that you smell so easy. I love that your body and your axe deodorant never come on too strong when i'm buried as deep in the fabric on you as i can be. I love the way you smell my sheets and you smell my hair just to make sure nothing has changed. I love that i have gotten so used to your presence in my air that i cant smell you till i get back in bed, in the car, in your favorite sweatshirt of mine without you. I love the way your hands smell when they have been inside me. i love the sweet scent of your sweat as it drips down the nape of your neck and rolls over my knuckles. I love that your breathe smells so patient and careful. I love all the smells that come from being as close to you as you will let me be.<br />
I love your body when you let me. I love your fingers when you intertwine them in mine. I love your fingers on my wrists, my back, my neck, my ass. i love the way your hands feel on the outside of my clothes as they beckon, on the inside of my clothes as they are invited, and on the inside of everything deeper that makes me myself and makes this body mine- as they penetrate. I love your nose muzzled into my neck. I love the subtle wetness of your moth tickling my skin and acting as a refreshing breeze- never too much to take but just enough to give me chills. I love the bones in your face atop my breast pressing as i breathe and softening as time passes. I love the tender torture of the way your body feels.<br />
I love the way you touch my skin. Never before have i been so alive as when im tangled in your touches.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-81394801489467068082012-10-08T21:00:00.000-07:002012-10-08T21:00:44.500-07:00My Handwriting Isnt Any Better <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
My Handwriting Isnt Any Better </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate your handwriting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate the way you inconsistently punctuate text messages and
occasionally correct misspellings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that “how are you?” is never what comes to mind when youre done
disclosing every detail of your day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you don’t wear cologne and still manage to smell like candy
and craving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate knowing that you’ll never bring me home to your mother. <br />
I hate that your family terrifies me because they are broken worse than my own.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet that given your situation, your mother is a bitch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet she is bitter on top of being all of the things I hate about you.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet youll be poor and irresponsible for as long as you live. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet you’ll never make it as a writer. Not because you arent good
enough, but because you’ve never been well-behaved enough to learn the rules. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet you will stop singing when you realize that im the only person
who loves it when you do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I cant imagine your voice in my mind, even seconds after
you leave me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I anticipate hearing you with so much vivacity that I cant eat.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that when I do hear you, I am suddenly full. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that we cant listen to
country because your exgirlfriend did and you cant help but remember. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you show no inclination of remembering singing Jimmy Buffet
with me before you knew her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you don’t call me Reba anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that song “Country Roads” because every time I hear it I am forced back
to a time when it felt like you enjoyed me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate how desperately I want to taste you and rebellion again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate my passanger’s seat because you are the only person that matters
who has ever sat there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet that that you have never noticed I have a scratch-off ticket you
won two dollars on above my driving visor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet you don’t know that I cry every single time I see that picture of
you taking a picture of me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet you never even thought about asking me about the girl in the
picture of a girl taking a picture of a boy, when you know damn well what id
give to know the story behind the boy taking a picture of a girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I bet you don’t even want to know me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love that you told me every story you could about a boy in a picture
of a boy taking a picture of a girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love that I know why some of your stories are lies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you constantly lie to me and I still think youre the most
honest person I know. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I lie to you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that that one girl is not the only person I have bribed to be
nice to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that ive convinced everyone at work youre a douchebag by
exposing you to them entirely, and I told you think no one knows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I said I didn’t want to date you almost as much as I hate
you for believing me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I told you I wanst hurting myself when I was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I convinced you my failures had nothing to do with you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I told you I’d been in love once because I convinced you it
was with someone other than you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I told you I would be fine all three times you broke my
heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate pretending I don’t remember everything you’ve ever told me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate when anyone says your name. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you feel so much closer to so many strangers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Im surprised by how close you get to me sometimes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised by how much you do know about me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised that despite the fact youre always judging me you haven’t
abandoned my logic yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised by how much you let me hold your hypocrisy against you
when we both know you get it from me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised by how much you think you have a right to call me out
on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised by how often you respect my secrets. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am surprised you haven’t noticed that I am the only person who will
ever love you like this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that no one understands how I love you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate how isolating supporting you has become. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that my friends wont hear about you hurting me anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that id prefer to let you hurt me than have a world of people to
help me heal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that having you has forced me to have secrets of my own. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate myself for putting you before my friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate you for thinking we are friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate you for making me so selfless. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that I wanted to feel good with you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that making you feel good didn’t make me feel better than
cumming ever has. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that you offered to reciprocate sometimes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that you understood that I want to make you happy more than I have
ever wanted anything. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate myself for wishing you the best with someone who I knew would
never love you like I could. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that your happiness is and always has been pivotal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I cant go a day without missing you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I honestly believe you’ve never missed me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I didn’t start loving you earlier. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that you knew me before I knew you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I wish you had already been my first and I loved you
longer and younger. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate that I wasn’t your first.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that I could have told you I was ready. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish that I could have taken some innitative and kissed you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish you thought to kiss me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish we cuddled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish I could have left your hand on my thigh. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish I could have told you I trusted you instead of being so scared. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish I could have surrendered to you and let you prove your good character.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish you hadn’t said you used me- even though we both already knew
you had. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish being used by you bothered me enough to stop wanting you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I wish we had sex.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you for wanting to have sex with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate you for wanting to have sex with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate how good you feel to me and I love how effortless I am for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you for not filtering what you say to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I hate you for not filtering what you say to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love hating you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you for being. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you for being who you are. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I love you for being who you are to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But I fucking hate who you are to me. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-7953881831571961072012-07-03T20:23:00.003-07:002012-07-03T20:24:11.974-07:00Sincerity<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear Boy, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m going to skip the <i>How are you </i>and <i>you look good
in that blue shirt and those ray-bands</i> and get straight to writing all the
things I can’t say to that blue v-neck and those protective shades. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For starters, think about the things you say to me. Don’t
say things that hurt, unless your intent is to hurt me-but that is another
paragraph. I <i>am</i> funny. I am a nice
girl. I am a good friend. I am not a liar. I am not any of your stereotypes. If
I smoke every day until I am too high to move and drink three fifths for
breakfast on Tuesdays and Thursdays you still shouldn’t tell me I’m an addict
until it is a last resort. I am not a workaholic just because I work more hours
in a week then you have in your lifetime, and appreciate the fact that I always
manage to see you when you want to be seen. I am a good poet. I am not prude
just because I will not sleep with you. I am not a tease because I am
indecisive, or because I am scared. I am not crazy just because you don’t understand
me. I am not a bad driver just because your dad is a better one. Know that as
hard as I have tried to think nothing of the mean things you have said, my
mirror spits them up at me every single morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t take advantage of me. Don’t leave your trash
in my car. Don’t borrow money you don’t intend to pay back. Don’t smoke my herb
with my pipe exclusively. Don’t assume I am going to pay for your dinners, movies,
and gas. You have no right to ask just because you know I can’t tell you no. Do
not think you are tricking me when you guilt me into buying you stupid stuff or
taking you places either. Don’t use me for unreciprocated oral sex. Respond to
all of my text messages as I do yours, not just the ones specifically about
you. Make our relationship mutual. Make me believe that I am worth a smidgeon
of the effort I give you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Can we have more time together doing nothing? Can we
cuddle? Can we hold hands and not make strings and attachments? Will you be the
first boy to feel those two new piercings and to kiss those nasty scars? I miss
unbuttoning your sleeves and kissing your fingers. Call me all those derogatory
pet names I’m ashamed to love again. Try and remember telling me that <i>you like the way I look with my hair down. </i>Ask
me to look at you some more. Smile down at me, cause you know it is suggestive.
Give my inbox a couple of the kind of messages a good girl hides again. Hold me.
Tell me you like holding me. Let me please you, and tell me I feel good. Forgive
me for every time I have said no, and being indecisive and scared. Let those
hands teach me to trust you. Don’t let them hurt me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t feel bad for making me cry. Feel bad for doing
what you did to make me cry. Don’t be sorry you said you were embarrassed, be
sorry you were. Don’t apologize for sadness that isn’t your fault either. It isn’t
your fault the world uses me. Nor that I get in fights with my parents. Take
some responsibility for what you do have a part in though; am I really not
funny? Make an effort not to use me when you know how much it hurts when other
people do. Don’t apologize when you aren’t sorry. Don’t feel obligated to
apologize just because you know what you have done is wrong. Forgive yourself
for everything you’ve ever been genuinely sorry for, but don’t forget why you
were sorry you did those things. Don’t do them again. Show me when youre sorry,
as much as I hate to say it, you’ve lied too many times for me to trust your
words alone. Don’t be sorry when you see me crying, because you’ve been the
cause of a million more tears behind the scenes. Just make an effort to concern
yourself with my well-being and be sorry for being inconsiderate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Know that I adore you. I will defend you with every
fiber of my being for as long as you allow me to. I love so many of your
attributes and I am so amazed by your talents and your intellect. I am honored
to know you. I struggle through so much of our dynamic yet I am delighted by
the idea of you. You are the natural light in my dimly fluorescent existence. You
are hilarious. You are a nice boy. You are not a liar though you have told more
lies than anyone else I know. You are so forgivable. You are so loveable. Maybe
it’s just the v-neck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s too bad you’ll never see this letter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">-Sincerely <3. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-47311893055386027702012-04-20T18:36:00.000-07:002012-04-20T18:37:02.354-07:00Check Your Mirrors<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear: Five two, permed and dyed, freckles, period breakouts,
eyeliner drips, and scarred heels: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have
some tough love for you. Some insight. Some advice I know you won’t take and
you know you should. Remember, I take care of you like no one else does. I acknowledge
I am your toughest critic, and we have had our moments of hatred, but know I expect
you to take every word personally. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For starters, don’t let laziness become habitual. Show up at
seven fifty to your eight am. Work every weekend. Worship your days off, but
never ask for them. Do your homework. Go to class. Make dinners and eat slowly.
Go to the gym and go on walks on the same day. Drive out to see your parents,
even if you’re tired. Don’t miss birthday parties or baby showers. Give
everything 100%, and when that isn’t enough, work till what was 100% is only
half as hard as you can go. Then go harder. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keep loyal to your loyalties. Appreciate Daddy and Mother.
Appreciate your teachers. Thank your bosses. Appreciate every single Subaru that
ever waved you into traffic, but don’t be ashamed to say you drive a foreign
vehicle. Think about how undecided, poor, and idle you would be without the people
who help you. Tell them you need them. Then pick up more shifts. Do more extra
credit. Buy more Christmas presents than you did last year, every year. Do
everything you can to be the kind of someone that someone will appreciate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drive safe. Seatbelts and speed limits aren’t suggestions.
Don’t hug the center line so much. Don’t even touch your phone. Take turns
slowly and less aggressively. Speed less, (I would say not at all, but let’s be
realistic, and it is important to live a little). Sit back further and up
straighter in the car. Clean out your backseat more often. Avoid California Rolls at stop signs. Always
yield. Listen when they tell you to pump your brakes on the ice. Check your
mirrors every day every time you get in; you lean forward when you’re sad and
sit back when you’re tired. Check the air in your tires and get a jack for your
trunk. Keep being a good passenger and offer to drive more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be a better housekeeper. Burn more candles for less
spiritual reasons. Vacuum more. Stop sweeping without a dustpan. Do laundry
before you run out of cute dresses. I understand you struggle with dressers, so
make an effort to keep clothes in the closet. Keep journals closed. Don’t fall
asleep with pens or plates in your bed. Keep
your vibrator in a drawer. Do dishes in hot water and rinse them well. Clean
counters with soap. Don’t use dirty mop water, but don’t cut grease and stains
with straight bleach-even if you like how it stings you. Fold blankets carefully. Make your bed, and
use your sheets. Try not to spill. Fold socks. Recycle plastic bottles and old
mail more often. Don’t hoard as much. There is enough that you can’t touch in
your life to hold onto, clean everything else up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spend money carefully. Never let your accounts be so empty
that you can’t afford to have lunch with your best friend at your favorite
steakhouse. However, you do not need to eat out every week. Keep receipts of your checking and saving
account, and update them every time you go. Limit how much cash you have in the
ashtray of your car at any given time. Deposit your tips, even if you are
embarrassed by what all those ones could imply. Coffees and sodas count as luxury
expenses. Avoid drive-thrus as an excuse
to waste gas and time. Bike more often, or walk with someone. Drive someone
else’s forty-miles-to-the-gallon whenever you can. Buy clothes second hand.
Donate money to charities to sponsor yourself. Do the walks and the Zumbathons
that accompany those fundraisers, and go to them with a water bottle you didn’t
buy at the gas station on the way. Buy presents altruistically. Every two
things you buy for yourself, buy something for someone else. No gambling. No
occasional lottery tickets or scratch offs because you need a bookmark. Be in
charge of your own financial success. Be prolific and generous, but be aware. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be a better friend. Forgive people for being busy. When you
need someone, don’t be so distant. Expect less of boys. Expect more of boys
too, you’ll save yourself a lot of heartbreak. Never be afraid to say no when
you have to, but keep a little sensitivity and guilt every time you do. Forgive
your friends for being in love. Forgive your friends addictions. Don’t dwell on
character flaws, even if you think they are endearing. He can’t help it that
his nose is his big and her hair is straight, and no matter how much you love
those things they frown at them in their mirrors. Don’t imitate your friend’s
voices as much. Be understanding and compassionate, but don’t be so
self-sacrificing. Let people keep their secrets. Trust people enough to give
yours up. Love people unconditionally. Mean what you say. Remember birthdays
and anniversaries. Call before you visit, but visit frequently. Write letters
on paper with purple pen. Listen to your messages. Keep pictures. Have an
excess of friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most importantly, forgive yourself. Do so slowly, and
seriously. All of your accidents were pretty minor in the scheme of things. Do
not make the same mistakes twice, unless youre sure that they were worth it the
first time. Don’t blame yourself for other people’s problems and be accountable
for your own. Don’t cry about the bill you didn’t pay, know you will have many
more to make up for it. Do not hold too tight to rejection, it is just a story
to write on the way to success. Don’t chide yourself for doing what you love,
even if it was not suggested. Do not hurt yourself. Look at your eyes and hair
and chest in that mirror, and forgive yourself for those thighs and that gut.
You are holding up okay, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is your life. Just keep trying. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-45598087051026323572012-04-12T19:19:00.000-07:002012-04-12T19:19:29.315-07:00(Communication)<div class="MsoNormal">She says “goodmorning” to her mother. Her lips barely part, her words are barely audible. The gesture however, indicates that the rising and shinning and walking and working and living that needs to follow may begin. She always says “goodmorning” to her mother. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">She says “Lets stop for coffee” to her sister. It means, I appreciate you. I am not ready to say goodbye yet. We have something in common. I owe you one. It mean, continue to give me reign of this passenger’s seat and I will continue to give you three dollars. It means I am trying to make up for all the pleases and thank yous I have ever forgotten. She says “lets stop for coffee”. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">She says “im sorry” when she walks through the double doors to grades and friendship and lies and truth. It never means what an apology should mean, and maybe because she knows that, shes sorry for her insincerity. It means you just hurt my feelings. This just became about me. I cant deal with you anymore. It means I need you to notice me. It means I don’t know how to give up. It means no. It means I don’t want to touch you, I don’t like you, I need some space. She says “im sorry” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Her mom says goodmorning too. Her sister stops for coffee. And you say “it’s okay” because it might as well be her fault. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-71873773740448165792012-04-12T18:30:00.000-07:002012-04-12T18:30:15.235-07:00If I Knew<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know you, boy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’ve held on to all your secrets <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So they could safely cross the street. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know the lines on your palms, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The veins in your feet. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know your mama’s hair <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know the triggers to your daddy’s yell-<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know everything about you, boy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know more than you can tell. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my parent’s names, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 177.6pt;">You dont know my cat’s stripes, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Or my car’s scratches. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You would not keep my trust, boy<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You scattered it like ashes. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my sister’s sicknesses <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Or my mama’s poverty. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">you don’t know I can drive standard. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Boy, you don’t know enough about me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know you, boy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I spit out all your insecurity<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Like it was venom beneath your skin. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know your bedroom here <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know all of the places you have been. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know the tint of your lips <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And the melody mixed in your eyes. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know the honesty in your vulnerability <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I see the truth in your lies. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know below the surface. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my middle name<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You’ve never asked about my birthday. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t recognize my tears falling before you –<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know what to say. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know the dances I take <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Nor the cities I have called home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know who has shared these blankets and these four posts <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">On the nights I haven’t spent alone. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know you, boy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I can tell aggravation from anger in your voice. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know sincerity in your exhales. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know all your past successes, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know where your future fails. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know how you look when you’re lying for me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I know who you wish you were-<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And as much as I love him, I know you’ll never be. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know how I take my coffee. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know where I keep my change. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my handwriting. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my body- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">At least not in entirety or in proper lighting. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It’s too dark, too excused, for you to tell my eyes are blue. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know my height or weight. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know I eat everything with a fork, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t know when I’m angry I brake plates. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You know me, boy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You carried my heaviest secrets <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">To help them feel thin. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">We skipped all the details- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And skidded out into letting you in. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You know when I’m up and my bedtime <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And youre always around to tuck me in. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You know I’d love to know more of you- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But you’ve got places to go and im just somewhere you’ve been. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-81682677126797692822012-04-08T17:41:00.001-07:002012-04-08T17:56:26.362-07:00Given<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sometimes, I want to drive my car right into whatever the fuck is on the other side of that guardrail. Sometimes I want to be reckless and out of control so that never again will I have a desire, or an ability to be in control of anything. Sometimes I wonder how many pills I have to take to get my stomach pumped, how many more I have to take to end it. Sometimes I think about how bad it would hurt to slit my wrists and how long I would have to think about what I had done. Sometimes I think if I was prettier, I would hang myself in that bay window in your apartment. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your apartment. The one I helped you move into. I helped you move in there. I helped you shatter the plaster of the ceiling carrying a bed frame neither of us were built to support. I helped you hang curtains. I sat up with you when he was gone and I slept over when you were too tired to go out. I windex-ed that bay window a million times, a swept your floors and wiped down your counters. I sealed your checks and stamped your love letters. I have your spare key on a chain right next to the key to your Honda Civic, in case something happens and you call. What the hell would happen to you, if I was on the other side of a guardrail and didn’t answer the phone. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I think about you at work the day I went to the ER. I remember your hands shaking as you sliced watermelon, and I remember the juicy pink overflow on your polo. I thought for a second you would cry. I thought for a second, in that stupid Nike hat, and that work polo, that those blue eyes would water for me. I remember sitting knelt over with my head against the floorboard as I rode to the hospital, and I wished you were driving. I wished we were in my car, that I always let you drive, and I wished you were telling me about how you shouldn’t have hooked up with that girl at that party. I wished I was helping you write a paper over the phone and I was comfortable in my bed. I wished that we were still at work together, and what had happened hadn’t happened, and that I was starting your coffee and stacking your trays. I wished I was helping you, I wished you weren’t worried and I wished we were together as I rode alone to the ER. I wonder now, if those blue eyes would water at the hospital if they said they tried to pump my stomach but it was just too late. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I think about holding your hand. I think about the way that your nails were chewed even worse than mine. I think about your calluses and your long fingers. I think about that time we pretended to be together to protect you from some other girl. I think about the time I sat up all night memorizing that stupid song so I could sing for you while you caressed keys with those hands. I think about you told me you needed me the only time I ever told you no, and then all the handsey procedures that followed. I wonder if you’d find another hand to hold, it mine was bloody and cut to the bone. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then I think about your apartment. And how your bay window has blurred the lines between the world and me, between yours and mine, between you and me. I think about how I need to do something for me just a little bit less than I want to do everything for you and thus I tie a rope to your curtain and not to my neck. I hope you like the favors and contributions I’m trying to give to you. Maybe they’re worth hand holding and can persuade you to care a little bit about me. The little things I have given you are all I have… <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">it really is too bad I’m not just prettier after all. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-86635711120014708682012-04-05T17:35:00.001-07:002012-04-05T17:35:06.287-07:00A Saltine to be Specific<div class="MsoNormal">A Saltine to be Specific<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I ate a cracker this morning. A saltine to be specific. Dammit. It was only eight-thirty.Devoured the entirety. Perfect, complete, but so gluttonous. I had not intended to eat it,when i think of it, i didn't want to. It was like a reflex, a breakfast reflex. The first bite was anyways. That’s my biggest problem I think, I start something and I’m in it for the long haul.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">One touch of teeth on teeth. All of a sudden my body was rolling on the most hardcore drug in town. Sinful. Goodbye clean body, toxinless temple, and goodbye caloric record. I should have known you would come back for me blood sugar. That’s what you do isn’t it sir, come in, infect me, tell me I need you, tell me it’s a cracker, tell me its not that bad- you come in and you make me like it, tell me i need it. you're telling me you keep me alive sir, but i know it is you thats killing me. You’re the forbidden fruit of Eden Mister, and you come right in and take my innocence and purity.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe with all that euphoria and a bite of saltine in me, I lost all my coherency. Maybe Blood Sugar was already working his black magic, maybe I had already lost control. It always happens like that. I took just one one bite, of a damn saltine, and then i had to take another- like I said, im in it for the long haul.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I took another bite. It was smaller to avoid indulgence. That time I paid attention to the every contraction and relaxation of chewing. I concentrated on how it felt. I personified my teeth. They liked it. It was different from the gum they had been given yesterday, and the day before. Gum is like a four speed bike: enjoyable, better than nothing, but more work than reward. If I chew gum for two hours, my jaw alone burns sixteen times the five calories I ingest. Besides, I spit gum out, and my boyfriend always says, it doesn’t count if I don’t swallow. So gum, like I said, is like riding a four speed- because at the end you're tired and hungry, but you got where you needed to be. A saltine is just a pleasure cruise. Three bites and my body hoards three calories.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Three calories. Like the ones from a saltine, are actually three kilo-calories. That’s thousands of calories. So compact, so bland, so substantial. I ate thousands of calories this morning. three thousand six hundred is a pound. how close i had cut it, how reckless i had been. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Two bites in I just stood there in my apartment kitchenette, with one bite left. A little bite. It looked so innocent in my hands. It always does. Saltines are the most malicious cracker i have ever come by. temptation in the rawest form. you always want the little bit that remains. i know i didn't deserve it, i know three days of gum and four of hard salsa classes and sleepless nights being used for crunches gave me no right to indulge. I did it anyways. thats the thing with me and food, i know whats good for me, and i know how to get healthy and that i shouldn't do what i do, but i keep on doing it anyways. So I took my last bite.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">It felt like such a binge after I was done. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head from way back when telling me: “don’t feel like you need to finish that honey. Never eat when you’re not hungry. We need to control what we put in our bodies.” I don’t know what hungry felt like anymore. I cried then, I had been waiting to for a while I think, and maybe that saltine gave me just enough energy to let it all out. My mom would be disappointed in me. And she would probably blame herself or some equivilant craziness.She would miss her daughter and fear the monster replacement. All that time and all that effort, and I still don’t know how to eat. And to top it all off, I have no control.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> I convinced myself what was probably just nerves and upset, was bad digestion and stayed home today. I spent three hours at the gym repenting and trying to burn some of the kilocalories I had for breakfast. When I got home, my boyfriend asked me what was wrong and offered to make me dinner like usual. something is always wrong, and he like everyone else always eats dinner. I refused and said only, “I had a big breakfast, I don’t feel good.” I am shameless.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">So today resulted in three hours on a treadmill, a morning of tears, a sick day, a million lies, and thousands of calories. I have weeks worth of guilt i'm building now, toxins in my temple, and a probable blow to my figure to deal with. All because I ate a cracker this morning. A saltine, to be specific.<o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-13150065191651198112012-04-01T17:56:00.002-07:002012-04-02T18:00:19.568-07:00filling up and leaking out<div class="MsoNormal">My shower was small and the water had gotten cold. The walls were cheap and plastic, and peeling from caulk against the pale pink plaster that defined the bathroom. Every light was on, and the curtain was opened. There was a white rug on the floor, and it was turned grey where the water had skidded off my skin and soaked it. I watched the rug as it got more and more wet, and thought about how alike we were. Both of us stone cold and still in that bathroom, slowly filling up and leaking out. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">My right arm was bloody and dripping. I settled to the knees on top of the drain and I watched my blood hit the water and dissipate like food coloring before it slid down the drain. My knees pressed into the grate and I felt the imprints of the cold hard metal force into my skin.deeper and deeper, harder and harder. The outline engorged me. It felt good, it was sustenance in the only form that I appreciated it. There I was, on the floor of my shower- filling up and leaking out. And that is the only way I ever feel good. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-52264632840433199312012-03-14T15:10:00.000-07:002012-03-14T15:10:25.326-07:00Fuck, Marry, Kill<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s dirty <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">His hands are bloody and bruised. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s gentle <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">His steps are soft and his breaths are slow. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s appropriate <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">His eyes are closed his skin is close. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s dirty <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With close skin and slow breaths. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’d fuck him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Someday he’ll be educated <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Mozart, Milton, and mechanics. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Someday he’ll be wealthy <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">In soul or in stuff. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Someday he’ll be witty <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With inside jokes and good intentions. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Someday he will be educated <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With good intentions and soul.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Someday I’d marry him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">If he was clean <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With smooth hands and heavy steps<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">If he was stupid <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With stuff and bad jokes<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">If he was lost in sight of a someday- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’d kill him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s educated<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">he knows me like the back of his hand. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s wealthy <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">That boy has all of me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s witty <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">All his jokes get inside me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He’s dirty <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With close skin and slow breaths. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’d fuck him. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-5663345631018857562012-03-12T18:09:00.000-07:002012-03-12T18:09:56.512-07:00Hoping For Raleigh<div class="MsoNormal">Hoping For Raleigh </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I made it down the coast in seventeen hours <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Picked me a bouquet of dogwood flowers,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I’m hoping for Raleigh <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">So I can see my baby tonight.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve given up on seeing lines and lanes <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I just wanna feel that satin and lace <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wouldn’t care if I drove off this road, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">If the risk was anything but seeing your face. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t say I was coming <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Because im just feeling needy. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I need to make it just far enough south <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To get you to hold me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You told me not to leave when I did, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Said I couldn’t bear the cold. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Warm me up baby- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll never grow up, im just getting old. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I bet you have a life now <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Some big plans and a big deal <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause you were always good at being good<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I don’t know how not to steal. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I run out of cigarettes and these flowers die on my dash, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll knock on our door with petals and Marlboro ash. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear they’re cheap here in Raleigh, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“So I can see my baby tonight” . <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-33505278034200321472012-03-11T21:48:00.000-07:002012-03-11T21:48:27.474-07:00Success<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Success</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">There is a tranquility at my lonely kitchen table. It’s modest, quiet, and tarnished. There is a candle from some fancy shop in the center of a town just far enough out to be a trip. There are some dishes from this morning too; a plain glass, a cracked plate, and a fork. I eat everything with a fork. I Push them to the other side of the table like I always do, and open a self-help book on time-management or some similar bullshit. These are what gifts become when you enter adulthood, I guess. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">I stop for a second to look at the picture that has become a bookmark. I think my Aunt in one of the Carolinas sent it to me for Christmas. It is of my cousin and I, seven and eight I’d guess, in that big opened living room we had when we were still down south. I can see into our dining room in the picture, (it was probably the only legitimate dining room we ever had) and on that table is some china I’d never eaten off of and some chandelier bulbs dad hadn’t yet installed. The living room was pretty impressive for our family too, big old stone fireplace, two matching velvet chairs and a long ass sectional my parents split up in the divorce. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Then there is Jessie and I. I’m <i>wearing </i>a red sheet wrapped around me like a strapless gown with a longer train than any wedding dress I have legitimately seen. Jessie too, is decked in linens, but she is pulling off a sassier short look. Her sheets are pinned up at the hips with hair ties and her own popcorn-butter-coated-fingers. We both tied up our straight blonde hair in knotty buns and left out some straggly strands for show. I am holding a hair brush (that did not belong to me) and has the word “princess” inscribed on the pink grip. Jessie has the real microphone; she must have bribed with a good secret to get it for the day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Looking at the picture I can hear us singing Britney Spears at the top of our lungs. My dad walks in and out of the memory, desensitized to our booming presence. Sometimes we’d yell demands like : <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Daddy, This dog can’t be on stage with us, it’s barking over my singing!” or, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">“Uncle Mark, can I have a Pepsi? Britney always drinks Pepsi and we are just as famous as her!” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Then he would let the dog out, and brink us drinks. He would be muttering things under his breath about how we should “marry wealthy” cause we clearly weren’t ever going to be “cut-out for day-jobs”. He’d tell my brother and his friends that “at least we were ambitious” and he would tell our mothers that they should teach us to be “realistic”. He would tell us we should hope we were “cute like this forever” because he saw no signs of “the crazy in us calming down”. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">We didn’t mind back then, we would steal away with our sodas in our dresses and write fairytales about becoming famous and being on Oprah. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Sometimes in the end we married princes- but that was always for the tabloids. When we were young, famous, and successful princesses, we were romantic classics, and we were always in love with the poor boy next door.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"> It sure as hell made for a good story. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">I called him a couple weeks ago, the poor boy next door. He didn’t have long to chat, he translates for the UN now and has two kids. His wife is a stay at home mom I hear, but she is better at being best friends with their nanny. He asked what my plans were and where I was in life. I laughed anticipating how surprised he would be if he knew how calm the crazy in me had become. I looked at my kitchen table and ramshackle apartment and I told him, “I’m pretty successful too. I’m saving up to buy our old house back.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">I will get it all back too. I’ll be trading in this tarnished table for chandeliers and velvet chairs. Even if it means marrying a prince for the tabloids and wearing my best red sheets. Daddy should be proud. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-59073465186178527762012-03-06T13:11:00.001-08:002012-03-06T13:14:15.602-08:00Unsettled<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Unsettled <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I have a set of keys <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">To 900ft. of carpets and walls. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I know how many steps to the bathroom, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">How many people fit in these halls, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">But knowledge isn’t home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I have a bedroom with my paper name on the door <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">In a house somewhere too far out. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">In a place that smells like your cigarettes and perfume, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Where the air tastes like strangers and doubt. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Papers and names don’t make home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I have a gas tank and four tires <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">New brakes, and a new transmission. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">But she came used and already trained,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">And she starts up without my permission.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Mechanics built her body but didn’t build a home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I have a gypsy whim to abide by <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">And a youthfulness unwilling to settle. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I miss believing in something permanent <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I’m a gypsy who is too attached to you: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I'm the present tense of cars and keys that came and went. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-24762815956546405492012-02-14T18:37:00.001-08:002012-02-14T18:37:46.529-08:00The Things He Told Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The Things he Told Me <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me all your secrets” She said. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My parents hate themselves. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My two cats love each other more than any human being. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I had an accident when I was nine<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And when I was eleven I pushed my sister on purpose. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I want a white picket fence <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I don’t want to be the death of me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I have never really been in love, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But I promised someone I would love her forever. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me your truths” she said. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I don’t know what I believe. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe in true love. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I don’t believe in god, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">but I believe there is magic in the third pew from the alter. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe men and women are created equal, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And all men should know how to drive a truck and skin a deer. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">There are always bad people. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">There are no honest definitions. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me your story” she said.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wrote a book once. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">No one bought it. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I guess that like all art, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It was a self-portrait. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I grew up right here. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Graduated there, skinnydipped in that water, and had sex on that soil. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’ve had brown hair and brown eyes my whole life- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Just like my sister’s. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But these seasonal freckles <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And that faded suntan<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Are really telling my story. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me who you love” She said. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I love my mom. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">She never yells at me anymore<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And she looks at me like the man across the hall- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With worry and forgiveness. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I love my sister (I guess) <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But she is kind of a slut. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I love my sophomore history teacher- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">He once had us color in class. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I learned so much about the world. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me who loves you” She whispered. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Not the right people. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">A girl who wants something impossible from me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">A girl who won’t believe me when I tell her: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“I made it all up” he said. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-45279328315842433882012-02-09T10:51:00.001-08:002012-02-09T10:51:13.506-08:00I wonder<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wondered when you sat shotgun <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your fingertips on my forearm. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your voice in my ears. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your rhythm in my heartbeat. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My hands cooled my face, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">when I was hot and sticky. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You just smiled. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wondered then, too. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I had no appetite, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But I wanted to swallow you down.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Wanted to taste and feel you <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">To keep you deep inside of me <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Filling me with wonder. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Filling me with hunger. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then there were goodbyes. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your poetry between my lips. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your hands warming my face. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And I wondered then<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Because I could feel the tears<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Inside of me- where you belong.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wondered when you were with her. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The frozen seconds of you too on expensive paper, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Brought me those same brown eyes,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">That same tangled hair <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Except this time- against her. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Tangled in her hair you were in her brown room. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I spit up a smile for you still. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Why is your smile<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So overwhelming and all-consuming? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Why is every word of yours <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Worth a thousand pictures? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Though I never could say it: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wonder what that is- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">If it’s you, filling me to the brim. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then so much distance, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Starved and emptied me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I Spewed out all my pleas. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Please. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I begged you for one sip <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I longed for one more bite <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You gave me nothing;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So I sustained myself on wonder.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Here we are now. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">No pictures. No poetry. No hair or skin. No distance. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing sacred yields nothing broken. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your heart and my soul, can’t make any more promises. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Overdosed and underfed by and for- you <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I wonder. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-37904678179881010862012-02-02T08:12:00.001-08:002012-02-02T08:12:42.434-08:00Denim on Rayon<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Denim on Rayon. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He sank her onto the bed and followed her down. His fingertips slipped down the rayon defined curves of her torso and then clenched at her hips. He proceeded slowly, moving his fingertips down the sides of her cotton leggings and stopping at the hem of her dress. With new found confidence he slid underneath her clothes and felt the warmth of her skin on his. He kissed her neck and shoulders as he leaned into her body and his hands neared her breasts. She took a heavy breath. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“are you okay?” He asked. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Mmmm.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“We don’t have to do this.” He whispered. He kissed her jawline beneath her ear and she encouraged him by running her cold fingers up his naked back all the way into his scalp. The hair on the back of his neck erected. He kissed her lips and pulled her up right. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Her dress made a soft pillow behind her when he laid her back down, his hands cupping her breasts. He moved one hand down her stomach to the inside of her thigh. He Pressed her knee out and pulled away from her to inch into the space he’d made for himself. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Turn off the light” She whispered. One shaky hand lay over her own stomach. Her other index finger traced the letters <i>Levi Strauss and co </i>while her thumb lie just inside the joint of the perpendicular zipper on his jeans. He moved his hand up her stomach and weaved it inside of hers. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“I want to see you.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Not this well.” She moaned. Her voice was saturated in nervous neediness. He kissed her chest and hesitated, but then nodded into her, his nose tickling her. He pushed himself to his knees with that hand and then leaned backwards to feel for the switch on the wall. when he removed his hand from hers she too sat up, her legs wide around him, and unbuttoned his jeans. Her hands were still unsteady and cold, but they were certain. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“do you want help?” He moaned. His voice dripping impatience and incontinence. She needed not respond, he guided her hand down the zipper of his jean and over his lap. She petted the outline of him over the denim, and inhaled deeply. She opened her eyes and tilted her head slightly upward to look at him, Her nose rested on his chin. He bowed his head and kissed her. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Back up,” He breathed. He held the crotch of his clothes in one hand and took a couple steps back on his knees. She laid back and inched closer to the head of the bed, pulsing towards him again with every inch of separation, never taking her hands from his body, ceaselessly clinging to the anticipation. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He pushed her knees together with both hands and kissed the cotton that covered them. He drew her calves up over his shoulder and swept her into nudity. He then did the same to himself, and centered himself inside her. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">What had always been fairy tale, forbidden, dark, and desirable was suddenly just his inhaling and her exhaling. His putting in the effort, and her opening up. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-9980266871230048872012-01-24T17:07:00.001-08:002012-01-24T17:07:29.300-08:00With No Regard for Fall<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With No Regard for Fall <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Summer Loving II) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That summer: I was eighteen, as was he.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">he had a hard jaw, soft lips, sunless cheeks,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He spoke in poetry that trusted me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We made love for a lifetime, in just weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We screamed to Jimmy Buffet at sunset,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">we sat up playing “secrets” after dawn,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He held my wrists under mosquito net<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">and dreamed of together in his back lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I drove to his house all alone at night;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In my backseat we pushed away the fall;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We didn’t care if we were wrong or right,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">because there I had him and that was all.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We weren't sensible but where passionate<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And since the fall, I’ve wished I could forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-79245264328480905852012-01-23T19:06:00.001-08:002012-01-23T19:06:25.727-08:00the psuedoscientist<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">The Psuedoscientist </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> She asks me the stupidest questions. I give her answers her third graders would understand.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> “Babe, what’s ‘string theory‘” she asked for the third time this month as it came up in my recollection of my day at work yesterday. I’m a fucking physicist, if I felt like re-explaining myself four-times, I would be a teacher too.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> “I refuse to answer that again. We have gone over this, do you ever listen to me Becky?”</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> “If I didn’t listen to you, I wouldn’t even realize that we are talking about string theory again.” she mumbled. It made me feel bad when she mumbled. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> My wife is not the type to accidentally speak inaudibly. She teaches third-graders to read and write. Annunciation and pronunciation are probably the most important concepts in the world to her. There we go right there, quantum mechanics and atomic biology bicker in my brain, and all my wife hears is punctual pauses and word choices. So when she mumbles, I always feel bad. It means I have managed to make her feel so degraded, that not only is she inadequate at table talk with me and my PhD, she shouldn’t even be confident in her ability speak the way seven years at an elementary school and four years at a University English department taught her to.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> I am not really the abrasive and aggressive type. I definitely lack power and masculinity when I’m not at home. Again, I’m a fucking physicist, I don’t have any friends. I’m five-seven and I don’t have but twenty pounds on our husky -Eisenhower Fitzgerald. (but lets be clear, he’s a big fucking dog). I cant recall the last time I voluntarily combed my hair before I left the house or the last time I got invited out for drinks. I was a virgin till I was twenty-two. I was nineteen before I could ask a girl out. I am not an intimidating piece of man; to anyone except Becky. I’m not very good at acknowledging her respect for me without abusing my intellectual authority. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“I guess I am tired. I have a hard job. Besides, I was late because I had to finish my speech tonight and you know I hate writing.” Becky smiled and nodded at me. She knew I wasn’t lying, she’d met our secretary and all my colleagues; so she knew she would never have to worry I was getting any office ass. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“Can I read the speech Babe?” She asked, clearly and loud. One point josh, crumbled the mumble. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> I pushed my work across the table to her. She took the same purple pen to it she took to her third-grader’s chicken scratch and the bestsellers she bought with my credit card when she walked home from the school. Pissed me off. She has no degree of skill-set separation. Somehow I had ended up marrying the teacher I laughed at in high school, the one who told me her lower lever classes had students just as smart as me.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“Avoid the passive voice” Becky’s voice said as her pen crossed my paper. That shit doesn’t matter, physics matters, equations matter, my thesis matters. My research matters. Presentation is idiot work. I don’t even know what the passive voice is. Fuck giving speeches. Fuck social science. Fuck her nonsense editing.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“Whatever” I said. Okay, I’m a physicist, but intellect doesn’t dictate maturity. Becky smiled at me again, she is good with kids.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> Pen scratch: “Vary sentence structure.” Whatever, I thought. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> Ink on paper: “Connect these sentences, separate those.” Whatever, I thought.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> Purple ballpoint circles in my margins: “Don’t ask questions in the middle of a piece like this. Don’t answer that which is rhetorical either.” She hmmed and ahhhed. The purple stain: “This is unclear. This is a proper noun, capital letter. That is repetitive. We should paraphrase your thesis here. Nice conclusion.” What-<em>the-fuck</em>-ever I thought. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“None of that is really important Becky. But you probably missed the good stuff.” I said. She hates the word good and the word stuff. But like I said, that didn’t matter. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> She sighed and rolled her eyes. She was used to my belittlement. She has always said ‘its hard for me to respect how different our fields are‘. but I’m pretty sure its just hard to accept lies under a pseudonym, purple pens, romance, and third grade thought processes as a respectable field; for anyone.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">“Will you please read it to me?” Becky asked. I agreed. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> I did none of that nonsense she does when she reads out loud. She reads novels to the third graders, and to our cats for practice. Sometimes, if she feels like a big girl, I will come home and she will be reading grown-up books to Eisenhower. She undergoes a process before she reads to them, or to me; if I’m in a good enough mood to bear that bullshit, or I can be sure sixty pages of Judy Bloom or J.K. Rowling will get me some sex. She introduces the book and surveys the room. She stands up, or sits tall when she reads. She holds the paper at a distance, and looks up and smiles a lot. Sometimes she goes as far to ask our pets if they need any clarification or have any contextual questions. Stupid habit. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> I held the paper right up close to my face. I stumbled over the first word. I mumbled out the second and third. Saliva projected as I approached what I hoped to be a maintainable vocal velocity. My hands were shaking before I got through the first paragraph, my voice soon after. Fuck that, I gave up. Dammit, I’m a physicist, I shouldn’t have to give speeches. That shit is for third graders I told myself, third graders and adults without a real field.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> “You’ll get it honey.” Becky comforted. I won’t lie, the empathy helped. She rubbed my arm and held me hand. I couldn’t tell if the hand holding was like: I love you we’re married we have sex we hold hands, or like: don’t be scared to cross the street or read out loud, I’ll hold your hand. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> She read my paper out loud. Then again and again. Sometimes she would read the same paragraph four or five times, with different inflections and punctual pauses before moving on. She looked at Eisenhower for questions, and looked at me for understanding as she brought life to my genius at our kitchen table. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> She started a new novel after I got home today. It is about a scientist. That’s nice I guess. She is having me read it out loud to her. She asked me if I was opposed to the role reversal, I said “whatever“. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> Every couple pages, I have to look up to catch my breath when I read it to her. She listens carefully, and I can be pretty certain its not because she is looking for sex. She takes notes with purple pen on blue lined paper. A couple times, I’ve found myself looking at the pets for reaction, and at her for understanding. She asks me the stupidest questions. But the sad part is, my answers are none better than a third graders. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-66233634931729465182012-01-18T11:37:00.000-08:002012-01-18T11:37:25.249-08:00Baby: He Blurs lines<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Baby: He Blurs lines </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I saw him the other day<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With his father. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Driving over curbs<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Spilling coffee<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Swashing through apologies<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And slipping on speed bumps. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I saw him the other day<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With his mother. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sitting while laundry was folded, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Gossiping while cats were fed <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Asking for money <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Calling to check in <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bringing home cookies and making lemonade, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And waving goodnight. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I saw him the other day <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With his best friend. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Riding his bike too fast <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Working too little <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Drinking too much <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Blurring the lines between excess and climax<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Shaking hands and keeping distances <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Hitting lacrosse balls with hockey sticks <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And blurring the lines between twelve and twenty. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I saw him the other day <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Gently suggesting I pump my breaks, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Raising an eyebrow at cleavage and coatless Januarys. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Raising a hand at a thirty point scrabble word<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Raising to stand at dropped gloves and lip gloss<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Laughing at bad jokes<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">As long as they are better than last weeks <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And remembering there is always room for improvement. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I saw him the other day, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And I thought: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I want a boy like that someday. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">With fine light hair and missing front teeth, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">To teach to be just like him <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">When he is somewhere between the lines <o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Of twelve and twenty. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1038330066505455565.post-72134299738628991822012-01-14T23:03:00.001-08:002012-01-14T23:09:10.573-08:00Thanks for Driving.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for driving.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate the ice coffee. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I enjoy the drive-thru windows and your order hesitance, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Straws and cleared cup-holders,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Cards and cash. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for the caffeine and cream that came <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Eight hours into a fourteen hour day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Some girls want roses and have thanks’ they’ll need you to say<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But I’ve never felt more acknowledged <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then I did that long work day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate the forgiveness. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You know about the sobriety I lacked on the roundabout. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">About the ways I’ve made my mother cry. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">About the accidents, and the purposeful detriments. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Worst though: I’ve sworn I hate you a hundred million times. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And you never hold it against me- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">When I inevitably need you the next day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It’s not right to lie to you <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But the truth is hard to say. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate you being my hero. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">For checking my fluids <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And reminding me to turn on my lights, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">For picking me up and bringing me home <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And checking to make sure I get back safe. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for coming to get me when I locked my keys in my car. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You didn’t even yell. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Youre the only person I’d have trusted to come out. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Though with the way I act, you never could tell. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate your reliability.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It’s nice to think you wouldn’t lie to me. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You’re always where you say you’re ganna be, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your always on time. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You don’t let me tell myself I’m beautiful and perfect <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">We both know that isn’t true. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But you’re always there to tell me I’m okay. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You’re reassurance and guidance, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And you’re there for me every day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate your memory. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’m confident that you know my birthday. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You keep names straight in all my stories. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You remember my schedule, my parent’s names, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And how much I prefer diet coke products. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You remember holidays, hair colors, and every bad story I wish you’d forget. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You won’t ever let me abandon the night of makeup you put on me;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Or how many good deeds I’ve done and times I’ve helped- <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">You have those locked in memory. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate your tolerance. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for dealing with tears at work,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And fights that weren’t your fault. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">For listening to loneliness, hunger and hate <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">For remedying sadness time and time again. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for letting me wear robes in public <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And sing without the radio while youre in a check-out line. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for getting to know that I’m crazy, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">And thanks for letting that be fine. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Theres a lot that you do for me, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I don’t want you to think I take for granted. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I am more grateful for you <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then I will probably ever show. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But I’ve written this to tell you; <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I appreciate you driving, just so you know. <o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18321207215966180595noreply@blogger.com0