Because Words Simply Paper

It's Shit Because I Made It

There is a moment
in everyday I have been alive,
which is too many to count
and growing by the spinning
of this orb we call our home,
that I have thought about who
I want to call myself
and about finally writing that novel
I’ve been penning in my head
for so many years.

When it comes down to it,
I am the only thing
that has ever stopped me
from being truly honest with myself.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out
for this. Maybe I don’t know
why exactly I was born.
And I tell myself
every one of those days
that I will learn from my mistakes
and finally make a change.
I will finally put onto paper
what I have been thinking
all of this time.

I don’t, and it isn’t because
I have no talent with words.
But, I do believe that I simply
can’t put anything onto paper.

Except for self-motivational,
"I’ll learn my lesson,
I’ll make something of myself”
kind of bullshit that
makes me cringe and
feel stupid. I am tired
of telling myself I am better
when obviously I am worse.

And all I want to do,
every second of every day,
is finally write what I’ve been meaning to.

The sad thing is, I know what to say.
I know what I feel,
and I know what’s the matter.
And I know how to tell the story.
It’s all this contempt,
all this pent up, unreliable anger,
that keeps getting in my way.

June 1, 2008
We're Coming Close to Bridging the Gap

We Didn't Do It for the Money

I thought I would update, since that seems important, even though I haven't really written anything in a while. That kind of makes me sad. In fact, it does make me sad. But, I have been working on getting a "new life" started for myself, and unfortunately, my writing has fallen second fiddle. Oops. Seriously.

I just want to say this: why is Hillary still running?! At this point, I am terrified the party is going to crumble. The problem with her continuing a campaign is simply that she will bring her die-hard supporters all the way. If this has a bloody end, which it is bound to if it continues toward the DNC, her supporters will likely be lost to the party. Either they will vote for McCain, or worse, they won't vote at all, which is exactly the opposite of progress if you ask me. The past Mid-Term was a wonderful step toward getting youth voters to put in their two cents, but I am afraid that Clinton supporters will throw in the towel if she keeps this battle up. It wouldn't be so bad if she weren't playing old-school politics, which has worked to alienate a portion of the party. And if she doesn't concede and fully support Obama and the Democratic Party, her supporters will see that they don't need to and will refuse on her behalf.

I know I have made many Americans sound like sheep here, but for the most part, we are. A mob, thus is America. And, the mob wields the most power, and together the mob can do anything. Without the power, the full power, of the mob, of the people, the Democratic Party has no chance in winning this election. Unfortunately for Hillary and her supporters, she is loosing the battle for the nomination, and it is almost too late to heal the wounds the primaries caused. If she were in Obama's place, and if he were fighting the battle she is, I would say the same. She must concede, or the party will be permanently damaged. The end.

I feel kind of uninformed, however, when I talk about this, because I have been so caught up in all the things I need to get done. A.) is moving, which will take a lot out of me; and 2.) is deciding where I want to go next with my education. When I say next I mean: what exactly do I plan to do the next semester and where it will lead in the future. I need a plan, and I am torn--so, so torn--as to which direction I need to be facing. Part of me thinks I should ride it out; don't face any direction. But, the rest of me loves a plan, is used to a plan, is obsessive about plans. Part of me seriously needs a plan. And what do I do? I avoid it. Believe me, this is me completely avoiding it--see how it works? I am just completely ignoring it. I see a book I want to read that could potentially point me in one direction and I don't read it. I see a program on television that could potentially change my mind and I don't watch it. I am not making any decisions. And my decision to not make any decisions is driving me crazy.

In writing news, I killed my flash drive with my novella on it. So, that's going to be pulled back together from various pieces I have lying around. It'll be good for it, a new look at it, a new revision; but, damn, it's going to be a lot of work. Not that I am making time for writing. Because I'm not, if you haven't figured that out.

Also, I know where I am heading with my book. Direction is always good when it comes to this.

Other than that, I've been working. And by working, I mean seven days/sixty hours a week, which has left me utterly useless.

It's going to be an interesting summer. Or worse, a completely boring one.

Lock Me Up, I'm Stupid

Guys,

I’m love-sick and stupid.
So you shouldn’t let me out
in public today.

I might propose on the corner
of some street I find attractive.

And then where would I be?

...married to a street
that’s taken my last name
when all I really wanted
was you.

April 18, 2008

I Don't Know Why

I Didn't Ask for It

One-Sided Nightstand Note

I get a note saying “thanks anyway”.
Who gets a note saying that?
People who don’t try hard enough
to get what they want out of life,
those are the people who receive
notes on their nightstand—
thanks anyway,
and thanks for nothing.

I grew up with a skewed perception
of the kind of woman I would be,
thinking maybe I’d have darker hair,
or that it would curl easier;
but also thinking I would be strong
and independent like they always say
we should be—as if vulnerability were
a bad thing in this day and age (it is,
incase you didn’t get the memo).

But nobody wants to see a woman
so stable in her life that she doesn’t need
a man to come and save her—
this is the image we most often portray,
but honestly, baby, we need you.
You just have to wait and see;
it’s not an “ask and you’ll know”
kind of thing.

I think my ideas of modern day women
were all tainted by popular television.
But I never wanted to be the lawyer
or the doctor with the boy
chasing after her like she’s the only thing
he’s ever understood—she’s not,
he still doesn’t understand her,
even when he tries
(this is the way of men).

As much as I’ve fancied fantasies
like this one, I’ve always held deep-seeded
understanding that I’m not that kind of person.
And I came to a deal with
the sound of my heart beating
that no one would run after me
in the rain.
Not because I’m independent,
like the woman I imagined,
but because along with that
I added contempt to the picture.

And so I don’t get boys,
frustrated with my behavior,
sacrificing their clothing
to stop me on my leave.
I get notes that say “thanks anyway,
but I never needed you dear.
I just wanted something to make me feel loved,
and now that I do, I think I’m done.

“But thank you for the concern.
I appreciate your friendship.
I’ll call you when I want you.
Don’t bother calling me.”

April 6, 2008
But, I Like It When It Hurts

They'll Name a City After Us

This is the Sound of Loneliness

I hate
ambiant light
in the distance.

It needs to be closer.

March 28, 2008

'Cause They've Got Years of Experience

Oh, My Morning's Coming Back

Okay, finally time for an update.
Today I deposited my first check into my savings account from New York and Company, so that's wonderful. Tomorrow I get paid from Starbucks, and this new, frugal life of mine officially begins. I did the math and figured out my budget, which has me spending about $370 a month on all of the basic things like bills and food. Techinically, it is about $290 on bills and $80 - $100 on gas and food. With my new raise at the 'Bucks, I should be pulling in about $800 a month, and with what I make and get at NY&Co. I should pull in about $400 a month. So, that puts me at $1200, minus $400 on expenses. Thus, being frugal, down-to-the-grind, move-the-fuck-back-home me, I'm going to put about $800 in the old savings account a month until August, in which case I will move and thus spend it all. In that amount of time, I estimate about $2000 - $3000 in savings.
I need to take my car to finish having it fixed my next morning off. I need an allignment, a new battery, and to fix my sideview mirror--which is currently hanging from three cords off the side of my car. Once I have that done, I'm going to keep it very clean and shinny and put a nice FOR SALE sign on it with a price at $3000. Hopefully with all its dents I can pull $3000. And then I will pay that directly to UIC, which will leave me about $1700 in debt with them. I would like to make $4000, but I doubt that will happen, so I am aiming a little low. You haven't seen the car; believe me, it's not worth $4000. Hardly $3000...but it's all I've got.
I'm expecting to get that $600 from the government in May. I filed by myself, not as a dependent to my mother at all, and paid all of my own taxes. I think I made about $12,500. So...I think I should probably be elligiable, at least that is what I've been told. With that, I am torn. My sister and Misti are going to New York, at least so I still hear, in June, and I could use that money to pay for it and go see The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Or, I could use the money toward UIC/moving. I'm in a bind, and I haven't decided. Jon Stewart is very hard for me to pass up. You just don't understand...it's extremely hard for me to pass up. But, I have a debt, and that needs to be paid. Especially since I can't really continue with my education until it is, those bastards. I'm torn. It sucks. Logically...but, goddammit...it's Jon Stewart!

I am going to start looking at single apartments here soon, I just need some time and some ideas. I have a few ideas of where I want to live, so I'm going to scout those first. Then, if they are awful, I am going to search randomly. Hopefully I can find something that looks good, send a friend to check it out, and see if I get it before July. I would like very much to have it waiting for me when I move. I should be able to handle a deposit and a downpayment, so I am just looking for the right place.

Also, I have some ideas of which Starbucks I want to work at, but not a lot. So, I'll be doing some investigations into that matter as well. I have to let Diane, my DM, know which ones I've chosen by the end of April, so that she can start talking it up with the DMs in Chicago. I really want a nifty store, so if you see one you think I should work at, let me know!

And, in my writing life: I am finishing up my first major story--as in, it's longer than four pages--as well as writing poetry pretty consistantly. Woohoo. I am also moving forward with a much bigger project, planning on entering a few larger competitions--and by that I mean simply not poetry competitions, more like short story and essay ones, which to me are bigger and scarier. As for the ones I have entered, I haven't heard from two, but from the other three I did not win. I still don't know if I was a finalist, but it doesn't matter, really, because there is no award for that. The only nice thing about knowing I was one would be to assure me that I at least can be noteworthy, I just need some work. So, we'll see what happens. I just need to keep writing everyday and having faith in my ability to make it work, somehow. If I want to be a writer, I can find a way to do it, right? Carrie Bradshaw did, and she's based after a real woman. :)

So, that is my life. Today I bought a gorgeous trench coat, tomorrow I work all day at both jobs, and Saturday I sleep in. I'm feeling pretty good right now. However, if I don't go to bed soon, and very soon, I will not be feeling so good in the morning. Or at eight pm when I will still be on my feet and folding clothes.
The Whole World's Waking Up

So You Fell Into a Rabbit Hole

Buddhism

I’m afraid everyone will see
through me. See that I know
nothing, that I have no experience.
Honestly, I think they already believe
I’m a failure—a failure in the sense
that I’ve lived no life and now attempt
to write about it, which defies
everything I was ever told.
Write what you know, its better that way.
Am I? The explanation of that theory
would be that I lived other lives,
and have a mild, wisdom-like
recollection of such things,
but I’m not consciously aware
of all the things I’ve done. I bet
I was a hooker, in another life.
A “harlequin woman,” as I’ve said,
and will tend to say in the future—
because it sounds more eloquent than prostitute,
although nothing is as literary
as the word “whore.”
And I bet for a while I
was an English girl, lost somewhere
in the countryside, the carriage ride
getting ever-the-more rough—my corset
ever-the-more painful.
But I enjoyed the adventure when it came,
because I was too noble
to smile and too peasant
to laugh. And I bet, before
all of that, I was just an orphan,
somewhere in the recesses of India
or Sri Lanka or even as west as Saudi Arabia.
And I was abused, probably, and left
to wallow and to die.
Because I was a girl.
Although in some life, maybe
I was a boy, and possibly that’s
why I think I understand anything at all.

March 25, 2008
Where'd You Go for Days and Days?

Are You Poison?

Mosquito

Nobody loves like an insect
who only desires the touch of
your skin and the taste
of your blood so deep inside
your shallow flesh.
Others have tried, tried to love
the way such pests and predators,
such parasites, do. Tried to love
me who cannot be soft
and cannot be gentle,
and whose skin is immune
to stings as passionate
as that of yours.
You are no mosquito,
no bug of prey—and,
if you were, you wouldn’t break
through the barrier of my flesh.
Nothing breaks skin which has been
knitted and sewn to keep out
the pests.
Water and air can come in;
breath and bath can reach deeper
than kisses and embraces
and love.
And nobody loves like an insect,
which you claim to be in the evenings,
when the sun has set and the lights are glowing,
drawing you to their touch.
But mosquito you are not,
and mosquito only does my skin
break for, open and wide,
exposing my fragile heart.

March 17, 2008
Author's Note: my personal ode to Ingrid Michaelson, hahaha. Inspired by her songs "Mosquito", "Breakable", and "Masochist". I hope, however, that it was my point I got across, and not hers.
Are you Poisoning Me?

Love Like No Human Could

Medusa

The truth is: I’m freezing.
I can hear the cold resonating
as I speak to you through blue
lips, still dying for something
you haven’t given in all your time
working toward what it is I have.
I can feel my body trembling,
and you think it’s the touch
of your skin
along the curves of my waist,
but nothing is as icy
as your mouth.
My breath is stifled and
my hands are clenching;
I am struggling to generate
something more than heat.
Because, the passion in your eyes
should be enough to fill my lungs
with fire and desire,
but it’s failing.
And you’ll touch me again and again,
fingers here, lips there,
body wrapping ever so carefully
to consume mine.
But the fire that you burn with,
that spreads along your shoulders
and down to the base of your spine
has turned to ash, has turned to dust;
my body’s riddled with cold.
I’ll just say it, and break the tension,
and stop your lips from turning me to stone.
I’m freezing, and you caused it,
and I’ll roll over when you’re done.
The bed is warmer with just me—
there is only room enough for one.

March 16, 2008
Love Like No Human Should

The Ides of March

My Fingers Get in the Way (So Why Do I Keep Counting?)

I used to believe that three was the
lucky number, until things
continued and years added up.
Now I don’t remember
what number I worship
when thinking back on the times
I spent talking to ghosts in corners
and apparitions on stairwells.
And now they are just air,
so many years later,
years I can’t count on five fingers.
Years I can’t remember
in chronological order,
or in real-time,
or at all.
Years that make you seem
like a distant, far, and sweet thing
I remember on the nights
when counting is hardest.
But I tend to recall, somewhere
after adding, that sweetness
turns to sour, wrinkled things
over time and distance, and
the alcoholic content sometimes
rises past peek, so things turn rancid.
And beautiful things become covered
with the dust of all these years,
unable to fit on five fingers;
and beautiful people are nothing
but words hanging along the shadows,
ghosts and apparitions, memories from
three years before, and beyond the span
of my memory’s recollection.
My hands cringe at the thought
of all those years adding up,
weighing down my little fingers,
which struggle to keep time.

March 15, 2008
Beware the Thirty-Three Stab Wounds to Your Back

I Don't Even Like Jelly

Distance manages to do for me
things no one else could.
It pulled me to pieces and left me
on the floor—kind of like you did,
although it wasn’t as gentle, and yet
it stung less. And it took it’s time,
but eventually, it put my pieces all back
together, one-by-one, glue and staples
and sutures and the blood I lost
when I thought my life was over,
traveling the distance, leaving behind
what I thought was a life.
Nothing I have done
could be considered living,
I’ve been walking this distance numb
and a ghost—not a spirit or demon,
a person
without a purpose but to mess myself up.
These sorts of things
are called self-destructive behaviors,
and I am the self-destructive bear,
swimming out though there is no ice,
searching for shelter though there is no room.
I helped the distance, and I helped you,
to break my arm behind my back and snap
my heart right in two.
And I helped the distance
put me back together, ready
and waiting to shatter again.
It isn’t that I enjoy misery,
but I am starting to think I enjoy
tearing myself to the point of no return.
Settling for something
so mundane
never was this violent.
Maybe it’s the settling,
not the distance, that did this.

I can’t be sure, but the distance isn’t so great
when I think about what it will take
to realize I can’t settle for anything less
than finding you again.
The distance is less, because this settlement is more,
and overcoming myself is twice the challenge
of overcoming the distance.


March 4, 2008
Author's Note: basically just a lot of rambling...an ode to self-destructive behavior. Everybody loves Scrubs and Pandy the Self-Destructive Teddy Bear. Basically, that's all this ever was. Really nothing. :) I write a lot about distance...you would think it was the biggest barrier I have to overcome in order to make my way back home. You would be wrong, unfortunately. Home is, apparently, more than seven-hundred miles away. It's more of a state-of-mind...a seven-hundred-mile-away state-of-mind.
I Don't Even Care