how is it that life goes on?
the sun keeps rising and setting,
people continue their busy routines
nothing has happened.
but today you have stopped loving me,
how can strangers not see it is the end!
how is the sorrow in my eyes not enough to make the world stop turning?
how is the immense hole in my stomach not big enough to make the waves stop crashing against the shore?
how can I go on, if no one has even noticed my heart is so completely broken.
how do I eat or sleep, knowing you no longer want me?
how can i go on if no one has even noticed something's wrong.
crisp from the core
cut in half and a bore.
I want some more sand!
I'm tired of cement beneath
the slabs of meat I call feet,
the movement doesn't beat
it fuels it.
on my way uphill, the stretch
is between my thighs. Sweat!
this weather is no good for fancy clothes,
I've got pit stains up these hills.
I'd say I'm looking on the bright side, but
it's more of a stare, or perhaps it's the light
that's stalking me, because I can't seem to
this soul is melting through this flesh which
can't let go of winters breath, what once was
afraid to freeze to death wants nothing more
than a cloud or four, to shade their skin from
the heat begins.
Summer is no enemy,
Winter is no friend,
all I want is Fall again!
The spring is here,
my nose is nose,
the seeping of color shall spread
down and all places around,
it'll push and shove as
my body is covered
in the guilt of not taking
the time to properly supply myself
with sun screen.
I hear you
like the ringing in my ears
in the time
fading scar tissue on my skin
feels so far from healing
pearls at the base of my neck
like puddles reflecting
that one lit up window
that spoke volumes
on the subject
smog drifting higher
hugging the sun
in its suffocating embrace
so let the kids play
the headlines could tell you
that it's finally time
to give up
and everything you tried to save
your eroded throat
is the holy vessel
and your pain is scripture
pretend you didn't repeat
the things you pretended
to not have heard
so give me your last breath
and I give you my word
I'll never let your anguish
so come on
twigs and berries
maybe over watered
choked out by grass
the fragrance of
dried out by the sun
ferments the love
as you rest
I hold your hair
in my hands
ah, your perfume
takes me back
and brush it behind
I chase the sun set
and race the moon rise.
I battle with my mind
and I argue with my heart.
I love from my soul
and distinguish from my eyes.
I have a brain that will not listen
and I have a body that doesn't function.
I smile at the stars
and laugh at the clouds.
I search for a purpose
and I can stop right now.
I can still feel your memories crawling,
up and over the creases in my skin,
collecting my scars like leaves—
I think they found a way to burrow through my pores.
Sometimes I can feel them gnawing away at that soft grey thing we call a brain,
until I can't remember the strange order of those letters we call our names.
So you see,
it wan't my fault—
when you asked me the time I told you I loved you.
I was never any good at writing love poems, darling—
in the same way I was never any good at loving the right things.
Like a kid with 26 cavities loves candy,
each time you bit my neck I fell in love with the bruises.
Sometimes I still press my fingers against my collarbones
trying to re-create your violet imprints.
Say my name one more time.
It always sounded scarlet on your tongue.
Cast your fishhook words at my shins—
until I can feel the syllables sinking through my skin—
until I can feel myself limping forward again.
they call me unstable,
like a half-brokes table.
And I keep trying to slip things under the broken leg
but nothing seems to hold me up.
It's been 7 months and I still shake each times someone tries to lean on me—
I used to be someone people could lean on.
Summer is coming fast and i'm still to faded from the winter to greet it with open arms.
I've fallen in love with the cold and I'm not ready for the too-bright sun to kiss my pale shoulders.
I miss the overcast days—
I used to believe you loved me too—
It's 6:26 am and I'm still thinking of you.
Love is a tricky thing.
It can be received, but not given.
It can be lent, and never returned.
You are what you love, not who loves you.
It's a great relief to hear:
you are what you love, not who loves you
Someone else's emotions towards you
doesn't define you.
Its how you feel and
how you act
that really matters.
And yes, you may love
the wrong thing then,
but that's not now.
So that doesn't define
It's domain is the past.
You must let it rule there,
or else it will
invade your future.
You are what you love, not who loves you.
Love the smell of summer rain.
Love the feel of soft grass.
Love the chill of snow and
the heat of the sun.
Charish what you love.
You are what you love, not who loves you.
not to love things
living so that they
all could burn
and it would be nothing
but an inconvenience
have escaped my plan
through my designs
1. old white macbook
whirring piece of brilliant technology
you are already gone. next.
2. wedding rings
sold those motherfuckas in an instant
3. asian machine love
i am having a hard time
having to let you go
my beautiful, black mitsubishi.
i chose you.
i researched for weeks
trying to be reasonable
and out of all the machines,
you are the perfect shape
of all vehicle shapes, mitsubishi
i have a slight obsession with
c o l o r
and b o o m i n g SOUND
you are the perfect balance of safety
and fuel efficiency
(but you already knew that, didn't you?)
your headlights are so bright
and your high beams
it's almost embarrassing
mitsubishi, you little snake...
you have a manual mode
so i can choose to be a race car driver
whenever i want
mitsubishi outlander sport, i love you so
let's talk about your face
you have a pig-face like me
your nose is abrupt
it's blunt and it's different
and i love it
you know i hate the cold and the snow
i love the sun and the moon
so you show them to me all the time
moonroof, mitsubishi - brilliant
(with mood lighting for night? you dog!)
you wipe away the rain
without me having to ask
you cast light into the dark
all on your own
mitsubishi, you shake the earth
alerting my family
that i am almost there
through my dna
so that i am made
of vibrations and air
invisible to the naked eye
or playing my science fiction audiobooks
at a reasonable
and responsible volume
you respond to me with such grace
showing me impossibilities
with a rearview camera
saying, "hello!" in the morning
and, "see ya!" when i leave
(and i believe you mean it)
you heat my ass in the frigid winter
an alert me with an icon
when i am losing traction
or there may be ice
i could not ask for more, my machine love.
the deer was not your fault.
or mine, or the deer's.
we were all doing what we do,
and to be quite honest,
the deer got the shit end of the stick, mitsubishi.
i'm sorry about your dent and your crack
i wanted to fix it, but i love you even more now
you are my one machine love
you are electric
and you boom
i don't want to see you burn.
it would be more than an inconvenience.
two out of three things are gone.
but i chose you. i want you still.
my home is gone - fine.
my things are gone - fine.
that bastard is gone - fine.
my job is gone, mitsubishi.
i am being stripped bare.
i am being humbled, mitsubishi.
i have to let you go.
but i'm not ready,
my asian machine love.
I remember the last time we talked
My voice trembled like a violin string
As always my mouth was numb and locked
And the phrases I couldn't utter seemed to boil and sting
I watched distraught words float by on the breeze
As I desperately tried explaining to you,
With embarrassment and unease
All we could and should be, all I dreamed and knew
Tried weaving a future from a tangled past.
I saw you through curtains of heavy fog
Your eyes bleary and glassed
I stuttered and muttered and wept and I couldn't
And I knew that I wouldn't
Give words to the ineffable mess in my brain.
I looked up, the mist breathed slowly
You walked away like a slow and silent midnight train
The sun was shining through the clouds, golden and holy
As the white haze of things unsaid weighed upon the rolling hills
He was out the door, slammed shut in 2004
and he couldn't get back in even if he wanted to
because the lock broke after he moved out to Hadar
the arm pit of Haifa, and wouldn't tell me where he was
as a punishment for my banishing him.
A friend saw him on Masada street.
In the end that proved to be his street
oh, the time I had for friends, in the hot Mediterranean sun
dinners in cramped living rooms with laughter and wine and always
houmus. You can't eat a meal without it, and prints of art on the wall
and the cement floor, and the too many cats
So he'd crash in, do something that had to be done, insult me, and leave
and this was it
I sat in that big apartment with he fancy black cement floors and smoked
cigarettes and took the bus to the cat shelter to clean 25 cat boxes in a cold water
bath tub and set them out to dry in the sun
and hang discarded clothes on a fold out clothes rack, each cat got a shirt to lie on
and instant coffee and chocolate at 4:45 PM and cigarettes as cats walked around in the
But at home, sometimes I'd try to get him back, if I could
But he could always be so much more mean, poking at the tender spots
without remorse and I learned, not to fight back
Just to collapse and cry as the door slammed or he said something
and then stormed out, absolutely not caring
There were my friends, here I have no time for friends,
and I talked to him and prepared for a time when I'd go back and
have no time for friends again
Everything would be work, work, get yourself back on track
you've lost so much time
But here, too, the losses are deep and I sit in my own apartment, with
carpet and a dishwasher, that I could only have dreamed of having then
and my own car in the parking lot, and
People make me cry.
People where I work, people I mistook for friends
and it's better now, I now, if I can only follow through
to seek no revenge
but just to mourn
Because the world can be more cruel and cold and uncaring
than I can ever imagine
there's no competing
it's better to sit and cry here, too