what do i need
to get back on my feet?

aha
  ha
ha.

first of all
there are no feet
no one
has
feet
and if they did
there would be
no getting back on them.

there is only
crawling
and it is a miserable way
to get around.

what do i need?

i need my hair
to grow back at an unreasonably fast rate.

i need the winter to retreat.

i need the sun in the sky.

i need someone to believe in me

what do i need?

a map.
a bulldozer.
warpaint.
gold.

...and a winning attitude.

When you abruptly feel the absence
You know it’s bad
But that’s no way to go about
Living a life?!
And if gold circles
Are the weight of wealth
Well then you, sir, are barking up
The wrong tree.

if i don't walk around
like queen of the world,
who will?

feet heavy on the path
i'm hot
very, very hot
legs propelling me ever forward
i went too far
too far
and for a moment
i thought this would be
as good a path
to die on as any.
*but i was wrong.

(please come to order)


i'm over here BAFFLED
by the righteous
surprise of women
and poorly portrayed
shock of the gents

over the downfall
of men.

have we all been
inhabiting the same
country | culture | school | work |church| family
?

stop being foolish

and stand before the judge.

you teach your children
nothing of
*** | gender | relationships

and then are surprised by the disfunction
and shame coming to light.

we don't educate our children
with facts
so they don't know how their bodies work
and don't understand
the nuance of relationships.

girls should act like ladies
and boys shouldn't cry.

girls, be quiet and never cause a fuss.

boys, grab the world by the *****, it's yours.

and now you gasp
in surprise at the results?
please.

you hide knowledge and
options from girls
then condemn their poverty
condemn their parenting
and now wonder
where it all went wrong?

teach them to never walk alone, anywhere, EVER.
hold your keys in-between your fingers
tear out eyeballs and other *****
if you must.

maybe none of the men know
we are taught this as children?
that our entire lives revolve around
keeping ourselves safe from men.
and it is ALL our responsibility.
no matter what happens or doesn't happen,
it is somehow always a woman's fault.

fed a false narrative of the stranger
when most of the time,
is the known man
that causes the most damage.
that flies lowest under
the radar.
that has power
and influence
and the ability to hide.

but don't provoke the poor boys.
under no circumstances allow
your body to be seen,
but also don't be too covered up
(because then how will you get a man?)
jesus, guys, get with it.

[don't be sensitive]
what's an *** slap here or there by an utter stranger?
what's the big deal when a dear friend
suddenly lunges at you and grabs your **** during a normal conversation?
what's a little verbal harassment, he's old, it was normal then?
a strange call into the office?
a hand up your skirt?
it's just boys being boys.

it's time to stop this.

it's time to stop feigning ignorance.

you are responsible for this.

full stop.

just like i am.

but my silence ends today.
and i will not contribute to
a society or culture
that devalues women
for the sake of the
male ego.

stop acting surprised by men
behaving without integrity.
by criminals
and predators.
and for ****'S SAKE

stop | electing | them

there is nothing real
to be had here,
in this land of
perpetual winter.

message send failure
an accidental mullet
a bird on the wire
broken bones
faulty valves
ungiven gifts
welling eyes
icy pavement

this is the only way to say
that to really h e a r the music,
one must close one’s eyes.

you came to me
in a
d r e a m
as bright and beautiful
as my memory
it was
christmas eve
but you would not stay for dinner.
and in your absence,
a man with
3 eyes approached me.

that i was in
an elevator,
the cable broke,
and i began falling.

then i woke.

and i was sad
because i had thought
the cable broke
long ago.

the view is everything
from here,
in my lair.
this view is everything;
the night sky
the trees covered in ivy
covered in snow.
the icicles on the window.
the blanket on
my body,
the sun in my mind.

(a diary for today)


a hungry man
on the corner
cinnamon graham crackers
mom, tattoos, and tears...
tears streaming
for death past
and death future.
for life future.
for life now.
gramma.
violet.
a child laughing,
laughing so hard she sounds
utterly maddened.
stories and lights and wax and
wretched, wretched
life.

sometimes the changing light
is a
blue-green
indigo-violet
turquoise-dream

and i miss you so much
that i cry
my eyes
right out.

imagine.

you are a 14 year old boy
and one day
a strange, 45 year old woman
that you have never met

comes running at you
full speed while you
are walking home from school.

she knocks you to the ground
and kicks you in the stomach.
drags you to her car.

she pulls a screaming baby
out of a carseat and
forces it into your arms.
tells you it's yours now.
it's registered in your name.

while you stand there in
shock and disbelief
blood dripping down your face
she warns you that if you
ever tell anyone about
what just happened she
will ****** your entire family.

she gets in her car
speeds off and
you never see her again.

you go home with a
hysterical baby and
tell your parents what happened.

they just shake their heads at you.
you must have done something
to make this happen.

and so sorry,
but you have to keep that baby.
there is no other option.

you are only 14.
still, you are responsible for
making sure that baby doesn't die.

you have to figure out with your 6th grade
education how to
feed your new baby.
and get it healthcare.
and an education.

no more football games for you, son.
you don't matter anymore.

you shouldn't have been walking home
by yourself with a red shirt on.

you plead for help.
your parents don't care.
your friends can't help you.
you can't go to school anymore.
you can't pay for childcare.
and your government wants
to punish YOU.

can you imagine?
because i can.

no matter how hard
i try
i cannot do this thing

no matter how many nights
i stare at the wall
empty
i cannot do this thing

no matter how many
open roads i travel
or lies i speak
i cannot do this thing.

i cannot.

choose truth
or
choose hope.
you can't have both.

things that were beautiful
robbed of meaning
cast aside

some days
you hit every red light
and get stuck behind
a literal **** truck
for miles on end
when it's 85° and
the a/c is broken.

and i'm pretty ******* certain
that if you don't want to hear it,
you're not gonna hear it.

and if you don't want to learn,
you're not gonna learn.

and it's not my fault
you can't attune your
listening ears.

how long do i wait
before i go
hops the little bird
where to go?
where to go?

our pretty little baby
the little one
a blonde little
fireball
making demands
and stealing lipstick
at age 2

my beautiful
little sister
how can i describe
my love for you?

it is boundless

i am determined
that life
will be good to you
from now on

i am utterly convinced
of your brilliance
your light
your unshakeable humor
bringing me to tears

little sister
if i could give you the world
i would

but i cannot

i can only show you
my hopes and my failures
i can only hold up
a mirror for you
i can only give you
what i have to give

you are not so little
our pretty baby
but of all of us
you have the most
t i m e
you have the most
to gain from
all of our mistakes
you have the most
to gain
from all of our love

happy birthday
my crazy sister
my    s t u n n i n g l y   beautiful
artist and muse

happy birthday
sweet
ariane

i already forgot
the lesson i learned 12 hours ago,
so don’t ever listen
to a word i say.

long drive on
autopilot

glimpses of mascara
smudges in
the rearview mirror

songs chosen for
their visceral sadness

an utter trainwreck of
good intentions
and
for the life of me
i can't figure out
what to do
or say

when someone loves you
they take you with them
as free and as far
for as long
as they
can

you really only have you.

yet you are simultaneously
no one and everyone,
both everything and nothing.

and you cannot have anything,
not one single thing.

observe and reflect
absorb and reject.
build and destroy
build and destroy.

open to
r e c e i v i n g

a splash
a cymbal
a request

a vanishing tide
an inscription in stone

the ability to
make
f i r e.

(learn the language)

man minutes are like
football minutes.
1 minute 30 seconds really means
21 minutes and 43 seconds.

you don't even realize
the seconds turn to stacks
and what you thought was new
now is old old old
and yet here you are
and the only clear thought
is a new thought

mind moves
at a different pace
than body.
music levels the field.

i'm back
and i claim this place
(queen of this space)
s u n | is | m i n e
sculptures are mine
t r e e s |are| mine
water is mine
music is mine.

facing
m y s e l f
is the
worst kind of hell.