Deep in these moments of silent reveries memories are all that remain. It was snowing so hard the wind looked like italicized apologies on a break-up note. Luckily, the hot air is blasting, chipping your expensive no make-up make up. There at a stop sign on the street perhaps waiting for the bus, two girls laugh, they are hanging on to each other for support as they laugh, their laughter creating billows of steamy joy. I thought I'd crack under their warm and comfortable togetherness, instead I let go of the breaks and lurched forward. There was this faint tug persistent that back there was a life reminder: it's not those who have everything but who make the best of everything.

When the guitar strums chords that really strike a chord in you, suddenly you're on a search for the meaning of how the mechanics work.  Something inside moves your head to the rhythm. The lyrics are the story of your almost loves and the air begins to change.

In your heart
you know
how you feel.

  For a few minutes you belong to something large and your back is against a wall.  

memories
playing on your tv screen
squeeze
why does it mean so much to me


The moments  after  the soul summons
the essence of music but emits a noise  --
like something you'd hear falling down a well.

A deep croon, a wistful howl,
that's what you sound like --
a tremulous roar
your biggest fear is letting go

And all you really want to know
is do you have it in you?
Can you save your only life?
It's a weekend night and the fires bright.
what is the price we pay
Let's think back to our first year.

If the phoenix
wants to rise he'll have to

                                                 burn,
                                                there's no going back.

"My reality will never live up
to my fantasy"
- MS MR


It's a weird swirly feeling as you stand in the middle of the room as it starts, you feel exposed and with no dignity. It took you a long long time to realize you are nameless; what if the devil does play a part in this; you can't seem to find your way.

I'm pretty sure the devil DOES have a part in this. It's not PTSD, it's the DEVIL.

You are torn. Some happiness experts suggest finding strong role models. What they should tell you is that you must look hard at yourself and investigate: are you made up of particles just like Marilyn Monroe? Are you following your dreams? Where do your choices lead you?

Is something holding you back or do you feel like everything you do is a big mistake? (Maybe I'm the only one)
the room fills up with smoke, contemplating....
am i living a wonderful life or a beautiful lie?
Have you felt destroyed?
Is it hard to see yourself doing what you used to love so much.....

You have to laugh a little at yourself when you've made so many attempts
to appear calm and strong, proficient and valuable.
Of course,
No one knows
about the self-help revolution's expansion on your bookshelf,
the super soul Sundays, the power poses, and happiness
exercises you commit to mentally.

You try so hard to hide your flaws and bad behavior.
It feels so revealing to go out with naked face.
You talk alot about Jesus being your savior,
there's a desire deep down to feel strentghened
and touched and feel loved like that
but for some reason you feel like a phony
thus underserving. Even though
when someone gives you a big tip in East Texas
you kinda ponder if
God is
looking out for you.

My eyes move over the broad hills
and feeding cows with little interest
what flows through me
is a positive emotional experience
not easy to put in words but
if i could
perhaps it is
the space
to clear
your mind.

Or have you tucked yourself away in a ranch house,
wireless to the Network?
Are you craving
an existence far-fetched from reality?

The manners, the sobriety, my shoes
even my smile
is a prosperous presentation.

Do you believe
that there are individuals ******
to deserve the bottom?
Do you think that some of them
are the lucky ones
and that
maybe you
aren't?

And then you crack open a tiny conch-shell size of the universe
and give your worries up to God,
who is now your best friend with the bright idea
that you too have power beyond measure.

give me love because lately I've been trying to tie a ribbon in my mouth. I forget too soon all the lessons i learned from leaving the south.

i bend over backwards and open my chest in a position to bring it to rest like Prima the Ballerina. My fingers ***** the empty air as if to pluck a rosy twang from a long bow I just imagined. my circumference dissipates to reveal my core, wake up not any more in  a beaten trailer, but a nest full of hope.

i'm wearing a black body suit and i finally have strength to stand on my toes. My point is I wish I had stood up for myself.

I can't forget looking down at the sad scene and I knew : I could never write again.

I lived in a place where the windows were nailed shut. You had to drink from a broken cup. Still. There's a place within that I refused to give up.



An angel above watched the figure of a girl stumble out from a tunnel into a staggering light, her feet ***** through the next 3 years of her life. The angel was forbidden to break a strict law of interference. The angel stood like an innocent bystander at a bar, babysitting her drink as the tall young brunette the one with beachy hair, she had sailor striped earrings,  staggered into womanhood. The angel hovered closely over her shoulder during the young lady's independent study of the greatest lesson in life's classroom: Acceptance. Finally. On the brink of the greatest love of all.

"Give me love!" She shouted from a rooftop and crossed that off her to-do list. Then she danced like there was no one who could judge her except the angel who sat there in Lovely Sally leggings in a wistful stare, her blood had turned into alcohol. She wondered who this person was, too full of music to be filled with sorrow, dancing in a **** hole and on rooftops. She knew as an angel, she shouldn't drink, but no one judged her. She knew a few monks that smoked.

This chick had drank more than enough, hollered on a rooftop, kissed a girl, and now was too tired to stand, she swayed like willow tree. The 20 year old traveled without stopping to a park & sat
in the same seat she did when she was 17 and made love for the first time.  Now the angel was seeing double.

The angel had this silly thought to take her to a rural town in Germany. Angels were allowed to visit any where and with any one. That's what she was doing now.


She watched her pick herself up and find herself home after a long wistful silence.  The angel glanced at the spot under the oak tree after she dissapeared from her eyes.   She left behind a checkerboard composition notebook bookmarked with a  pink mechanical pencil. It was her to-do list.

- learn ballet
- buy my cat the most toys on the block
- afford sophisticated clothes
- get new violin strings and bow
- drink more water
- love myself
-donate nice clothes to an unfortunate girl
-deforestation

The angel read all 47 items through her bloodshot eyes and decided she'd help fullfill it.

I woke up too early, when outside the sky a pearl hue and the curtains ghostly white, a dreamy mist hung over my covers, I did not want to be enslaved by the unforgiving hour of first light, but my eyes had peeked anyways, and I felt this deep burning desire to run before it consumed me.

2. It consumed me. My meager thoughts begged to perform, we couldn’t stop seeing beasts in the hunt, the moon curled up in the corner of the page, this tight feeling in my neck, my *** squeezed tight, and my stomach gurgles. I’m hungry and there’s no food and there’s no money. There’s leftover wood and paint.

3. Too ignore my hunger, I knelt down by my bed, at night where I imagine a pornstar playing with herself, so I could not fear the animal, or the ravenous beast. And I started to finish painting on the wood.

4. It’s been so long, I’m so afraid, please God, let me realize how beautiful I am and not destroy myself.

5.  I can’t imagine eating anything, there’s nothing I’d like except maybe chocolate ice cream and strawberry wafers. Only desserts could ease my protestation, while I’m still young, 23 spoonfuls of sugar for the seducing rush, and how could any one fathom submitting to its unbridled passion and understand why roses sob in pairs at the sight of plucking a rose petal by petal for vain love.

6. I paint this picture without knowing what it means, if it does mean something, could it be something, I paint this picture from my skinny life form to avoid slumber and exile hunger. I am nothing but a waitress in a swamp city.