Go about your mac-book-business
and pick up the kids
when you're finished.
If you say you're just
working to live,
why do you do more
working
than living?
I know,
I know.
This is just
"the way it is".
stay skinny,
stay sought after;
stay a catch
on past forever.
C.e.M. 8.11.14

Tombstones marked with years gone by. A personal, though nearly inconsequential timeline that has filed by and left a full life and a hollow body in its wake. The give and take, the motions that propel us into the future one moment at a time until quite suddenly and certainly too soon the track runs out and we all crash into the black. We will be commemorated in the most carefully worded manner so as not to insult our memory, making our lives much more tidy in death than they could ever been seen while we were still about walking. The others left will cry for us and mourn our impressionable personalities and the impending lack thereof. But to passersby, in life we were just a few gestures and a face. In death, we are a Slab of rock and two dates. The question is what shall be done with what very well could be hoarded into an ever-widening stockpile of unused moments, never considering the irretrievable vault into which we place them until it finally swings shut and closes us in  along with them. That is, until we reach this unmovable and unchanging space, disintegrating and replaced by new voices, new notions, and new life. Will you fight? Or will you lie down out of practice and in wait for the steadily encroaching date we all must face.
C.e.M August 10, 2015

I had forgotten what it was like to feel wholly wanted. Not just for my influence or my thoughts,
Not for my body parts
Or the way I so easily stopped and started
Things when being close got
Too uncomfortable.
I'm sorry now if I mumble
It's just getting a little harder to be bold,  
To tell you the things I hold
So tightly
And you take lightly,
Listening and nodding there
On the other side of the spotlight
Because tonight? You sit in judgements seat
And I am the one clamoring towards
The microphone to admit
Public defeat because I'm beat and I'm tired
But ******* it I'm still trying

C.e.m. 7.19.15

You say you need a doctor
We'll send a helicopter
Because my love is dry
And I won't even try to save you this time

What's your alibi
Tell me,
will you smile the whole time?
watch me choke down your lies
Cem 7.15

Do you remember what it felt like?
that first time you felt something.
what was it like?
before grass was just the potential for stains
and a hiding place for bugs
that bite and itch
long after the day is over.
do you remember?
the way the air felt rushing through your window
the first time you noticed the seasons
and chose your favorite.
I can’t recall the angst of choosing an outfit
or the nuisance of tangled hair and chewing gum.
all i remember is the afters-
after i fell I had scabs for two weeks
after he left,
I wasn’t sure where I fit in.
After I switched schools,
After I learned how to do my makeup
After the sessions just…
stopped.
after they told me I had flat feet
after I wasn’t good enough to dance
wasn’t fast enough to dive
wasn’t keen enough to pitch.
after my lines weren’t crisp enough
my circles weren’t round enough
my words weren’t big enough.
wasn’t cheery enough
loud enough
sweet enough
wasn't
pretty
enough.
I don’t remember how it felt when I looked at him the first time
or how it felt learning his name
his hobbies
and his favorite sports team.
I hardly remember what it was that made me so happy
I just remember
holding his hand too much
and the sweat that always seeped between our adolescent awkwardness.
I remember what it felt like when he took too much though
when he was suffering and
so was I
but helping him was all I knew as a distraction.
I remember the strange faces and the late nights
and the police wondering what a
fourteen year old girl
is doing across the bridge at 2am.
I remember the drop from my window to the frosty ground
i remember the bite when my ankles hit
I remember the pang when I slipped.
What about sorrow?
do you remember what your heartfelt like
when it was still light?
when all those childish metaphors fit just right
and there was no need for anything other than trite rhymes.
what was it like when we trusted everyone?
when plastic bags
were just for snacks
and it was never a question where your drink came from.
When did my beanie baby turn into a switch blade?
I’m carrying around mace
like a safety blanket.
when was our innocence taken?
when did we get so hostile?
so sore?
so depressed?
How long is the list of things we just
“live with”?
Because it started with your ankles and then it was your shins
now your entire lower body is
caving in
that’s not even mentioning
what’s beginning in your head.
you used to think everything worked out-
at least eventually.
But everything is getting worse
your parents
your brother
your country…
it’s a divorce from practicality
that has spawned this disturbing reality.
I would change my mentality
but it’s been created to keep me safe.
at least that’s what they say
and I repeat to myself.
because now I remember,
i remember the things that keep me away
from the bus stop
from the gas station
from 202
from downtown.
I remember what happened
up the hill
on 35
out past the churches and the sea of dried corn.
I remember the sound
of the cicaidas
and your breath
and the sirens
I remember you telling me I was a hot mess
and I told you 
i needed to rest
when I was really depressed and you
never really questioned my sanity
the way you should have.
I wonder when I’ll decide
that I’m not getting by and I'm
fooling myself with the lie I've
sold to ease the burden on my weary soul.
I don’t have a home and
yes,
I’m alone.
But I live with it
I live with myself
I live with the scabs and the scars and the bites and the scratches
with the blurred vision and tired tendons
I live with it because
what else
is there to do?
I can’t get through to you
and neither of us
want me to.
copyright:CeM 10-2-14

The metallic shine
Of the chopping waves reflected in my looking glass eyes
That had lost their shine
With the explosion of the sun
Many moons ago
Now I seek the woman the old crow has visited in  the corners
Of her smile and she gazes off for quite a long while, returning with some unseen bizarre entity of a thought you sensed she had forgotten or perhaps hidden from herself.
Now the rhythmic pedaling meant nothing just churning slowly churning
Briney water of the moment still left
untold water
rushes by in folds of fools gold as the elephant mountain geishas marched by in wind blow whispers of their former selves and both compell me to give them my undivided attention
but I'm still trying to
find my direction here
on land.

I suppose
This is what ****** addicts
And psychotics feel like.
White walls
And overflowing ash trays, long
Drags and sloppy kisses
Open shirts and
Undone belts;
Their eighteenth year spinning
Records of commentary
Nostalgia before you got sick from
The speed
Uninteresting to everyone else
Inescapable to you.
Slaughtered morals
***** socks on the sidewalk
If something honest
Inside me could talk I'd say
I never want to feel another questioning palm again against my prickled skin.
Ten days until escape?
Or is it back to the cage?
Who's to say.

C.e.M. 6. 9. 15