It wasn't a big deal.
He just asked for some help
Can you help me find this shirt
Can you let me in the dressing room
Can you fit me for a jacket.
But I was petrified.
Terrified.
What if I do it wrong
What if I say the wrong thing
What if I upset him.
What will happen?

In reality, nothing.
but in my mind
Everything I am frightened of.
In my mind
I am burning.

******* does not appeal to me.
According to the masses
It is a delicious experience
With only bliss and comfort involved.
To me
It is awkward
Uncomfortable
And fruitless.

When your face descends
My mouth puckers up
My eyes close
And I just try to not offend you.

Why yes sir
Of course I can assist you.
It's my job, after all.
Oh, you need to be measured for your suit?
Well if you insist.
I seem to have lost my tape measurer
I suppose I'll have to use my hands
For your inseam.
Your thighs are so thick and strong...
Oh, you're a 34.

Flip. Fold. Straighten.
Flip. Fold. Straighten.
Flip. Fold. Straighten.

The same
Ugly embroidered cotton shirts.
The same colors
Fabrics
Stiff stain-proof pants.

Eight hours
Of flipping
Folding
Straightening.

This is my life now.

I'm going on a diet
Of three poems a day.
My water will be ink
Black, blue and gray.

I'll get nourishment from stanzas
Calories from rhyme.
No more food shall I eat
Not at anytime.

I'm going on a diet.
I'll lose a thousand pounds.
But it's unfortunate that enchiladas
Are now out of bounds.

----------------------------------------------
He was older.
He paid attention to me.
Years of being alone
With no sense of self-worth
He noticed.
I knew he was short
And chubby
And had a strange face
But he noticed.
I knew it was strange that
He was interested in one so much younger
But I craved someone to care for me.
A reprimand from my mother
My brother
A teacher
And it was over.
Then months past
I needed it again.
I was slipping
Again
Into somewhere I didn't want to be.
A secret rendevous
With his mother asleep in the next room.
A lost shirt
A gained shirt.
Months past
It was over again.
----------------------------------------------------------­--------
A year passes
The boy I had a past with
[Secret hand-holding in a football field
Stolen glances
Nothing serious]
Shows renewed interest
In the dark of night
In the backseat of a car.
The first time
I noticed an *******
Against my backside.
The first time
I saw one
In real life.
Months past
I never cared for him
But he told me he loved me.
I told him I didn't.
Eventually I couldn't hurt him anymore.
I wasn't getting anything from it anyway.
Just experience.
-----------------------------------------------------­---
Now I have him.
He is mine and I am his.
But really, I am mine.
I'm too independent for him
But we share our awkwardness.
Three years have almost past
Many more will, too.
From him
I have gained a family
A patience
A sense of self-worth
And love for others.
He is the end of it, I guess.
I had to get through the others first
(And I honestly wouldn't mind going through more)
But with relationships, you grow.
--------------------------------------------------------

I don't think I slept last night.
Listened to country
Hoping it would lull me to  sleep
Until two.
Took a pill at three.
Laid there

waiting

waiting

waiting

For hours.
I may have slept at some point.
Four or five in the morning?
All I know
Is when my alarm rang at ten a.m.
I was half awake already.

How can you tell if you've been unconscious?

Tyra Banks was the first person
I touched myself to the thought of.
I didn't know what genitalia was
But her *******
seemed
so
inviting.

It's amazing what you don't remember.
I don't remember
What his ***** tasted like.
I have an impression in my mind
That his groin smelled bad.
I remember how it started.
I remember that it would never have happened
If it weren't dark
And I hadn't been so lonely
And my self esteem hadn't been so low
And I hadn't already given up.
If he had been facing me
When he tried
It wouldn't have happened.
I'd I had seen his greasy face
It wouldn't have happened.
I don't regret it.
I never cared about him
But it was just another
Part of the past.
What's the point of regrets?

I think he knows.
But there's so much
Of those months
[or was it weeks?]
That I have no memory of.
Most of what I recall
Involves a stained skirt
A little truck
And him parading around like a proud ****
With his naked ******* in the light.

It's not entirely positive.

A friend
Is someone who will call you
At two thirty in the morning
[since they know your sleeping habits]
To reassure you about your body image.
And friends are beautiful.

Just feel don't know
Need love want hope
End up all alone
End up in a retirement home

Taste heart smell sun
Dance shake shimmy fun
Run into guy with a gun
Run in the convent be a nun

Worship jesus worship god
Hate the devil hate the rod
Celibate and frozen solid
No one ever sees your ***

Age wrinkle die alone
Empty heart empty throne
Wasted life on fake credo
Now you die, now you go

He sits upstairs, most of the day.
Most of the night.
Most every day, most every night.
He tries to fit in
He tries to be helpful
He tries to be wanted.
He is
But these people are too
Dysfunctional to show it.
Hiding from the dragon lady
He's been sitting upstairs
Alone
For twenty years.
I wish I knew what to do
When he comes down.
I wish I knew how to show him
How much I care
And appreciate
And love.
But I am too dysfunctional to show it.

I hope I don't do to him
What the dragon did to the towerman.
I hope we don't do to our spawn
What they've done to me.

She steps out of herself
Literally speaking.
Takes a step
Her flesh opens,
Her muscles and bones
Advance alone.
No blood is shed.
She's just trying to be true.
Takes another step
Her muscles fall off
They lay on the ground
Twitching with energy.
Just her bones now.
Her bones
White and strong
Yellowed and brittle
Either way
They are all that support her now.
She has stepped out of herself
As much as she can.
If she takes another step
Will she simply disintegrate?

I like milk in my tea
And condoms on my *****.
I'm pretty good at Sudoku
And at laying there while you pound me.
I have a lot of traits.
I guess patience is the most surprising.

You know it's only because it's you
But I'm completely okay with that.
I'll be anything you want me to be
Because you do the same for me.

I know you're here.
Maybe not right now
But you will be
Or you were.
Whatever.

Will you see me?
Can you tell?

Come see me
Let me know you remember
Let me know I don't ****.
I know I'm not
All you love
But come one.
Just do it.

I'm afraid of this.
This one says poetry.
And that's scary.
When something has a name
It has expectations.
If something has expectations
It has failures.
I'm tired of failure.

I think I'll shut it down.
It's nice
And simple
And classic
But it's not necessary anymore.
If I'm here,
I don't need to be there.
Yes?
And here, maybe
There might be some benefits
Whereas there I'm hiding by myself.
From myself?
Who knows.
Who cares.

I am not deep like the rest of them.  
I have no style
No beautiful phrases
About love
And life
And chicken.
All I have are my surroundings
And how they make me feel.
I feel hungry.
I feel tired.
I feel not as good as you.

You don't even realize what you say.
It makes me sad.
Not because of your words
But the idea behind them.
They convey that you have never
Had to sit alone in a herd of students.
They show that you have never
Been surprised that someone wanted to see you
Outside of a forced environment.
That has been my reality
For eight-teen years
And you have no clue what I mean.
How is it that we have had such different experiences?
I'm glad
That you never had to feel
Completely out of place.
Alone.
You've always had a friend or a lover.
I have been alone
For most of my life.
Not just in love
but in general.
For ten years, I had no friends.
For the next five, I had one.
We have had completely different experiences
And I envy you.

It's embarrassing
To never have an ******.
It's shameful
To not enjoy ***.
I crave it, sometimes.
I think of ***
And flesh
And joining
As much as anyone else.
But every time I try
It's just a big pile of ****.
It's horrible to know
That every time my juices get flowing,
There's no point.
In the end, I always feel like a shame to humankind.

I was taught to idolize women
And the female *** in general
From a young age.
I don't think my mom ever realized
That that was what she was doing.
But that's what happened.
And now I do exactly that.
I see beauty and intelligence in women
Easier than I do in men.
In my mind, men are always second best.

Maybe that's why I question my sexuality so much.

I used to dream of Greece.
I guess I still do.
It seemed like such a
Romanticized country.
I envisioned beautiful people
Floating through the streets
Hair curled from the sea
Skin rough from the sun.
Draped in soft fabric
With sexuality oozing through every pore.

I saw beauty
And nature
And freedom in one's skin.

Apparently there's a lot more to it than that.
Bombs tend to ruin it all.

I think too much.
I was thinking
Wondering where I weas going with this whole
"Poetry" shindig.
I was thinking
Maybe when I'm eighty
When I'm dead
When I die
Someone will look through my computer
And see my blog.
Maybe they'll read my poems
Declare my a virtuoso
Claim that I should've been revered in my time
And declare it a shame that I have passed.
They will show them to a publisher
And distribute them worldwide.
I will become a literary Picasso
And live through it.
Those who knew me will mourn with ferocity
Ashamed that they never knew.
I will be loved for an eternity.

In all likelihood, that will never happen.
It is near impossible.
Will I even keep this up that long?
But it's nice to hope.

But I can tell that I'm thinking too much.
I was taught
That poetry should come from the heart
Unfiltered
No thinking.
Just your soul on paper
With a rhythmic beat, if possible.
So not only will I never be even considered
As a poetic woman.
But I am doing this all wrong

One time
I planned to show you.
I wanted to hear what you thought of me
And how I made you feel.
But now there's no way I can.
Because some parts of me, you don't need to see.
And I don't need to show you.
It would only end badly.
I wish I could.

You are covered with sweat, on top of me.
It drips onto my naked body
My naked face.
I lay there
Trying to look like I'm enjoying myself.
Smile.
Moan.
Arch.
I don't think you're buying it.
After you're done
You smile beatifically
And kiss me
And tell me you love me.
You tell me you were trying hard.
I wish I could tell you that I benefited
Because I know that's what you want to hear
But I can't lie to you like that.

I do it for you.
I hope that sometimes you believe me.
But I don't think you do.
I love you.

To me
Christianity doesn't mean
Love and Jesus and kindness.
Christianity is
Having an excuse
To dress up once a week.
Christianity is
Not letting friends
Eat on the couch.
Christianity is
Group chanting every Sunday
With people who smell like death.
Christianity is
Depriving yourself of a lot of good music
And hoping that all this deprivation makes a difference.
I don't see why it would.
To me, Christianity is basing your life
Around a tiny beam of hope.
I need more basis than that.

She wasn't happy here.
She claimed it was because
Her people
Her lifelong friends
Were up there.
She blamed her depression on the city
And its early hours.
Her lack of purpose
Lack of stimulation.
But she's there now
And she complains of the same malaise.
Apparently the problem
Is not in her surroundings.
It's in her.

I have decided that I no longer care what to call you, dear words.
You may be a poem
Or a journal
Or a subliminal plot
To tame my psyche.
It doesn't matter.
I should you to one long ago
She did not care to look.
Today is her birthday.
She means the most to me.
If that one doesn't care to look,
[which is fine,
i didn't really expect it]
Then I am sure
In my assumption
That no one else would care.
This will not make an *** out of anyone.
And as no one will care,
No one will see.
It's reverse logic.
Therefore I will call you as I wish
On any given day.
Poem
Prose
Vendetta.
You are all in one
And you are all for me.

I need to get out of this funk.
I am consumed by thoughts of my own inadequacy
When really I'm just another
Slightly ****** up
Human.
We're all the same, basically.
So there's no reason for me to
Obsess
Over my idiosyncrasies.
We all have them.
So I am now over it
For the next thirty days.
If I get over it
Maybe
Since we're all the same
Everyone else will
And then the world will continue spinning
The sun will continue burning
And I will continue loving.

Jalapeño pizza burns my mouth.
Your persistence burns my patience.

You need to find another candle.

Just leave me alone.
Please.
I know you think you're being sweet
And you miss me
And you blah blah blah.
But please.
There's nothing to say and I hate forcing it.
We are fine.
I just want to read
And sleep
And be alone.
It's not hormonal.
It's just me.

I wish I missed people.
I feel like by never missing anyone
I demean the relationships I have.
I just can't help it.
Sometimes I wish someone in particular was with me
But those feelings are always short
And fleeting.
By never needing anyone
When I know how much the other person misses me
I feel like I'm not as committed to them as they are to me.
It's not on purpose.
I tell them I miss them when they say it first
but it's always a lie.

Maybe I'm just a sociopath.

Poems, have I failed you?
I have shown two of you
To two of them.
Neither were impressed.
Am I not allowing you to live to your potential?
Should I send you into the great open
To find yourself
And learn to express what you feel?
Apparently I'm not allowing you to do so
To your full ability.
I am deeply sorry, dear words.
I really didn't mean to.

Your puffy shirts and Jerry curls
Haunted the dreams of many girls.
All leather pants and ***** mustache
Caused their ******* to turn to trash.
But now that you have left your prime
Your daughter takes most TV time.
Now you're left with the remembrance of fame
All that's left is your last name.

One day soon the eighties will return
Then their carnal desires will burn.
For you their ******* will once again dampen
And their cooch you can put your stamp in.

I've thought of a lot of things to write
In the past couple days.
I should write them down now
But the tv is so tempting
And I'm so comfortable
And I'm so full of excuses.
What a shame.

Maybe I'll go write something silly
With rhyming and stanzas.
Let's find out.

Back home.
Back to the comfort
Of a stove and vh1.
Back to my parents and my boyfriend
And a real bed.
In a few days I will lament the horrors
Of living with one's family
But for now, I am content.
Thank goodness for laundry machines
And ovens
And cable tv.

No one understands just how hilarious I am.
My sarcasm is perfected
To a spear-like point
And my allusions are consistently charming.
That is why I have, dear blog.
No one knows you, you know.
But only you understand me!
You laugh at my jokes
Which are rarely written
And you see the depth of my greatness.
Thank you, good sir.

The skin on my *******
Has all peeled off.
I have shed my sea-goddess skin
And am now again ordinary.
The only memento I have
Is the continued ache
And the residual redness.
Both will soon be gone.
As my skin peeled I thought
I thought of how snakes shed their skin totally differently.
I thought of how the flakes coming off would never stay whole
Always ripping into smaller bits.
It was kind of creepy
And kind of awesome.
If it would rip off whole,
Maybe I could construct a clone
Or a doll
To have some company.

Dinosaur, o dinosaur
Noblest of creatures!
Why must you have been struck down
With your graceful features?
Perhaps you are still around
And you are just in hiding.
Perhaps you are just waiting,
Your time you are biding.
One day soon I hope we'll meet
And with prowess you will thrill me
Because I feel sure that
We are one, and you will not **** me.

I feel like I should write something
But I don't know what to say.
I've been sitting here
Waiting
All night.
I'm not even sure what I'm waiting for.
An epiphany?
An explosion?
I don't know.
All I know is
I'm here
Alone
And I don't know what to say.

Summer's coming.
Soon my life will consist of water and sun
With some work thrown in for good measure.
Hopefully it's better than those before it.
But this year I am more confident
This year I actually won't be alone.
If I play my cards right
I should be spending my days by the water
***** in one hand, book in the other
Headphones on.
That is how summer is meant to be.

She's gone.
Soon they all will be.
Another year down the drain.
At least this one was almost productive.
A week til I'm
Forcibly united with three.
Three months til I see the rest.
At least one will always be there.
My rooms is in shambles.
I've been trying to reduce it down
But it's not working.
Somehow it just seems to grow.
No assistance comes
And I sludge through what I have.
It's a long process.
Most of my possessions are still in here
Waiting to leave but not quite sure how.
This place is small and dark
But the view is nice
And the people are good.
For a week I will live out of the suitcase
I bought at Goodwill
And hope I can afford gas in my car.
But in a week I will have a home
In three months I will have a friend
And in many years I will be a success.

All right, you.
Time to focus.
Get down to business.
It's game time, and you're dropping the ball.
Just like always.
But this time it's almost important!
So focus.
Stop distracting yourself.
Put away the cell phone
And the facebook.
Hide The Onion
And block out what you don't need.
Pay attention.
You need to pay attention so you can succeed.
Be like the other kids
And actually try.
Put your nose in that book

Oh but wait.
He needs help!
I have to help him
And make him feel better!
It's self-sacrificing!
It's okay!

No.
FOCUS.
You need to go and do this.
Take care of this first.
He's important too
But first things first.
I'll talk to you about him later young lady.
Right now you need to stop with the typing
And learn.
For once, don't be pathetic.
Don't just let stuff fall into your lap.
Ever heard of making an effort?
If you fail, you will be
A disappointment to us all.
This is the only thing you're good at
We both know it.
So are you going to tell me
That the one thing you can do,
You won't?
Pathetic.
Sad.
You are a sorry excuse for a student.

But I always do fine!
I don't need it!
Trust me.
When's the last time I suffered from my lack of effort?
Oh, that?
That's one class.
One grade.
Ok, two.
It doesn't matter in the long run!

Doesn't matter?
Is that why you are making your parents
Those who birthed and raised you
Pay thirteen thousand bucks a year for it?
Because it doesn't matter?
You are a waste of money.
They should've had a child
Who appreciated the things
They worked so hard to give.
Doesn't matter my ***.
Just go.
I'm done with you.
You disgust me.

I haven't seen you in a while.
I almost forgot the feel
Of your lips on mine
And your hand down my shorts.
Thank god you reminded me.
Parked in front of a Baptist church
I would never go to
I jump over the car seat
Involuntarily.
I'm closer to you than I have been
In a long time.
Your mouth crashes against mine
Absorbs it until there's only one.
Mitosis in reverse.
You tell me you love me
You miss me
You only want me.
I tell you the same.

We feel each other
And demonstrate our words
In front of god and all her missionaries
In front of the Baptist church
I will never attend.

I  understand.
It's my goal in life actually,
To understand people like you.
I've said that we're all a little crazy
And that I still believe.
But you are a special case.
You need to learn how to let out your disappointment.
You don't want the life you have
But it's what you've got.
You don't mean to take it out
On those you secretly love
But you can't help it.
You need to learn.
Just like I did.

She's not happy, you know.
I wish I could tell you
But I don't think you'd care.
She thought she'd be more.
She thought she'd be in love
With beautiful baby ducks all lined up
And a fabulous career.
Mansion included.
She's disappointed with life
And the dreams she left behind for us.
That's why she does this.
This was not what she wanted.
She needs a lot more
And she will never get it.
Would you be much better?

Music is the only escape I have.
Books used to be my chosen drug
But as they say, it was only my gateway.
Now I have music.
I don't have to think about anything
Just enjoy.
I guess that it's my ******.

You're snoring now.
That means you're asleep.
I wonder how drunk you were.
Do you remember
Blaming your first-born daughter
For the mistakes of you and yours?
Do you remember
Calling your first-born son
An alcoholic mental patient?
Do you remember making your children cry?
This never happens.
Maybe this is why you never drink.

I  am a goddess of the sea.
My skin is red with sun,
My hair swirls like a jetty.
My eyes are dark green from natural knowledge.

I am a goddess of the sea
And your petty rules and expectations
Have no effect
On us eternals.

I will forever be eight-teen
And have freckles on my nose
And sand in my soul.

Thank God for music.
You scream until your voice gets hoarse
And yell until you run out of words
And now I think you're crying in the next bed.
The crying breaks my heart.
But when I finally get to put on my headphones
You leave
And I have a beautiful man
Singing in my ear.
This stuff doesn't really matter.
It'll all be ok.