MY MOTHER AND I IN THE CAR:

Mom: What ever happened to that boy you told me about?

Me: Oh, we kind of just stopped talking.

WHAT EACH OF US REALLY MEANT:

Mom: So, are you in some kind of secret relationship I don't know about? Are you meeting people without me hearing about it? Are you sneaking out at night to drink and do drugs and strip and sleep with boys? Do you have a love life? Tell me about everything so I can know every little detail of your life, freak out about it, obsess over it and lock you in a tower so you never ever date anyone ever or have any kind of a life because I am worried about you and I don't trust you but I love you so I am going to be as overprotective as physically possible.

Me: He turned out to be someone different than who I thought he was.
And also I don't trust you we have a terrible mother-daughter relationship and I will never confide in you because you would never understand that emotions are not logical and you are not always right mom. I love you, but I could never put my faith in you or count on you to carry me when I am broken.

it's
an idea
whose
time has come,

a myth
who has put
in the time.

some
witches
brew
a
burning
love,
and
voodoo
too.

let's
shoot
out the
light
and
vibrate
into the
darkest
of nights.

three
hundred
and
sixty
five
days
of the
year.

fire
works
explosion
juxtaposing,

a fresh
new life,
a brand
new year.

By these woods I've come, wildly green
mossy step of days, long the forest rain
refresh my breath, breathe deep of trees
hovering grey ghostly steam
the smoking warmth of sun that comes
to sing with birds, perched upon
soft sword and leather fern
laced with berries wild
and faeries good
sing green of home
they wildly roam, safe amid
the bracken woods

dear media;
my body is art.
**** your opinion and your ideals on what I should be
because I am living, breathing art.

my face shows young beauty,
inspiration and awe found in my eyes
and just beneath the pupil, a shimmer of excitement.

my lips have said so much, they seem to be so ripe with the words they speak,
they send daggers
yet stay plump and baby pink.

and what about my arms? they have endured so much,
every cut, bruise, and punch for a lonely night or the feeling of not being good enough.
they allow me to write my words;
hold those up plagued with the feeling of being alone
my arms, they are strong.

my stomach is like a mountain and
next time I'm in bed the man I'm with will understand as he
runs his fingers between every space of each rib and kisses my stomach,
down to my inner thighs and back up again.

and my thighs, still fresh and wild
dangle and jump at the mere sight of adventure
wrap around a mans waist to make him feel better and
kiss him on the cheek with the lips I spoke of before.

my brain will hold and absorb galaxies,
an endless universe unfolding before me and
i will take in each bit and dream of it at night because;

i am ambitious, diligent, strong and talented,
and yet I can still be
soft and caressed and fragile but,
media, society, never mistake my kindness for weakness because
i will take the food you feed me and spit it right out because
my body and mind is worth much more.

dear media;
my body is art,
and you will not be the artist.

conceptcollection

the metal teeth
of this year's counting,
gnash and groan,
grating slowly through...
the final hours
before, their midnight demise.

the world takes one
last look,
one more reprise....

like the overbearing actor,
one more accolade,
one more encore,
dear friends, hold me in
your heart.... once more
before i am "resting" forever

old and weary,
the day stumbles
to his wake
of a billion chemical fireflies
dancing in the night
as the adoring public sighs

and rockets blast with
daring might.
people sing refrains of
old lang syne,

a blurting, blurring drunken delight..
a bachanal of intimate sharing of iresolute promises that are,
sealed with a ***** kiss

then... old man is gone...
and in his place
a fresh hopeful face
begins tick-ticking along...

Distance holds possibilities
As life plays
With dreams yet unseen

A locked lake lies lonely,
deep beneath ice and snow.
Pieces of past still present
in delicate misty glow.
We wish to wake it.
We wish to know it.
I wish they'd leave it alone.

I think my mind calls it home.