The very first thing I learned about you was your ex-communication from Mormonism. Did you really try teaching a preschool class that Jesus was a Rastafarian? Or was that one of your many big fish tales told to me over the years?

This was when you were only a mischievous high-schooler. Not the cynic you are today, worn down after choosing the safest choices life can offer. When did a clever person like you acquiesce to such homogeneity? Somewhere between your Economist-reading days in undergrad and law school? I know you claim the reason was something about getting your heart broken one too many times. And yes, I know I whacked it around like a pinata... as you did mine. Because that's what reckless kids do. Will you ever accept this as an excuse? Or will you always use it as the reason to avoid my calls?

Back at the age of 15, though, you could do no wrong. A shy smile was all you'd see from me, but I'd go to bed dreaming of all of the clever things I wanted to say to you. My friends would later say you exploited your teaching role as my debate tutor... but me? I was totally, utterly, and blissfully enamored by your explanation of Foucault and FoPo. I'm convinced the reason you fell in love with me was because I wrote a letter to Crayola pretending to be 5 in hopes of getting a free pack of crayons. You liked that kind of smart *** behavior because it was the kind of stuff that made you come alive. Which reminds me... do you still have the "#1 bestseller" sign you swiped from the grocery store? You wore it in your back pocket while wearing your "I spoil my grandkids" t-shirt.

How appropriate that our first kiss was on the debate room couch. I'm glad kissing was, in fact, better for you with your braces removed. And how appropriate that my first date was you taking me to the high school musical, "Kiss Me Kate."

What is it about first loves that make even the most mundane so magical? I can't tell you the number of times I looked out the window in hopes of seeing your red Ford Escort pull up. It took my breath away more than any Mercedes could. Who knows what we'd do when you did come over--probably play Donkey Kong Country, or watch some ironic movie like Donnie Darko. If nobody was home we'd make out to the Disney "Fantasia" soundtrack.

Back then you were always intrigued with the whimsical. Nowadays it's 1940s classics, malt scotch and Coachella concerts. I think your career ***** you so dry of life that you overcompensate with your expensive tastes. The wildest you'd ever get was smoking a hookah. But the guy I remember? He liked pocket watches, Rufus Wainwright, and Harry Connick Jr. I know you're a responsible tax-paying adult now, but I still see you as the wild-eyed wholesome troublemaker you once were. I prefer you that way, even if it's mentally dishonest of me.

Since you, men have wined and dined me at world-renowned resorts and have taken me to presidential *****. But none of these dates have given me the same rush of euphoria as sneaking out and spending the night with you in the home you were house-sitting: That night, we were a pair of 16-year-old rebels. At least we didn't get caught by the cops making out in the high school's agriculture department parking lot. That would happen in a few months' time.

Then you left for college, to gain an education and have experiences that sounded overwhelming for my sheltered ears. It didn't matter that I left for Europe that year--you had left for college, which was a distance in my head that couldn't be measured geographically.

I could recall a thousand barbs exchanged from then until we both finished college: you dated her. I dated him! We made promises. We broke promises. You'd come home for summer. We relished in the relatively new-found art of *******, mostly perfected on each other in our youth. We'd hate each other. We'd love each other. Your friend would hate me; my sister would hate you. On it would go.

But there were such sweet times. We saw Harry Potter together and we sat on my roof, imagining that one night could stretch til forever as we looked up at the stars. It was then that you dedicated Coldplay's "Yellow" to me. And no expression of love was greater than seeing you in the back of the auditorium, waiting to drive me home after my 6th period drama class.

I honestly don't know the person you are today. Sure, you give me snippets. Usually when some girl breaks your heart and you need to vent. In truth, I know you saw me as your plan B. Always. Shame on me for playing that part so beautifully for so long. Could we have worked out, you and me? I smile, knowing that some things from the past should stay firmly rooted where they are. There would always be a part of me that would feel like that freshman trying to impress you, a senior. All the while I wouldn't feel funny enough, cool enough, witty enough by comparison. No, we simply wouldn't work.

You know the rule, about loving your family because they're the only one you've got? I think the same is true with first loves. When I reflect on our oh-so-ordinary relationship, you--I mean, US: we weren't so great. Nothing special.

But my heart sure seems to think you were... even after all of these years.

"If you wake up this morning believing that saying
a few Latin words over your pancakes will turn them
into the body of Elvis Presley, you have lost your mind."

He has often asserted that the thing is absurd:
that someone who does not (whether out of hatred, indifference,
lack of conviction, or frankly *whatever)
accept traditional dogmas
is still, for some reason, capable of wishing that they could.

I think he is right; I’ve heard a staunch atheist say “If only
I could, but I cannot.” So, this is why he aligns himself
as an anti-theist: he simply
was never properly convinced.
This position seems (at least to me) well-supported,

for anyone can quite readily (and easily)
accept what their father or their clergyman has said
(especially as a child, not knowing any better).
Thus, to be an atheist
one must have first acknowledged supernatural power

and then later, after a bit of thought, dismissed it. In light
of this, I propose a toast to the Real Skeptic,
the one who was never really convinced;
of it. The one who, when celebrating the Eucharist,
wondered why God wanted to be eaten,

who , when receiving Christ,
thought of the extreme certainty by which other faiths'
devotees (Islam, Heaven's Gate,
Mormonism, Bon,
Cargo Cults, Shinto, Falun Gong)

live and preach – some even delighted to die.
Thoughts like these always made me feel uneasy as a child
because how could I hope to keep my little mind
from accidentally discovering fallacy after fallacy? So, here is a toast
to the Unconvinced, who can’t possibly help but not believe.

In account of extreme conditions
The biographical sketching of
A Father spending all for the family
I fear the unknown & embrace

Essential to fail for the risk in
The end is the only true thing
That matters more than the world
Hold my hands dear child - Jump!

Inheritance of a soul
The body left behind
An entrance made of coal
On the horizon rests the stayed' line

A tending breath
Upon a supple breast
Where the young tests its best
Only to see history squirm
In its placid need for unrest
A night is only known
When the sun sets for its own atone

A breath for the naked
For the weary know no love
I press a kiss upon foggy
And see my mother's ancient face
She is young - no - she is old
She is everything that mother before
Her needed and wanted

Have I gone mad in these invisible words?
Do I press my own peoples lodged' souls
Within the caverns of my made body?
Are we in control anymore?
Have we ever been?
Are the questions of the age to Frank to
Be answered, for the youth is to young?

And the pressing of the wicked witch
Makes the toes of the frogs of centuries lore
In forgotten mythology of Crumbs masterpiece
Accept all that was forgotten from a mailbox of scrutiny
In turns we take the sisters we did not want
For mormonism is for the buyers of sires

The horn of the forgotten taxi driver
Whistles as they hear the virgins weep
The bottles bash against the dead of the street
And the neat clink their deadliest China
So all in all we are the same in the eyes God

And the only thing I need
Is a one way ticket to the bar
And the thing I see isn't too far
I gotta' keep on moving baby
I'll get there, it won't be very long

So take my heart, you see it there?
It's the one with the whiskers and
The eyes of pearly blue
And you know my mother? Her
Name ends with the sound of Sue

In the wind is the way of the forefather's
I make what you want if you got the price
We argue and we swear
In a world of injustice, we strive to be fair
Take a dollar from my pocket, see if I care

I'm alone now and without voice
Bear a child and see if you have choice
I'm no veteran, the bullets doth not know me
When the sun rises, assign my heart to flee
The night rests upon my weary shoulders
And the Parisian night falters in mine own view
It's majesty flickers upon my tongue like a  lightning bug

Poetry is a dangerous dance where the God's lead with left feet.

Tangled up again...I couldn't keep myself from the haze and lift that it brings me. I channel thoughts. Giving my addiction excuse to focus on one thing or nothing at all. I could do both. The bowl in my hand is fading. Knuckles bleeding. Stomach wrenching. A life left me. Expecting it to leave maybe 8 months from now but things change. So do people. Let the smoke fill the space between my ears...take me to my little boy. Let me see his smile in my mind. I need it after tonight.

Losing sight of love and this was one I crippled myself for. I loved him for 7 years of my youth. My sparring partner and greatest obsession of the opposite ***. He taught me how to take and give a hit. In more ways than one. Denounced Mormonism and traded it in for something that I thought would last longer than faith. Futile love is always the craze in any generation. Who was I to deny that right of passage? See where I'm getting at?

First to fall for and first to chase. This boy and I took refuge in each other's warped sense of affection. He loved others, of course, while keeping a watchful eye on those I would converse with. They could look but not touch what he had claimed as his. And I was, for all intents and purposes. He was my first for it all. His eyes were the first to glance past the baby fat and crooked teeth. His voice was the first to laugh at the awkward things I'd mumble out. He'd tell me that he loved me before I was pretty.

I became pretty? In the mind of who I imagined to be flawless. Even in the spiraled trap of puberty, he was coveted by the raging hormones of all teenage girls. I wasn't spared. Yet, grateful that I eventually could contest with the face I was consistently in awe with. I let him in me when I found myself to be worthy of his complete touch. He waited 6 years so the boy had been through enough to be rewarded by my maiden's head breach.

God, it wasn't what I expected. I ached and squirmed but not out of pleasure. It hurt worse than getting kicked in the face. I struggled, asked for patience and found that he could choose not to hear me. And out of love, I bit my tongue and closed my eyes. Find a happy place. Find a happy place. Turns out the things I tried to forget from childhood resurface in the most familiar ways. Felt the same but different face. Smell of sweat and iron grip. I braced myself to keep the memory in and I managed.

After that it was no more than just a rip. Healing took faster with each ****** of desire he blessed me with. I know I sound like an idiot. Only because I was back then. I also cringe at who I was. Thinking of forever and the like. Blah blah blah. He filled me with more than just his light. Unknowingly accepting it. How could something as sturdy as latex tear? The mystery of the century.

Right around the time he lit up my first joint was about the time I came down with an illness...of sorts. His magic cure was herb. Helps with the nausea. I puffed and held like a champ. Never coughing and receiving the initiative background laugh. I was apart of his pack now. Who needs family anymore when you surround yourself with strangers with an itch and a twitch that can only subside with powders and pills? I could be one of them. Scars and bruises already proved me in.

They never saw a chick hit the way I did. I had the humor of a brother and the swing of a boxer. Perfect combination of a couple. He would show me like a bleeding trophy and I stood proud to be his. Until the sickness got worse. You could guess why. Took me by surprise when the *** stick sentenced me to impregnation. I remember being in shock but smiling none the less. Not even 18 yet and was going to have his namesake in my belly.

Still, I knew him well. Loved and accepted him all the same but...I knew how that game was played. I was pro choice, but loving the child too much to choose that alternative, I saved as much till as I could. I would make a break for it and tell no one. Nothing in my minor name so it'd be easy to leave without a trace. And telling him was already made clear as a bad decision. I would do what had to be done...run to have a chance with my son. I always knew he'd be a boy. Overjoyed and I named him prior to him fully growing. Dillon Quinn Lane. It was perfect for who I'd guide him to be in my imagination.

A month passed without showing and my bank account looked less empty. Downsizing slowly the belongings I had to make the extra cents rise a little without doing the same with my parents suspicion. Or his. Kept my distance as much as I could considering the life I had been recently welcomed to. Confided in one person...it should have been less than that. Word travels fast but I didn't give blunt details and I was safe in saying maybe and not definite. The one I loved wouldn't have any part of it and I would ask for nothing. Turned out his fear started to churn to reclaim his youth before I'd steal it away.

Confronted. Denying and screaming louder with each pulse of sound. He suspects my womb to have opened for vacancy and I show him my ******* in response. That's all the answer he needed without a solid statement from my end of things. A fist to the gut....
No...
Hunched over, cradling who was too small to cradle. Too blind with tears to see the stairwell. He nudge and gravity did the rest. Classic miscarriage. I guess we went as far as we could go in this relationship. I thought quietly at the bottom of those steps.

Afterwards, I gave myself permission to lose my mind. Joined the **** life for fun but now I lived it to die. Tried anything I could get my hands on and grieved numb. Small stretch marks left behind from my little one...he left a small part of himself on me to love. Dillon Quinn. His conception was wanted by only one and I would loved him enough for 100 or more.

Every year around this time I think of him still. Curly hair? Crooked teeth or straight. Would have just turned 6. I now realize the life I wouldn't have been able to give and still I'm wishing and willing him to at least live. Reincarnate to others. Both a mother and father who loved him like no other child could fathom love. He would deserve it after what his previous parents had done. And now I'm too scared to even try again even on purpose. Feeling like I betray him when I don't speak his name aloud.

Clearly, I have some issues to steady out and stabilize. I'm a cynic now and most things I've done and seen no longer phase me to drama. I know who I am and I don't plan on becoming anyone different. Still, if you see a little boy like mine, tell him mommy says hi.

It's been almost a month. Not one drop of alcohol, not one puff of ****, not one moment outside of sobriety. Over two months without ****. The tiny, bright-eyed black girl with the halo who hangs out on my left shoulder is the happiest she's been since Mormonism. The ***** with the horns- my righthand gal- scowls and shouts "WHAT'S THE POINT!?"
Some days go by without much bitterness, but none without any at all. Am I an alcoholic? Probably not. Am I a nymphomaniac? Probably not. Am I severely affected by my choice to remain sober and celibate? Bet your ***.
The truck keeps me sober. The memories keep me celibate. I'm responsible enough to stay off the bottle and pipe while driving this rig, and I'm angry enough about my luck with men to stay off ****. Inebriation suited me well, even when it was Jesus who held the lighter. Now, I'm sober once again, with my thoughts, with my *******.
Jesus is a hell of a drug, though. When you believe that this life gives way to something beautiful, and that angels can hear you, and that a good heart is rewarded, you get pretty high. Lifted, some might say.
I was easily dissuaded. Not by the truth, but by the hands of Satan himself. Snakes are thin and clever, and have a deliberate way of moving. He slithered over my body, slowly, starting at my waist. We danced to swing music, and He didn't follow the steps. He was loose with drink, and grabbed my ***. Now, I don't know if you've ever had your *** grabbed by Satan, but it leaves a mark. I'm still not sure if it ever fades. Probably not.
Every part of me that He touched, kissed, pulled, licked, grabbed, bit, all scorched and filthy. If Jesus is a drug, Satan is strong drink. He is liquid fire, drowning every pore in poisonous bliss. Jesus wants no part of it. Jesus warned me that Satan never satisfies, only teases. He warned me that I would become Satan's slave if I let Him touch me. Worse than that, I let Him **** my face. I let Him ****** His burning **** down my throat with its heat intoxicating me beyond any drug or poison I'd had before or since. I let Him bury His face between my thighs and send me into a fit of hysterical giggling after ******. He sat His throne and observed me writhing on the floor before Him. I no longer belonged to Jesus, and He knew it. This pleased him greatly.
I gave myself to drink shortly after, for Satan stopped giving me pleasure. I gave myself to petty, unfulfilling *** with many strangers. I gave myself to wickedness that never tasted as good as his **** or felt as good as his tongue. He silently laughed and watched from a distance, admiring His handiwork. I would plead at His altar frequently, touch me, **** me, take me, please! and he would only laugh, stroking his **** to tease me. He needed not my body. My desperation was His only goal.
I am now in a state of wretchedness, hoping for redemption. Satan has me still, but I long to be free of him. Jesus would have me back, I know it, but I may not want a master. I have many chains yet to shed. The pleasure I once felt in the Hell I mistook for a game room haunts my resolve. I fear that Satan will tempt me again once He sees the burns healing, but I know His face now. I know His hands. I know His voice, and heat, and music. I know the pain of leaving Jesus for a devil who feeds on my hysteria.
I'm longing to be free woman, but ****, do I need a drink...

environmentalism/nauturism/animism, latitudinarianism, cancerism, corporatism/corporativism, bureaucratism, governmentalism, devilism/satanism/diabolism/demonism, nudism, feudalism/serfism, universalism, conceptualism, defeatism, filibusterism, groupism, globalism, collectivism, centralism, communalism, internationalism, mercantilism/Americanism, utopianism, Illuminism, Fabianism, totalitarianism, mobbism/gangsterism, militaryism/militarism/ warlordism, imperialism, liberalism, statism/ stateism, fascism, authoritarianism, hucksterism, botulism, priapism, polydactylism, Mormonism, evolutionism/Darwinism/Lamarckism, dereism, ******/Naziism, Marxism, Bolshevism, Owenism, maturism, czarism/tsarism, eugenism, tokenism, albinism, pauperism, subversivism, battarism, Caesarism, Hitlerism, Rooseveltism, Leninism, Slavophilism/Slavism, Sovietism, Stalinism, Trotskyism, Titoism, Malthusianism/Neo-Malthusianism, mysticism, monarchism, regicidism, sciolism, socialism, Maoism, communism, absolutism, poplarism, Cahenlyism, Pollyannaism/Pollyannism, pedestrianism, homosexualism/lesbianism/sapphism, voyeurism, cultism/occultism, sectionalism, unicism, cronyism, mentalism, elitism, Hegelism/Hegelianism, fatalism, humanism/humanitarianism/existentialism, popeism, transvestism, Occamism/Ockhamism/nominalism, nihilism, neoterism, nephalism, Negroism, Neptunism, scientism, euphemerism, minimalism, alarmism, favoritism, rheumatism, infantilism, miserabilism, hoydenism, physicism, toadyism, rowdyism, aristocratism, loyalism, rightism/leftism, Mongolism, sadism/ masochism, plebeianism/plebianism, polyphalangism, simplism, quixotism, recidivism, selfism, alcoholism, synorchism/synorchidism, esoterism/esotericism, revisionism, hedonism, plagiarism, sophism, Indianism, Parkinsonism, timonism/Aristotelianism, barbarism, mercurialism, deism, narcissism, fetishism/fetichism, hypocorticalism, mitralism, bossism, ethnocentrism, multiculturalism, hierarchism, polygenism, mutacism/mytacism, narcotism/narcoticism, hermaphrodism/hermaphroditism, hylopathism, hyperadrenalism, catadicrotism, entorganism, invalidism, vampirism, ergotism, prostatism, hepatism & nepotism.

Just the last twenty years alive god damit.  Luckily japan let Russia read.  
Some speed reading skinny girl conjoined with Mormonism.  
I never even had the pleasure to puddle jump across a Yakima sess pool.  Ah tater tots!  Ah  cheap i pod!  
Let me belive getting by has a latter upwards.  I'm dreaming!  She works window 4.  No hi.  No how's Johnny.  
It was only step rite up before you have the count down to blink.   Mrs.  I sat by   Ago I can't pronounce your husbands weird name.  Mr clean tell your son to mop floors with his head.
Someone needs to wet that cloax infestation.  Mr creep?  Have a women guard the bathroom next time you really ****.  I heard children playing.

so i’m now 24 yrs old
most of my life consists of work, but i’ve been calling in more ever since July 4th of last year, when i had a miscarriage. that experience changed me in a lot of ways, and unfortunately caused me to call in or take off a day. i’ve never been like that, i’ve always been very reliable, never called in. idk i guess the miscarriage made me mature more in a way. i don’t feel completely the same. but i’ve already committed to never being late (always early) to work, and not calling in for the rest of the year. so there should be no other issue there. but i feel like maybe i should get some sort of degree in a field there will always be a job. maybe become certified in my current occupation. or start over with something like becoming a dental hygienist, or embalming or pet training or maybe something simple like a barista haha..idk what to do.
but i guess the main goal now is to get into shape for the beach in july, i’m soooo excited/nervous. the only time i’ve been to the beach and have seen the ocean was when i was suuuuper young like 5 yrs old, maybe. so i hardly remember it, so this is the first time i’ll visit the ocean in my adult life, um yes. excited. it’s a superficial goal to get beach body ready, but i’ll look good which will make me feel confident to just forcus on socializing and relaxing. beach stuff, i guess? yes :) also i need to make appointments for my jaw (TMJ) bone loss, deviated septum, and restricted airway, and a dental appointment, and a knee specialist. i desperately need a hair cut, but i also want to dye it. i’m seriously thinking ashy light silvery gray. idk if that’ll look good but that’s what i’m thinking!! except i wouldn’t be surprised if i default to black or red out of stress in trying the unknown. i also want layers in my hair, or long side bangs. i want to get all of my family members presents this year. i want to get in a mf hot tub at some point. i want to rock climb. i want my eyebrows microbladed and possibly some freckles..... and eyelash extensions. i want to finally read those threee books i have. i want to finish this letter about mormonism. i want to completely stop self harming. or at least go longer than 6 months without it. i want to possibly do boxing, it would be very good for me.
so those are my own personal goals, and i could get it all done soooo quick but my anxiety really gets in the way. i just don’t like going outside and people looking at me. it’s lame and stress-inducing. idk i just want to find out what’s going on with my body, it hurts all over especially my face from my jaw.
there has been a slight shift in how i perceive this world and my life. i’m pretty much banking on reincarnation because i fuuuuucked up a lot already.

Thank you kindly coincidence
80s rock N' roll
Mr. Michael Dirda
Wonder Used Books

The torment of Harvey Dent
Mormonism is crazy
Prayers for Mike and Steve
Busboys and cooks

The sound of passing traffic
Peacefully sleeping son
Done? Selah. Done.
Gonna move my rooks

Not much. Quiet. Lonely.
Curse on Crawford, Texas
I still like San Antonio
The way the feather looks

                    Flying

I feel that the needs of the needful aren't being minified by environmentalism/nauturism/animism, latitudinarianism, cancerism, corporatism/corporativism, bureaucratism, governmentalism, devilism/satanism/diabolism/demonism, nudism, feudalism/serfism, universalism, conceptualism, defeatism, filibusterism, groupism, globalism, collectivism, centralism, communalism, internationalism, mercantilism/Americanism, utopianism, Illuminism, Fabianism, totalitarianism, mobbism/gangsterism, militaryism/militarism/ warlordism, imperialism, liberalism, statism/ stateism, fascism, authoritarianism, hucksterism, botulism, priapism, polydactylism, Mormonism, evolutionism/Darwinism/Lamarckism, dereism, ******/Naziism, Marxism, Bolshevism, Owenism, maturism, czarism/tsarism, eugenism, tokenism, albinism, pauperism, subversivism, battarism, Caesarism, Hitlerism, Rooseveltism, Leninism, Slavophilism/Slavism, Sovietism, Stalinism, Trotskyism, Titoism, Malthusianism/Neo-Malthusianism, mysticism, monarchism, regicidism, sciolism, socialism, Maoism, communism, absolutism, poplarism, Cahenlyism, Pollyannaism/Pollyannism, pedestrianism, homosexualism/lesbianism/sapphism, voyeurism, cultism/occultism, sectionalism, unicism, cronyism, mentalism, elitism, Hegelism/Hegelianism, fatalism, humanism/humanitarianism/existentialism, popeism, transvestism, Occamism/Ockhamism/nominalism, nihilism, neoterism, nephalism, Negroism, Neptunism, scientism, euphemerism, minimalism, alarmism, favoritism, rheumatism, infantilism, miserabilism, hoydenism, physicism, toadyism, rowdyism, aristocratism, loyalism, rightism/leftism, Mongolism, sadism/ masochism, plebeianism/plebianism, polyphalangism, simplism, quixotism, recidivism, selfism, alcoholism, synorchism/synorchidism, esoterism/esotericism, revisionism, hedonism, plagiarism, sophism, Indianism, Parkinsonism, timonism/Aristotelianism, barbarism, mercurialism, deism, narcissism, fetishism/fetichism, hypocorticalism, mitralism, bossism, ethnocentrism, multiculturalism, hierarchism, polygenism, mutacism/mytacism, narcotism/narcoticism, hermaphrodism/hermaphroditism, hylopathism, hyperadrenalism, catadicrotism, entorganism, invalidism, vampirism, ergotism, prostatism, hepatism & nepotism.

Mormonism freaks me out
Brigham Young had 56 wives
And 57 children.
It's American ******.

But I remember Mike and Steve
Their mom listening to Neil Diamond
Susan Lindsay was a sweetheart
Her mention of Heavenly Father

They say the people of Charleston
Are like the Chinese
They eat rice
And worship their ancestors

I was there one night
Gentle warm breeze
Churches lit up
I walked to the water

Protective prayers for her son
Nitnoy joy for her daughters

                     Open.