The Journal of Trisha De Gracia|
Quite possibly the most beautiful song about adultery ever...
12/03/2008 11:37 p.m.
i held you like a lover
and your elbow in the appropriate place
and we ignored our others' happy plans
for that delicate look upon your face
our bodies moved and hardened
hurting parts of your garden
with no room for a pardon
in a place where no one knows what we have done
do you come
together ever with him?
is he dark enough
enough to see your light?
do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
do you miss my smell?
is he bold enough to take you on?
do you feel like you belong?
does he drive you wild?
or just mildly free?
what about me?
you held me like a lover
and my foot in the appropriate place
we used cushions to cover happy glands
and the mild issue of our disgrace.
Our minds pressed and guarded
while our flesh disregarded
the lack of space for the light-hearted
in the boom that beats our drum
and i know i make you cry
i know sometimes you wanna die
but do you really feel alive without me?
if so be free
if not, leave him for me
before one of us has
for we are in l-...
-Damien Rice. Haven't Heard it? Hear it. Go.
Oh my gosh she's enagaged!!!
11/23/2008 09:22 p.m.
One of my best people, best people in the entire world, one of those people who just gets you and loves you and embraces all your oddities and flaws is getting married!! She's getting married to a guy who makes her SO happy, SO giddy, so much the definition of in love. I feel like I'M getting married, I'm so happy for her. I'm so happy for her. No guy will ever find a better wife. She's gonna be a wife!!! Oh my god! I remember all the high school fiascos and secret notes and birthday surprises.... and now she's getting married. She's going to be a bride and she's going to be gorgeous... well she's already gorgeous... but I'm happy. Way happy. SO happy. Valley-girl voice, 3 octaves up happy.
Oh yeah, and I'M the maid of honour!
This is a big deal. A very, very big deal.
I am currently Thunderstruck
I am listening to Alton Brown talk about soy beans
3 questions for Pathetic poets like me....
10/25/2008 05:14 a.m.
How often is it that you write a poem, and then at the last second re read and delete the whole thing?
And do you write directly in the site window, or on your own in a paper journal and then edit and edit and then transfer it here?
I don't think I've ever posted a poem that I worked on longer than 1 hour or so. Is that odd?
08/13/2008 07:39 a.m.
Grr! I've tried to write the sequel to "I.One small crack..." about three time now and three times I've erased the thing. It's in there, somewhere. I guess all the pieces aren't in place yet. All the ingredients aren't in the pot. One minute I feel like I have so much to say, but inevitably, fingers to the keyboard and it vanishes. Poof. I hate not being able to write. It's insanity.
This makes me livid.
06/27/2008 07:05 a.m.
When I was there the night before with the 19 year old with bright eyes and clean clothes, the hospial ticked like clockwork. "Sexual assault? Ok, we'll get a nurse to you right away." And they did, and thank god for that. But show up with a frail old woman with broken fucking ribs and the clothes she was raped in, dingy and homeless and looking like an addict, and it takes 2 hours for a goddamn nurse to take a fucking look at her? What the fuck is WRONG with people? What the fuck does it matter if she's off the street? Or a drug user for that matter? Is it ok to take advantage of people who's lives have turned out different from our own? Would they have let the sweet 19 wheeze through broken ribs and a torn up face without so much as a goddamn advil? This woman walked across the fucking town with broken ribs and the whole 9 yards just to get to a shelter where the people recognized her and would call for help. Just to find a place where someone would help. And this is AFTER the hospital was through with her. They didn't even call the police to drive her down to the shelter. What the fuck kind of society am I living in? Christ.
I am currently Violent
Doctor Trisha De Gracia
05/06/2008 07:04 p.m.
It's really, truly here now.
"I'd like to be a doctor"
"I'm a pre-medical student"
"I'm trying to get into med school"
"I'm trying desperately to twist circumstance around my finger in order to prove to myself and my family that a middle-class Harewood girl can jump the hoops necessary in order to become a human being in charge of the heartbeats and inhalations of other human beings."
I pick up the pencil. Pick up a book. It starts, always, with words on a page. Years and years, and still more years to come. Scrawled notes, recited like the lines of a play, recorded faithfully alongside other sweating hopefuls in testing rooms across the country. A collective upswelling, a surging forth of dreams and hopes and perseverance, discipline and desperation, all towards the golden doors that lead to middle of the night wake up calls by not a faithful lover, arms outstretched, but a fickle mistress, a pager on the nightstand, a call to arms. Suit up in green cotton armor, pick up your scalpel, march in like a force all the while you're chest is whining and thudding, a corralled stallion or an angry bee up against the glass of a jar. Clear the mind, slide the blade (never push), go placid and semi-robotic. Life, the teetering culprit, stirring and pulsing beneath every stroke.
I am currently Calm
02/08/2008 05:16 a.m.
10/23/2007 05:24 a.m.
Make it a good one... leave it down there at the bottom of the page :) C'mon, I dare ya!
I am currently Creative
10/19/2007 02:48 a.m.
There's definitely something better in me, hiding in the recesses. I've been typing an assignment for 3 hours. Started tonight, due tomoroow. I swear to God this site has made me a better writer, a more analytical person, but with the ability to recognize what works. Because we've all read the poems we've made that work, those that don't, and those that just barely pass the threshold we allow for ourselves.
I miss the good old days here. I've read some poems lately that have so many comments it's hard to find the bottom, so many ratings is phenomenal, and I get psyched like I'm about to read an Aiko Scott or a Ryan Heidorn (or countless others good and gone), but then I see a cute a picture or a wacky font. Don't get me wrong, these things are great when they aren't gimmicky. One of my newest is a concrete poem. But I hate it when writers make their work into a flashy, eye catching little ditty that doesn't speak to the actual meaning of the poem. And its worse when the poem isn't all that great either. These poems turn into Walmarts of the e-poetry world: lots of advertising for banal but generally consumable goods. Just to be clear I'm not targeting anybody in particular. I'm sure we're all guilty of it at some point or another, or else we don't have the html skills to be guilty (that'd be me, and trust me, I remember the days where I was like 'dammit! if only I knew how to upload a sweet graphic'. I would have then if I could have). I've seen it alot on other sites too, not just here. But it gets to me now. It really does. I'm not saying every poem with a picture is a bad one. FAR FROM IT. In lots of cases the picture truly does accentuate the language, or reveals a facet the words didn't. But honestly, if you're gonna dress it up, make sure it can speak for itself first. You shouldn't need (key word NEED) a picture to convey your images.
In my opinion. But what do I know :P Just had to get that off my chest. I guess that's what happens when you've been boring your eyeballs into prose for better part of an evening, haha.
Alright, well, that said, I don't feel the need to keep typing.
I am currently Better
I am listening to John Mayer
09/29/2007 03:02 a.m.
She wrote like no one I've ever read before, inspires me constantly. Check out the first page of my library for the URL. Read her for inspiration, for pleasure, for a different world to slip into. The feeling I get reading her poems is the way I want to make other people feel.
Plus, the girl's a living thesaurus. Have one on hand (inanimate if you must) before you venture off into those woods. The thing about the poems though is tat even if you don't know what the hell she's talking about A) yo look it up and it makes sense, and B) it's beautifully put together regardless of whether it's easy to chew.
This could spark me again, set me off, set me writing.
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