[020]
06/06/2007 04:08 p.m.

What is it that I'm terrified of?
No -- I'm on my own now.

There are masses to back me but I
am granted an unwilling privacy.
It is over and over that I am falling
into hatred and love and
peevishness.



And if my innards battle?
I am an unwilling participant --
a lover and hater of humanity --
passive and aggressive to a fault.

I want you to be my Indian so
I can tell you I miss the desert.
I want to be your rawhide double and
burrow grainy and timid into the sand but
perhaps we're both too mild
when presented with the other.

and you can be my baby should you ever need to drink.

call it quits --
i am the blue-black dye cowgirl of a dying sect
(the dog handler of my age),
and I am smattered with conflicting desires and
obsolete quotations and
a desperate need for common decency.

aslop, lugubrious, and gravid with developing fright.

--------------------------

Kurt Vonnegut will never stop making me feel better about the world I live in.

I am currently Insecure

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[019]
06/02/2007 04:49 p.m.
some love of mine moves to
Manassas, Virginia.
he is caught drunk and unconscious and
knows little about history and hence
doesn't realize
that he is standing his ground where the first battle
of the Civil War was fought.

as the dog-handler of the teenage generation,
i find this fine;
realization is subjective and
if his innards battle it's
peachy keen by me.




in the meantime you are touching me tender.
it destroys me on the insides and
bruises up my nethers and my neck and
i remember being in love far too badly.

even if it's not with you.

---------------------------------------

really though, what am i going to do with the rest of my life?
catharsis is such a grandeous word. in the meantime i'm meeting a stranger in Orlando.
I am currently Bothered

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[018]
05/22/2007 10:06 p.m.

"and all i wanted to do was
put on my make up but --
for the life of me --
i couldn't stop crying."

i can't keep doing this.
no, seriously.
i can't keep digging my
hollow eyes into
the bones of my knees --
yours twice the protrusion --
and i can't keep telling you i love you
in return for --

all you see me for is --
i haven't kissed a man without
knowing it would --
not for months.
i haven't done anything of my own volition for months.

jealousy may be your favorite flavor
but it isn't mine.
and i don't like wearing threads
i haven't spun myself.

i don't cry for other men.
and i refuse to cry for you;
i loathe this game
and i am done.
I am currently Angry

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[017]
05/16/2007 10:17 p.m.

"please god love me."

and then, unaware,
you ate me whole. in perfect
form you swallowed
up my pink high heels and

that ripped jacket i constantly wear
and how i can't really dance unless
i've been drinking or
am a little bit in love or
am a little bit of both.

or maybe you've been drinking.

but no, you say,
i just like to have fun and
when are we going to hang out again and

oh never, baby.
you're half my width and
can hardly speak my language and
Ft. Lauderdale has never been anything but
horrifying
to me.

and my mother hates a drunkard.

and i can't play the player if
there's never been a game.

regardless of how
afar you saw me from,
thinking of all the ways to hurt you first
is a terrible way to start.



I am currently Angry

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[016]
05/14/2007 05:07 p.m.
Staring at a boy while she breathed cigarette smoke, she remembered a girl she once knew who compared blowing smoke rings to falling in love.
"It's okay," the girl would say, while blowing two, "Some people never get the hang of it."
She, on the other hand, had mostly found it easy. Formulaic and repetative and these days boring.
Except that he had started the conversation with "I'm smarter than you," and she had welcomed him to be, and had lit his Camel and thought of all the ways she could hurt him first.

By the end of the night she was down to three cigarettes and only driving half well.
And she was half detached and all bravado.

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[015]
05/02/2007 02:28 p.m.

I.
Every poem written with a basis in love
I pray –
(And staunch that prayer) –
that it may have been written with me in mind.

I want you to think of me as
A perfect creature –
(certainly nobody else does) –
the goodness in me,
I want you to consider that me
Fully and wholly.


II.
I happen to know that I am not prepared for this.
There isn’t a single inch of my body that’s in love with you
But there’s miles of half burnt tendrils
That care if you’re not with me.

I suppose it’s pride.
My ego requires constant feeding
And ravages my innards with its claws.

But.
I know I’m better than you.
I know you’re more ignorant
And have a lower tolerance for liquor
Than I have for people.

I know you’re twenty years old and going nowhere near
As far as me.


III.
I am drunk so often that I can’t think of Miami
The way that I want to.

In between scratching Cesar’s pitbull on its pate
And swallowing grateful mouthfuls of Blue Moon,
I wonder why I was raised in a way
That prohibits me from discerning Honduran men
From Borinquenos.

I have never fought with anyone
The way you do;
Snuck up on them terrible-like
And let loose,
The strongest coward I know.

All I can do is repeat
Unfeeling
The automatic words of love my insides just can’t fathom

and you’re too far away to be Hialeah anymore.


IV.
As a woman of smoke and mirrors
Who’s gotten used to breaking quickly,
I want you to know how often I have stumbled,
And somehow only ever thought of you.

Occasionally I search various places for your name;
Ft. Lauderdale, Miami,
And come up empty.


V.
I have lost the ability for catharsis.
I blame the way you love me
And still throw me to the dogs.



I am currently Restless

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[014]
04/30/2007 10:00 a.m.
And they say "Baby girl,
don't you worry 'bout a thing,"

"The way you can't remember how to breathe or chew,
it's peachy keen."
I am currently Indifferent

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[013]
04/29/2007 08:20 p.m.

so he says to me, he says "you know, you're really not that pretty."

and i tells him, i says, "so you've figured me out? how i'm just smoke and mirrors and an impeccable resume?"

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No, seriously.
04/24/2007 02:53 p.m.

i feel disgusting about myself.
no seriously.

i'm over WLRN and
questions about my life.
probably all you want from me is
sex and maybe
someone to do drugs with --

maybe not.
the way chaos turns to spring turns to autumn --

my mouth is a half-open mass of scar-tissue
veined rippling in a grin 'round my skull
the boy i love gets into a car wreck
and says he thought of me.

supposedly a lot of people need me
but never turn their cheek,
how do you do?
if all you want is company,
why can't you keep mine?

when all i want to do is suck you dry.


Author's Note: Seems un-library worthy.

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[012]
03/14/2007 01:19 a.m.
Three of my poems (Andres Talks to the City, The Importance of Circumstance Date and Time, and Why They Used to Preach in Latin) won National Gold Key in Scholastics. For my small collection (i.e. not a portfolio), it's the highest award I could have won.

Crazy stuff.
I am currently Blessed

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