I've Come to the Realization...

When I'm alone, I've noticed that I'm a much more likeable person. I like me when I am aimless and dreaming and just plain talking to myself so I can figure shit out without it getting all jumbled up in my brain. For some reason, with people around I just don't like who I am. I'm far too over the top crazy to deal with the real world. I stutter. And I get so vehemently passionate that I lose myself in words that I don't want coming out of me. And I'm fake. So goddamn bloody fake. Just to avoid confrontation. I never thought I'd be like that- I cannot imagine myself admitting this a year ago. But we're all fake in front of those who watch us. And maybe it's better that way- but maybe it's only going to kill me in the long run.

Her Name is Leanan

My muse, she knows the amount of pores on my body. 

She reflects every thought and feeds on my brain. 

She sees but cannot play. She knows but cannot sing. 

Her image is perfect in my eyes alone. 

Perfect face. Perfect tits. 

I wish she were me. 

She only wants my fingers to write and my throat to sing. 

She wishes so much that it is killing me.

I will never love as I love my muse. 

But I know I’ll get to die soon. 

Oh, but how my lonely muse will die too.

We do not love for the benefit of others,
But for our own sake
We cannot see in a world of others
We keep to our own sake
And in all the angsty words of tongue and pen
I need for me
I need for me
I need for me.
The saddest are it might have been.

Lexicon

There so many words to put into context-
But I can't seem to find the right ones.
While these are simply arbitrary symbols representing arbitrary sounds,

My feelings are anything but.
I've filled pages upon pages with thought and no meaning
Unable to define this emotion.
There are no words or symbols or sounds that can truly hold a place here.
But you have filled it completely,
Closing a void in which nothing is lost.
I shall never feel empty so long as you want me.
I shall never need words again.
Alas- there is nothing left to be said.

(I)

Last night I was layin' in your bed, 
I cried myself to sleep and got the pillow wet. 
And I'm sorry, I apologize, (I'm) so sorry.
But life's been hard, yeah it's been rough,
I'm giving my all but it's ever never enough
And I'm sorry, I apologize, (I'm) so sorry.
Cigs and coffee are cheaper than therapy
I only need them to keep me company
And I'm sorry, I apologize, (I'm) so sorry.

I Was Thinkin of Sleeping Outside- A song

I literally exhausted my artistic abilities when I fell asleep sprawled out on the floor on top of my shitty crayon drawings. Eventually I moved my ass to the bed, not two feet away, where I slept for another good two hours until my Nigerian neighbors across the street started arguing loudly. I tried to sleep through it for a good ten minutes and failed miserably. So I stumbled into the living room and practically fell onto the couch.

I don't quite remember dreaming at all during this nap, although I've been having some strange dreams these days. I'd like to go back to when I didn't dream because all my dreams are about estranged acquaintances and ex boyfriends. I'm not getting along with these people in the dreams, and I hardly think of them while I'm awake. It upsets me that. My conscience chooses to dwell on my anger at these people. I'm trying really hard to let it all go but my bloody dreams won't let me.

Last night I couldn't sleep to save my life. I so badly wanted to jump out of Anthony's bedroom window. But I kept having thoughts. Just racing. I didn't know how to stop. I kept writing lyrics and music. And the words were all getting... I couldn't figure out what I was thinking of exactly. I was estranged from myself. Then I decided to have three ibuprofen after  carton of cigarettes, and half an hour of chasing sleeps, I was gone. I didn't think at all. 

You see, I was Thinking.

Without Facebook. I have lost something to complain to.

Instead of annoying the one or two friends I have to talk to about all of my dissatisfactions, I used Facebook to vent, and so if anyone felt like listening they could. And those who didn't want to bother, weren't forced to. However I became dissatisfied by the comments of those who chose to listen. Generally because those who chose to listen would do so stupidly.
But now, of the three people I talk to regularly, two are dealing with stress and I don't want to bother them.
And I've been bothering the one left over to a capacity that I believe is remarkably annoying. He hasn't told me so, but I don't know...I'd hate to seem too clingy.

I Seem to be Apart of Something

Companionship. 

The almighty sacrifice of material goods 

For the mere trade of company. 

I want this to last an eternal silent light.

Your mother promised that you were just fine. 

We are in her good graces.

Do me a favor and don't lie to me.

I can see the truth in your eyes,

Highlighted by the fear. 

We are alone, together. It keeps us from emptiness. 

Let's pack these cigarettes to burn out our innocence.

Under umbrellas of rainbow press. 

Humming fancy tunes, that stabilize solitude.

You have only been able to prove that I've got the apititude

To write lines of love.

One day...

I'll send this to you,

When you jump the gun.

Never Have I Ever

I never thought of dying.
I only realized such when I met you.
I never dreamed a nightmare.
However, I yearned to have met you
Until I learned you were pathetic.
I never loved to hate myself.
Especially when I met you.

In the Long Run

This is what happens when someone like me plans out the day.

                  Morning: Tutor my sister
                  Lunch- Must eat... grilled cheese sounds good.
                  Afternoon: Finish reading book by 3, walk to library,
                 (exercise is extremely important these days). Diddle
                 around online a bit. Apply to some jobs. Work on some
                 poetry. Feel accomplished.
                 Evening: Walk home, fix dinner. Maybe pasta. Spend
                 some quality time with the Rental...
               
Today, I made a plan, but people such as myself are lazy. I'm not even sure if lazy is the right word, because it seems to have the connotation in which laziness is intentional. And I hardly intend to be lazy. It just sort of happens.
And so I'll wake up when my sister knocks on my door...tutor her for a bit. For breakfast (which turns out to be at noon) I'll make a bagel. After my sister leaves, I'll crawl into bed and read five pages of a book before drifting into a peaceful slumber (which will be disrupted for 45 seconds at 2:38, in time to take my medication). And I'll wake around five or so, determined to return the book to the library before tomorrow. So diddle a bit to get ready. It's already 5:30. I catch a bus a 5:46 because I'm much to tired to walk at this point, and I'll only have an hour to get what I need done. No job applications. Forget about the poetry. Focus on Facebook, emil, and my daily horoscope from two different websites. I'll probably go home and watch the telly til I'm numb as rocks, and get twitchy every time my mother mentions her job. It will be More than five times. And then eventually I'll try to sleep. But we all know it's gonna be a while.






In the long run, I'll probably get to watch Jimmy Fallon tonight.
Something I haven't done in a while.
 

67 Sisson Street

The jaundice yellow tiles on my bathroom wall remind me of dried up cheese. If I owned this house I would paint some of the tiles to look like they had holes in them. That ay they’d look like dried up Swiss cheese. On the other tiles I’d paint smiley faces.

The ceiling is made up of white tiles that are slightly dirty. How dirt got up there is beyond me.

The light has been burned out for almost two months now. We have to use the mirror light because no one feels like changing the bulb. Maybe one day I’ll get around to it.

Melanoma Child

The bug spray on my legs is only making them fry in the sun's fire.
My feet are burning.

Melanoma doesn't frighten me, as it does the pasty mothers of the west. I am of the west too,
though I am different.
My skin is toasted to a light brown, protected from the sun. Pasties say this won't protect me from
UV rays.
Bob Marley even died from melanoma.
But I know the chemicals in sunscreen will give me cancer of some sort. So you know what?

I'm not gonna risk it.

Besides...
I enjoy frying in the good old sun's fire. Makes me feel whole,
like everything inside is warm and comfy. Makes me feel like I'll be alright.

So I'll let the pasties scare themselves into some miserable disease. Me...
I'm gonna be just fine.

the one girl i would ever call my wife is in a relationship faraway. 
my mother is scared that i am a lesbian. 
but the other girls are merely fuckable. and i would like to marry a man.
unless that one girl told me she loved me. and really meant it. in a way that was realer than the rain. 
i'd let her have me forever. 

TypeCast

I sit on the ottoman in my living room.
It is pushed very close to the television.
I stare at my reflection in the black screen, not bothering to turn it on this time.
The television owns me. 
I spend too much time in this room. 
My reflection is bleak.
I say to myself, "You're allowed to be happy."
But my reflection doesn't seem to believe me. 

My shadow walks on stilts.
She is a statue of grace.
Stoic towers form alters for the thigh masters.
I am a statue of grace.
They built a Parthenon in my name.
Glory they called the shadow.
She is a warrior of grace.
Statuesque in my name.
Glory they called me.
For I am she. A goddess of depression and strength.
My shadow walks on stilts.
Leaning forward to greet her subjects
Stoic in praise.
Embracing night breeze quartets in honor
Of her name.
She is a tower.
Lean with a force of rage.
I walk alone in a path of valley darkness.
Alone with my shadow
Graced among the ashes of my disciples.
My will has broken loose of mine eyes
As my battles subside.
To stand is a virtue.
To stumble is to falter is to sin.
So they called me glory be.
My name is sung from the shadows among the trees.

Slippage

Somehow, for a moment, I tricked myself into thinking that it'd be okay.
That I'm okay. Nothing is wrong, and I can be happy.
But it's been getting harder and harder to perform this trick.
I have nothing to be sad about,
Yet the small things add up. It only takes one speck of dirt to create a mountain.
Crying comes too easy now. I've always been depressed, but never...
I've never been lost.

This isn’t what I imagined.

I guess nothing ever is.

The human brain is a tricky little sliver of nature,

So many try to classify, label, name, title. I just want to let it be.

We are not more intelligent because dreams can now be interpreted,

They still cannot be achieved.

We are not better off with social networks,

Grouping friends in order of who matters more.

We all exist.

I know I’d be better off on my own,

But I need that attention, and my subconscious perceives it as affection.

It is what it is.

It just isn’t what I imagined.

It's Kind of a Funny Story...

It's funny how poets tend to spend more money than they earn on coffee and open mics.
It's funny how I get on the computer to work, but I spend all my time of Facebook re-posting pictures and quoting songs.
I read an ode to American English yesterday. It was the first time since fifth grade that I was proud to be American.
I think culture is a funny thing. The way it trains people to think. What if humans were solitary creatures? How would the world look?
It's funny how nobody asks questions but everybody has an answer. This is a general statement of course.
It's funny how people get offended by generalization but everybody wants to be included.
These are all general statements. It's easier than singling people out. And humans are all the same anyway, despite who individualistic we'd like to be.
It's funny how when you grow up, you begin to see the people you love for who they are. Not for what you expect them to be.
It's funny how we assume that we'll just end up like our parents. Even when we say we'll be better.
My mom. I love her, but I've realized that she's not as solid as I originally believed. She's only human. and we're all the same. No matter how much we'd like to think otherwise.

Chit-chat with Yunus Brings up a Memory

There are so many stars printed in the sky. We climbed through little trees and brambles, up a hill to get here. I could say that this is our spot. But I know better. This spot belongs to the city, the night, to the construction workers, and the water drums. But not to us. This empty highway. Empty, abandoned, forgotten. A highway. It travels from Elmwood through Wickeden. We lie here smoking Camel Reds and staring at the stars on I-95. We walk to Wickeden and buy refreshments at the Coffee Exchange. We speak of the present and the future; only reverting to the past to amuse ourselves. We walk to the park. I lay on a bench while everyone jumps on a swing. The four boys and myself. No swings left, so I sit on the blue chair-swing. Francis, Norlan and Anthony jabber in Spanish. Steve laughs because the foreign words amuse him. It only leaves me feeling empty and left out. I tell Anthony to keep in touch. Five years from now, we can be together again, doing exactly what we do now. 

Magnets and an Ocean

Winter breast

Urging at the storm,

Crushes mist with moon shine.

Only spring shot floods

Smear over skin

Wind cries near ships

Swimming men love drunken music

Beauty robs languid heaving blows of excellence.

I am gone.

I haven't posted in a while so I thought I'd start off with a poem. 

If you can guess what it is about I will give you a free cyber hug. If not, good. 

My hope is that years later when I'm dead and famous scholars will ask their students, "What did this mean??" 

And they will have no clue. And just a hint, it's not about the ocean...