May7

Caskets and Coffins.

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She moved her hands carefully over the ivory white fabric, it looked so smooth, I wanted to lay all over it. I wanted it to brush against the tiny hairs on my upper arms, I felt my skin tingle and little goosebumps prickled over my breasts and down my back. I pressed the tips of my fingers over my thumbs and ran them back and forth, they felt dry. I imagined the tiny ridges of my finger tips ripping across the delicate threads that had been so carefully woven together. I destroy everything I touch. Just another reminder of all that I do wrong.
She asked me if I was sure this is what I wanted. I leaned close to the fabric and pressed my lips against it, it was so soft and clean. I sighed, and nodded without opening my mouth. I’ve decided to minimize how much I talk, I think in the next year I will be able to completely avoid using my voice, but will anyone hear me then? I’m not even sure it’s worth a try. I feel high today, I think it’s partly my sadness but also the pills to help me deal with the sadness…maybe I took too much. I took on too much, sadness I mean. I need a little love to ease this pain, and distancing myself from everyone isn’t really helping but no one is asking me if I’m okay, so that’s a plus. I walk in circles and pace around the front of the shop while papers are being typed and printed. I get lost in lyrics and words and wonder if anyone else I know has had this very moment, felt like I feel, I feel like I’m floating, My sandals slide over the smooth wood floor and I look down at the shinny sealed strips of perfectly dark and rich wood. Everything feels intensified…I must be high, or maybe I’m dying. My broken heart has finally given up on me and decided to leave. I wish, for one moment that I was picking out the fabric to my wedding dress. And then I remember why I came. I smile to myself, I have a good working imagination, but it won’t help me escape from this, not today.

Apr29

Wires Crossed

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-I took this out of my, still untitled book, it didn’t fit in the section I wanted it to, and besides the bits about the Mother being an addict, it hits too close to home. It feels too personal, maybe it was something I lived, or came close to living. It’s a mother daughter moment, mother daughter relationships are very tricky, I’m finding, by living this as a mother and a daughter. Very complicated, one of the rare relationships that can make you or break you…

“I offer half answers with heavy eye lids and I speak to her mouth, which can still be a little unnerving even if her pupils are small. And through my partial sobriety where I don’t trust anything, not even a sturdy wall, we keep connected and it makes it easier to press through each day, and out of all my intentions this feels the most honorable. I trace the hem of my shirt with my longest finger nail and patiently wait at the back door by the table. My lackluster performance at pretending that I care isn’t paying off and my thoughts linger on how we got our wires crossed. This feels more like a dance and we’re both trying to take the lead. My most significant relationship since the family decided to leave and it can all be boiled down to how we’re both too tired to disagree. I like all this consistency but it’s not me and after a few weeks everyone around will start to see through my song and dance, and knowing my heart and head I’ll get stuck on arguments we should have had. This lack of passion and progress makes the relationship we share a lot like walking in place when you’re trying to get somewhere. I silently decide that I’ll wait for a good time to go, she eyes me over and I can tell she wishes I was less like her. At some point she’ll demand to know what’s wrong and why I don’t feel the same, I’ll ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She’ll brush her hair out of her face before she starts to admit that she’s sick of me, I’ll sit back and listen without ever speaking up about how happy I am that she finally grew a spine. We’ll go back and forth and she’ll tell me that maybe I should get some help. Maybe I should, but maybe I shouldn’t, maybe I’ll wait until it’s too late, I really like to procrastinate. I roll this thought around in my head and decide to leave it with everything else that’s too important, yet left unsaid. She’ll ask me if I’m listening and question my level of self care, I’ll think about it and tell her I’m not sure if I remember who I am and what we were talking about. I can tell I’m about to be kicked out, but she’ll take it a step further and stomp down the hall screaming about me and my childhood issues and inability to withdrawal, and how I should get the over myself and stop using my past as a crutch to weasel my way into people’s hearts. She’ll return from the far end of the hall clutching a small bundle of letters and envelopes and throw them at me. She’ll tell me she isn’t going to kick me out, because that’s what I want but she’s done enabling me and my monsters. Meeting of the minds and of the eyes and then at just the right time I’ll say, “I am loving you the best way I know how.”

She’ll accuse me of lying about love and wanting a better life, by that time I’ll be sick of listening and agree to whatever she says knowing that later, after I leave she’ll pop a couple pills and try to sleep. But until that happens we’ll both go on pretending everything is close to fine and I’m not just a walking time bomb waiting till I meet my match, in the middle of a crowded public restroom through a streaked mirror. I’ll take my stack of tattered and torn mail, which consists of hospital bills and old friends writing about how they want to reconnect, and I’ll go to my dealer’s house for the next best meal. I’m not sure how we get our wires crossed but I can’t waste time coming down only to have someone I’m trying to love make me feel like I’m just a robot. I’m not getting any better and she’s just housing me, but closing the door every time I try to come home. And maybe she’ll see it wasn’t just my fault, but maybe she’ll only see it when I’m dead and gone.”

Apr25

Objects in The Mirror. 2 of 2.

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I took time laying out the frame work, matter and such,
never matters much.
Pocket it, locks and keys, rocks and stones, glass and homes.
Pile my regrets next to pebbles that aren’t worth throwing.
Back to black on repeat, i stretched out across my own bed,
I exist in rare occasions,
Through tight lips and clenched teeth,
My head stuffy with thoughts that shouldn’t be thought,
Not contagious,
But creeping memories,
They linger and loom,
Connect with things that i want to Shape into less of me.
Coat, and jeans on the floor,
I’m drinking more,
Wearing wrinkled cotton blends
No socks today.
I had intentions of asking you
Why you never want more than
I’m willing to offer, but i’m sensitive
And your response might be exactly What I don’t want.
I’m half alive, but you have less beats Living in your heart.
And they call this art, it’s a lot like love, Or maybe it’s only imitating.
I think of you and me.
I saw you watch me as you drove away, And objects in the mirror look
Closer than they appear.

Apr25

It’s Fine, I’m Okay.

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I can always tell when I’m getting too far from home and I miss you before you’re gone.

I landed hard on my tail bone and my elbows, which was fine because it took some pressure off my lower back, I could feel the tiny stones and gravel dig into the skin on my forearms. I let my body release into the fall and the dust settle around me, it’s been a long time since I’ve walked down a dirt road, I’m not even sure how I lost my footing. I inhale deeply and immediately regret it as the dirty air fills my mouth and nostrils, I prop myself up onto the palms of my hands and look around. No one is there, I’m alone. I bite my bottom lip, and suck air in through the sides of my mouth. I can feel tears sting at the corners of my eyes, I straighten my back, and sit up on my ass, it’s fine-no worries on that end, I let the weight of my body adjust and cross my arms over my chest rubbing both elbows, I think my funny bones took the brunt of injury from this fall. I’m a clumsy girl, it’s no new development, I’m always been clumsy. Not just falling over my feet, but into situations, into crushes, never into love, but always into hate, also into jobs, disappointments, travels, good friends, worse enemies, and all sorts of other shit that can be filed under life lessons. It’s the beginning of summer and here I am, on my ass. This can’t be a good sign of what’s to come.

I sit on the gravel and stretch my legs out in front of me, I’m not sure why I’m still on the ground, not just now but anytime. When I fall I usually take my time getting up and I often allow the nosey passerby to look down on me. Sometimes they offer a hand and try to help me up, perhaps it’s because of pride or some other personality trait? but I always decline. It’s not that I sit and lick my wounds, it might be a slow thought process as to how I got there in the first place, which is: On My Ass. I sigh and wipe my hands off and bend my knees up to my chest, I lean back on my palms and push my weight onto my feet, slowly rising, I feel my knees pop and my lower back stiffens, not from falling but from falling at my age…I’m not old, but I’m older. I shouldn’t be so clumsy now, not as clumsy as I was when I was younger, right? I twist at my waist and stretch from side to side pushing my shoulders forward as far as they will go, and then straighten up and face forward, that’s really all there is to do. The palms of my hands are sore and red, I dust them off on the ass of my shorts and decide to keep walking, the steep incline and I continue, I don’t let up on the speed that first introduced me to landing on my ass. I get lost in thought as I go, I try to focus on my footing but some things just sneak into my head, however uninvited they are. I think about ghosts and being haunted, I wonder why I can’t let go of some people, especially people who’ve made it abundantly clear I’m nothing to them. I go from bridge I’ve burnt to friendship I’ve lost and left behind. I go from memory to memory and think about men that I’ve lusted after. I think about all the claims I’ve made and promises I wanted to keep, every person and place and I don’t ever remember feeling at home with any of them.

Nothing special, and I’m not sure if it’s me or them. I tell myself I just haven’t found where I belong, I haven’t met my match, the right place at the right time will come, and soon I realize I’m half running and partly being pulled by gravity down the dusty gravel road. I smile in spite of the fact I know I’m begging to be on my ass once again. I turn back to whatever epiphany is tugging at my frontal lobe, thoughts and feelings of enlightenment waiting to be discovered, something will click and I’m on the verge of making sense. Something amazing that I have no one to tell. I can never explain any of it to anyone, and when I try I’ll pause and search their face seeing that they have no idea what I was saying because they were too focused on what they were going to tell me next. But who can blame them, in recent and rare conversations I’ve found I’m barely listening, rarely retaining a word. Then I realize I don’t remember any one’s voice…it’s all a text or a message, a comment or a tweet. It’s a voicemail or quick note, and it’s nothing personal, it’s not me. I see green, I feel softness and some give under my feet. It’s grass, tall and untouched for weeks, the air smells fresh and sweet, like lake water should and it’s cool against my skin. I stand and adjust to my new surroundings, still there is no one here but me. I’m alone. And I feel good, I instinctively touch my back pocket and it’s just then that I realize, I don’t have it with me.

Later on, when I get home I check my phone and see that the last thing I had to say to anyone was, “It’s fine, I’m okay.” I decide not to see what I was replying to, it wasn’t so important if I’ve already forgotten. And after all, it’s okay, I’m fine.

From 7/2011.

Apr10

Objects in The Mirror.

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There’s nothing confrontational about my stance, my arms are limp and hanging loosely at my side, I watch you walk around me and wonder how much you took this time…I wonder if maybe you’ve pushed your heart too far, wonder if your lack of love is what drove you to live on borrowed time. Wonder if I’ll be able to reclaim all of these moments and days that are actually mine.
I watch you and your long strides,
My palms start to sweat and I feel my shirt clinging to my breasts, I thought I was nervous until I notice you and your can of gasoline…
You used to save my day.
Now I consider myself lucky if you save me a plate, all of the dishes in this place are dingy with dirt and grime that won’t wash away. I can feel my stomach turn as you close in on me. You whisper how you love to live and squeeze my wrists.
I don’t have enough drive to leave in this cage.
I don’t have enough like to wanna to stay.
I don’t have enough strength to push you away,
So I stand still. I stand here and wish we were different than we are.
I wish you were the type to grow old.
I wish I could hear all your dreams, but it’s hard to hear you speak through clenched teeth.
I wish you were sane enough to catch me when I fall. Or just to feel me at all.
I can’t blame you for spending your days in a zombie induced state, eating the flesh off the pieces of me I try to lock away. I’ve let you break this house when it used to be a home, I just couldn’t leave you alone.My skin starts to crawl and I know soon you won’t recognize me at all.
Disassociate the eyes and soul from my face, misplace my lips and soon I’m just another memory that you forgot to see straight.
You shouldn’t drive in this rain tonight, you shouldn’t drive when the brakes need to be changed.
Ketamine induced death…
No one will know I sent you out to be your best.
Talked you up when your back was against the wall.
Talked you up when you could barely talk at all.
The bruises on my arms are still fresh, but the light in my eyes is still kept, and burning bright. And I’m not sure who’s the fright tonight, I’m not sure I don’t have enough fight. I can’t reach you even when your this close and I can’t feel you even when you have me in a choke hold.
You grab my hips and swing me around. I tell you to just breath through your screams and shouts.
You break me up to let me down,
I build you up just so you’ll jump.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to keep this story straight. I’m not sure if anyone won’t say I’m to blame, I can’t think of another way to escape, I might as well just stand here and let you burn up this place.Your make shift palace is where I will have spent my last days. If I close my eyes I can picture your Mother’s face, if I squint really hard I can almost hear her say, “Just save yourself the heartache and go away.”
I get lost in the moments I have left, I get lost and bite the insides of my cheeks, your grip gives and I decide to let you go for one last ride.
I whisper how I want to be like you, I wanna hear what you’ve been tryin to say, I wanna taste whatever bitter apple you’ve picked and ate. I talk a little louder and say how I want to distance myself from this place, you pause with your book of matches and smile at me, you blink twice and ask me to repeat.
I swallow hard and hope and pray…
You dig deep in my pockets, lean into my face, open your mouth to say words that come out dry and jumbled together, we’re barely making sense. You trip over your own lips trying to tell me how it’s gonna be.
You stumble over words trying to explain, your eyes start to twinkle even though they’ve lost their shine.
I see glimpses of you that used to be mine.
I don’t stop you once you have the keys.
I stand in place until after you leave.
I picture how fast you might try to drive.
I wonder who will miss you after you’re gone, and I guess maybe it’ll just be me and your mom.
And every year, just as I’ve always done,
I can remember you on Day of the Dead.

Mar31

Helping Hands.

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I can’t do this alone, whatever it is that I’m doing…I think I’ve been bitten off more than I can chew. I’m trying to have faith, to let go enough that I’m not putting added stress on my body, but something inside tugs and I react to my anxiety and my heart seems to be breaking despite my best efforts to keep it safe and protected.

I’m scared and it’s a fear I can’t shake. I need help, but I don’t know how to ask for it…I hurt, in my heart and I’m concerned about the future, uneasy feelings are keeping me awake.

Feb28

currently: untitled…status: sober.

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“I slipped down into my chair and threw my legs over the side arms, I pointed my toes up into the air and made tiny little invisible circles, my bright red nail polish shimmered and gleamed in the dim light and I imagined what I would be like under a different night. I made sure to lose all the best parts of me this week, I made sure my circulation was poor, my fingertips were cold, and my pupils were huge black saucers that swallowed up any one’s gaze, my hands were dry, the tiny ridges that made up my fingerprints felt scratchy on the soft fabric of anything that covered my papery skin. I mouthed the words to a sad song and wondered what I would be like if I were sober. I reminisced a soberiety I had when I was young, when everyone was honest about they’re feelings, vices, bad habits, and daydreams. But then we grow up, and not everyone keeps their closet closed tight and the skeletons learn to bang on those doors from both sides. I was disappearing into a great nothingness this week, my stomach was concave and I was sinking into myself, and the parts that were still visible were like ghosts that clung to this world for fear the afterlife might leave them forgotten and lost. I was moving in slow motion and my limbs felt heavy, I touched my lips and they were still there, which surprised me, since I couldn’t speak. My arms tingled and I was scared to close my eyes for fear they may never open again. I needed to stop, but I wanted to go, I wanted to sing a new song, slightly out of key, like they all sound to me. I wanted her to get up and come with me. Just out, into the city, I wanted to go be faces with names, nothing like wallflowers, nothing that stood still, forget having my heart on my sleeve, I wanted to dance with the devil and eat up tonight’s moments, make fresh memories that will haunt me until I’m dead, which will happen sooner, than later. I wandered through the house, feeling as if I was moving in slow motion, calling out her name, all efforts seemed to be in vain when I realized I was alone, and had been all evening.”

Sometimes you take too much, and then sometimes happens more often than you’d intended. I don’t even remember when I went from a recreational user to an abuser, to an addict. I don’t remember many things, but then maybe I do, maybe I remember everything except the truth. It feels good to be sober, and it hurts, all at the same time. Even now, after all this time, I don’t think I like who I am. But I love myself, so that’s a start. I’ve been writing, the piece up top is from the book I’m publishing, currently untitled.