Month: February 2018

12:00
A’s mom texts him to text me that she’s outside my house to pick me up. I roll out of bed and step into her car. It’s just us two aside from the baby in the back seat. She tells me that it turns one today and that he is named after her dead father. She talks to me about her dead parents and addiction. This is the first conversation I have ever had with this woman. A refers to the baby as a bundle of sadness and I understand why now, being that it cried the entire car ride.

12:14
I arrive at A’s house. The first floor smells but I can’t figure out it’s source. We take turns playing bad music and catching up while he straightens his hair.

1:00
We head down to get a drink and discover his extended family has arrived. None of them make an attempt to introduce themselves. We run into a woman outside who introduces herself as grandma. I don’t respond for 30 seconds because I was debating whether or not she would get my humor if I also introduced myself as grandma. I decide against it and give her my dead name then hide my Buddha necklace. Just in case. She says the place smells like pot. I realize she’s right. She tells me she knows because she had some earlier.

12:15
A man covered in tattoos starts a conversation with her. I wait for him to introduce himself so I can compliment his tattoos. He doesn’t introduce himself.

1:20
We head back up stairs and A tells me that tattoo guy is a felon. He is in awe of the fact that his family is getting high at his one year old brother’s birthday. Then he is upset that they didn’t share.

1:25
We head back downstairs to get food. No one reacts to me being there still. I wonder if I exist. I notice a vape on the food table.

2:00
A makes me watch a TV show about two old women that live together because their husbands left them to be with each other. I ask if the women are lesbians. He says no. I don’t see the point in it if they’re not. I watch anyways.

2:40
A gets us more food and tells me that his family thinks we’re an item.

3:20
A notices me text someone with the contact name ‘Novia’. He asks me who I’m texting. It’s my girlfriend. I tell him it’s no one. He gets quiet.

4:00
A tells me he’ll keep my secret, that he won’t tell anyone my girlfriend’s name is Novia. Novia means girlfriend in Spanish.

5:34
A notices me text my dad to pick me up. He asks if something is wrong. I tell him its nothing, that I have something to do. He asks what. I tell him Its just something. I don’t remember whether or not I told him I was going to the movies with my girlfriend or K. He assumes that I was hit by a sudden spell of depression and tells me it’s okay to admit it. I tell him that’s not it, and that I’ll explain one day. If I’m being honest I’m not sure I will ever get to.

6:50
I arrive at the cinema. I’m wearing a dress because all my pants are in the wash. I haven’t shaved my legs since October. Three people attempt to make conversation with me while I wait for K. I know none of them.

7:05
K arrives and we go into the theater. We realize 30 minutes later when a horror movie starts playing instead of a musical that we walked into the wrong showing.

7:40
We watch the movie like we’re friends.

9:00
The movie ends. We missed the first 40 minutes of it. I didn’t like the movie but I know K loved it so I tell her I liked it on our way out.

9:15
We go our separate ways like we’re friends.

11:00
I think about how much we aren’t.

In 1980’s New York, there were these people that would jam turnstile slots with something like gum wrappers.  Then they’d wait for someone to stick a coin in, and go suck it out with their mouth.  All for $1.50.

Of course, tellers started catching on.  It became an epidemic, and the victims who put the coins in would be let through because it wasn’t their fault.  They were losing a lot of money.

They began putting chili powder and mace to stop the kids, but the coin-suckers would just come back with buckets of water, throw them on the turnstile slots, and then throw the rest on the tellers.

Of course, there are so many diseases in that line of work.  Many often fell ill and couldn’t continue or even died.

But police officers could do nothing about it.  The only real solution was putting a cop at every single turnstile, but that could never happen.

Finally, New York was forced to get rid of the turnstile slots.  The system couldn’t stop them, so they were forced to change it.  Maybe the coin-suckers didn’t set out to change things, but they did.

I think that all is really beautiful.

But I want to know if buying gum became suspicious, because many often used the wrappers to stuff in the machine.  How did they carry buckets of water without people noticing?  Who taught them?

---

Roodharigendag is a Dutch festival celebrating natural redheads.  I looked at pictures, and there isn’t a single person there that doesn’t look like a natural redhead.  But I have many questions.

There has to be people that aren’t naturally redheads but try to get in anyways.  How forceful are they with removing them?  Is it like a “Hey, please leave”?  Because I feel like there would still be people who found a way in.

Is it like beat-you-down-to-the-ground and the last thing you see are waves of red hair?

There have to be wigs and things.  Is there a test you have to pass?

Furthermore, I read an article supporting Roodharigendag because apparently redheads are often discriminated against.  They compared themselves to African-Americans, who were literally enslaved for hundreds of years.

---

There was also a man that ran a mob in Japan, but he was caught recently in Thailand because his tattoos went viral on the Internet.  He was just living the life of a modest farmer with a modest wife, but his former employees still brought him money.

To We 

The crystals that rested on her chest bounced

                                with every rapid step

Dirt flew towards the sky

                  so did their hands

praise god they screamed

as they danced barefoot through rose fields

Blue dusted their lips and finger tips

Purple powdered their nose

Fairies

they were fairies

                             sickly fairies

twisting crooked limbs clawing towards wispy clouds

drooping wings dragged across the ground

fairies

             dancing

                              prancing

                                          stomping

                                   through delicately ceasing

              rose fields 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello.

Welcome to the world.

We are happy to have you.

Are you happy to meet us?

Of course you are.

What’s not to be happy about?

We are the best the world has to offer.

You must have been one of the best too if you are here.

It’s very difficult to get here if you are not.

So what do you plan on doing?

We offer a lot to do here.

a endless array of activities and pleasantries.

But first we must ask for a name.

So what is it?

Eli

Oh.

How sad.

You were a mistake.

Sadly, you are not allowed to stay here.

but

Goodbye.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Yellow Lines 

Can you feel the breathe of my touch caress you cheek

the subtle breeze of wild fields

The wind flowing over your spine

over your hair

and that whispering

light but beckoning

towards the sound of waterfalls

flooded with bodies

of wandering minds and untamed eyes

roaming through the canopy of vines

and to your window

streaming endless rays of sunlight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Welcome to @^##.

Eli, is it?

No.

Then who are you?

Jane.

Hello Jane.

Will Eli be joining us soon?

I don’t know.

That’s concerning.

Are you ok by yourself Jane?

No.

Of course you aren’t.

Your broken Jane.

We can see that.

But we still welcome you.

Sadly though we must find Eli.

Do you understand?

Yes.

That’s good.

Until then try not to get into trouble.

Alright?

…..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the hunt of something more we look for something less.

Calling dirt gold and throwing the gold over our shoulders for good luck

luck that does not exist but to only pester and fills heads with dreams .

Dreams of which we do not know if not taken by a force.

But what force do we allow ourselves to take before it’s too much?

Is the force allowed negative or positive?

Can we ourselves if not trained know the difference.

Like Eli or Jane, do they know the difference between two realities.

Do I know the neutral between the two?

Or is it meant to be unknown.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am intrusive thoughts

I am you in your rawest form

I am raw and real and skin

I am the underlying fear and deep rooted happiness

I am the veins and the blood

The earth and the dirt

Not what glitters

Not what is gold

I am insanity

Imagination without restraint

Visionary

Creative

I am the horse with no reigns

The bull with no gate

I am emotion

Real and raw and wings spread

I am not caged

I am not confined

I am freedom

I do not belong to the world, because I am it

I am the wind and the sky

The ocean, rising and crashing and shapeless

I am undefined

I am spoken thoughts

Abrupt decisons

Mindlessness

Primal urges

I am butterfly and jaguar

Whale and shark

I am life and death

Prey and predator

I am fact and opinion

I am complexity and simplicity

I am attractive and repulsive

I am art and science

The good

The bad

Everything in between

I am full circle

No beginning, no end

Real and raw and old and new

 

 

There’s a castle chalked with chaos

in front stands a wagon-girl

who cant control her bucking horse

he tried to kick me on my way out

‘Calm down!’ she was red-faced and flustered

then she smiled slyly at me and shouted

‘horse for sale!’  and I was pulled by my arm

my mom at my side bidding her price

she plopped me on him when we got home

where he bucked me off and proceeded to kick at me

my mother was perplexed.  she told me to mount again.

I ran.  I ran until I came here, to MSA.

But, I think I was also hiding from the Japanese

they had started chasing me on my way

and I ran up many flights of stairs to get away

I tried to hide in Mrs. Sus’ office

but it wasn’t a good place

but i found a CD in there

and I took it, too

It was a movie that I watched in my room

while the Japanese searched tirelessly

they found me when I went to put the CD back

Mrs. Sus caught me.  She discussed the movie with me

then I took off from the Japanese, eventually reaching the roof

this is where the dream ended.

should I jump?  Or should I face my enemies?

 

I almost exclusively feel compelled to write free verse poetry when I’m feeling really bad, and for whatever reason, I always seem to write this poetry in the notes app on my iPhone.  I think that reason that I feel the need to write free verse poetry is that I just need to get thoughts out of my head and down somewhere.  I don’t need to work with restrictions like narrative or rhyme.  I think the reason that I write in the notes in my phone is that these poems don’t feel polished.  Like the feelings that inspired them, the poems feel raw and harsh.  I’ve mostly dismissed these as not worth publishing but have never had the heart to delete them.  I’m glad that I haven’t because I’ve come to appreciate them for their emotion.  These are a few that I’ve written recently.

Birth to Death and in Between

A symphony
Unto this world
Fall into it
Caught in loving arms

Held and sung to
And fed and loved
And loved
And grown
Shaped and molded
Prepared
To receive
This world

You
A fallen star
One in a million
Or one of
Seven billion
That have not
Burnt out
Or returned
All the same
All afraid
All hiding
In lives
Lives they’ve woven
Out of sunsets
And diamonds
And love

Falling, falling
Ever faster
Into the void
One can’t avoid
Falling falling
Never looking
Always reaching
To the sky

Once created
Alive and happy
But never
Fulfilled
A desire
Pure and honest
To create
As one once was

Happy
It’s nothing
A momentary
Flash of light
And return
To dark
Sometimes longer
To be dishonest
But always
To return
To dark

Your hands are clumsy
Always breaking
The sculptures
Before they’re complete
Over and over
Always sculpting
But never completing

Always growing
Growing careful
But your eyes
Grow faster
Than your hands
Finally creating
What once would have
Satisfied your eyes
But no longer will

But then you find
You sit at the door
From which once
You were thrown out
You are returning
You are knocking
You want to break the door down
But are again turned away
Not now
You are not yet ready
Though some day later
Until you have truly returned
You are incomplete

**********************************************************

A Million Pieces

I’m a glass bottle
I’m full
Full of words
Words I can’t say
Tears I can’t cry
On the verge
Of overflowing
Of breaking
Shattering
Into a million pieces

I’m an old book
Tucked away
Never read
Never to be read
My pages yellowed
And cracked
Breaking with every touch
Crackling
Into a million pieces

I am a broken light
Afraid of turning on
Bearing my light only when
It cannot be seen by others
Afraid to blind them
My light too bright
Too intense
My bulb
Bursting
Into a million pieces

 

 

 

 

Dairy Skin

You didn’t tell the moon to stop blinking

It stopped on it’s own

stuttering, wavering, shining

 bright enough to burn

Then going blank

Not even enough time to remember

The soft rays

Just gone

We loved it for it’s power

Now we can’t love anymore

Mr. moon won’t be our chaperone

Ever again

Makes you sad,

Makes sleeping worth the wait

Makes the sky another black ocean

Raging, raging, raging

Then falling

Then screaming

Then silence

 

Spotlight

Extra

Extra

The Moon is missing                (it is?)  

        (When was this?) 

    (I didn’t even notice.)

(Then what’s in the sky?) Brave enough to ask daring questions

Daring in that almost smart question way

that can give you answers

but it’s too late

it’s gone

congratulations

 you messed it all up….

 

White poison 

you’re all so funny

so is this

a joke in the form of words

spewing out of mouths like puke

it’s gone, been gone for a long time

but you notice now?

There’s no sky

there’s no moon

never been a moonlit sky

it never existed

Don’t fear

Don’t remember

f    a    d   e 

-Jane 

 

Liquid Space 

I’ve seen myself in a mirror suspended in a completely white room. Then again I was dreaming but that’s not the point. I know what I saw and it was me, a form of myself that I had no idea even existed. I was an angel. No, a demon disguised as an angel. Probably not, but I wanted to make this dramatic. Anyway, she was standing on the moon. The moon I remember,
and she was happy and full of a nice soft light. A light that had been before, when the moon hung in the sky like a reminder.  A reminder to continue living to our best ability. Yes, that’s what I believe happened to that thing, we stopped believing. Believing in- in something. Our fate rests in our own hands. So let’s get back the-the- the…What was it called again? 

-Eli

 

Lunar Fall 

comits rain down like promises

i was promised a savior

i was handed a moon rock

and a packet of lighters

that burns holes into my pocket

now i’m out of money

and moons to give

and space

The twinkling stopped two days ago

the cites are up in flames

the water is up to our necks

but look on the bright side

I never learned to swim

 

 

 

 

 

 

I remember as a kid, I used to love lovebugs.  My parents would curse them because they’d cover the car in guts, but I found it to be the car’s fault.  Lovebugs were just trying to live and mate.  I used to play with them all day during their season, trapping them in my hands.  Sometimes I’d shake them like maracas, peeking to make sure they were still alive.

My parents called it cute.  But they didn’t see that I had accidentally suffocated them.  They didn’t see the broken legs or bug guts staining my hands.  Then I’d go try again because I wanted them as pets.

The truth is that it wasn’t cute at all.  I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself.  It was selfish and irresponsible.  I’d feel terrible when they died, but I’d shake them off and just do it again.  I wasn’t trying to kill them, but I also wasn’t trying to think of how they felt.  I just pretended like I was.

My parents said I loved too much, but did I?  Did I love them at all?  It didn’t matter to me, all I had to do was wipe them off.  There was no blood on my hands.  I didn’t have to bury the bodies.

I used to release red balloons into the sky after storms because I thought of thunder as the sky coughing.  I’d watch the sky swallow them whole like red cherry cough drops, and I thought I had done a good thing.

In reality, I had probably killed animals that way.  They most likely choked on it.  Those plastic balloons will never degrade; they’re just there forever, and I can’t shake them off like lovebug carcasses.  The earth wasn’t coughing; it’s dying.

It’s dying because of you and me and all the plastic balloons released into the sky and all the things we disguise as love.  I didn’t love those lovebugs.  I just didn’t want to feel lonely.

The truth is that it doesn’t really matter anymore.  We can’t singularly save the world, no matter how many cough drops we give it or how much we want to love it.

The only way the Earth will be okay again is when it eats humans the same way it gave birth to them.  It’s our beginning and our end, and in a million years it will be like we never existed.

Sixteen candles sprawled over vanilla icing and lighter fluid.

Take one back, tuck it in the shirt pocket of our father, for every year after he would feather the wings of you in a ruffled manner,

hollow grammar and time to kill. Climbing past Saw Tooth mill and screaming at  the top of lungs and teeth when it finally hits you:

freedom can be found in the gut.

Was there ever any reason in your eyes to kill the boy next door?

You slept soggy and senseless after seeing the lips of his mouth turned upward, Saw Tooth smile, (he was with you at the water tower, ground cut between each palm like pages of scripture,)- he is holy , but alive in only the back of your mind.

There is a small blue blanket in the trunk of your Chevy. There is a bottle of Vodka wrapped underneath, underneath,

underneath the bridges, we escape our realities. We are the goblins hiding under and the people walking over and (you tend to see things). Wrapped sterile in the sanity of being no one.

This makes you someone.

We are good

girls. We are innocent. There is purple near our irises and our hearts are strung together on twisted twine- we are empty and throat slit.

If I could make up one good story about our times together, you wouldn’t be there. I am ruin brutally beaten by another, our mother, father,

brother (hold my hand and tell me the truth).

The vase sits on the table, untouched. Wait a few years and  the mounds of dust will crack it through the center. There are no windows in my house; people don’t want to see the things that fall apart at  the fireplace. Brash black eyelids droop heavy over our frames.

There is no screaming (we have grown out of that, like old pairs of shoes).

Tell me there will be more than the darkness after death. Tell me of the wildflowers poking their heads through before Hell’s wrought iron gate. Tell me it wont hurt too bad.

People can change, and people can remain.  I am one of both, as I have no idea where my mind left me.

I am a body against the asphalt, highway stretched beneath my palms. I will sleep against the desert sand, hand in hand with the ghosts I’ve caught.

And it’s rambling, I know, but there will always be  laughter behind a dripping red grin.

(Again, and againandagain)