joy peaks around the corner,
and i can taste it
to turn on. a light bulb.
my eyes to the sky.
thinking up. feeling hot.
a standard chemical reaction
which cannot be changed
to be on. funciona.
it works. a connection.
a spark that makes you glance twice
then turns into a flame.
bends you over to light you up
because you can't seem to stare at anything else.
so good, the ultimate punishment
when the lights suddenly go off.
the crescent of a heel
kicking the door shut behind it.
when you squeeze your eyes closed
and your retinas are still burning
because you stared too long
after a two-second spark.
turn off. crawl around
while you search for the switch
in other voices.
in nervous twitches.
anything that might make
your eyes find the sky
without asking how or why.
feeling up. thinking hot.
dry-humping the moon.
for it is what it is
and cannot be changed
somehow it's become a secret
and i can't share it, no.
just how subtly discreet
like passin on the street
where the wind blows
in case it snows.
and time has got to bear it
when the absence isn't shared
and the heart grows
you're lurkin close behind
this is like braille for the blind
and i can still smell you
close the door to my room
let's make some noise
let's feed off one another
for just one second of our time.
a fraction of our blessings
comes from the product of a rhyme
let's wail away
let's wail away
something in the air
says it's OK to feel all right,
to relax and unwind
to intertwine in arms and lock in legs
while outside is as cold as nighttime gets
it's the season to forget the past
for just one second of our time
which rhyme you wanna try out now?
i'm feelin gracious to say thanks
over and over,
i'm just not used this
over and over
to getting treated well
it's a bell of clarity
above the chain of subpar
that felt like necessity
over and over
collapse and collide
my ankles on his wrists
and our mouths open wide
i am young, i deserve this.
a tasty piece of cake
i like to wind my finger in the icing
and watch it ripple like a wave.
there's a richness to knowing
(it's something i now savor)
that i deserve sweetness
in the fruits of my labor
if a rhyme is a pattern,
then i want to start a new one
not the old tired shit
of a stupid sad love song
of boys treating me wrong
not knowing what they had all along
a better rhyme makes a better tune
a happy girl can still belt the blues
because she knows what it's like
to collapse and collide
to once be bound to something
when that something wasn't right
salty sweet experience,
i know what it's like to choke
and fight for air so i wouldn't get snuffed out
and be left broken.
i prefer a calm, lackadaisical rhyme
the one that takes its time
and makes me feel more alive than any
of those soul-crippling ditties.
look at you wearin my hat.
bet you don't know what else i got
when i got that.
so hip, so direct
you must be fashionably correct
to have a hat quite like it mister man
so keep smiling, keep on smiling
and you, with your blank stare
as though we've got no space to share
you look bewildered, i see it wildly
i'm afraid you look really scared
and innocent, yet snotty
as though your persiana has you shaded
from the rest of the bright light world.
baby girl you're like porcelain,
so weak inside slivers of thought
inside your brain
lately i've noticed
these little discrepancies
subtly hostile, non-urgent adversaries
in people i know
who can boast with their own tongue
but won't dare try on someone else's...
unless it makes them look good,
makes 'em look real good.
unless they can wear it like an accessory
for time well-spent,
(even if it's just a fragment of a second)
a moment to fill you up then suck you dry
then makes you wonder why you became such a novelty,
a fucking trophy.
to stand out while others stand back,
can't look you in the eye and see
that we both have two eyes,
and we both have lives.
just some are colored differently
but i've realized a little discretion
goes a long way with discrepancies,
like i'm in on the secret they never shared
because they haven't yet received it.
i'm gonna boast with my own tongue
that flickers in my mind
just how boring i think they really are.
boring, and cocky.
seemingly satisfied in their cozy nest,
their circle of friends in their sunday best
wearin MY hat. oh god, if only he knew
what else i got with that...
it might displease or it might haunt you forever.
however, a little discretion on my part,
a persiana, protection from the bright light.
as precious as the womb when reality is questioned
tightly tucked in,
my secret, my shelter.
your bite-sized world
Goodbye 2011. How you came and went.
A remarkable year you were, really.
I'm not here to summarize.
Funny how two months pop up
like blemishes on a clean complexion
puberty, a downside to maturity
two months, September and February.
I don't consider them to be the worst,
for I've gone further in discourse.
Aside from those this was a very fruitful year.
I feel like a different person.
Brave and unstoppable,
yet sometimes cowering in social anxiety.
It's a blessing really, don't want to suck all the air out
until the ears pop
unless I'm underwater or alone in the park.
2011, you pressed my nose up against the glass
and sometimes it hurt.
Bending cartilage to unbend the mold,
I broke the barrier between me and myself.
My hands, even when empty
have so much to give, like the time.
My personal stock market has gone up,
pushing out the bottom feeders
forsaking my breath.
2011, you taught me a little about love
and all those tiny little differences
that separate small plants from trees
and the sake of sustainability.
sometimes i feel hardened as though
i've absorbed all the soil, enriched by lessons
with slight aggression. but i've learned not to be so heavy
as it's important to shake off leaves to obtain humility.
i desire an exquisite landscape,
one with time and care and reason and
the emotional capacity to endure the driest of drought
or the annoying occasional cringe of self-doubt
as though i'm not meant to deserve something so prosperous.
yet another useless thought gone by the wayside such as you.
2011, thanks for helping me feel more alive than ever.
those growing pains were worth it
my first meal of 2012, after a night spent in the plane from mexico to madrid. slightly subordinate after many delicious meals shared with my mother, but alas i did my best to enjoy. cheers!
feeling weak and lazy
dizzy in my own skin
a barrel of laughter in a shotgun
echoes long and wide
i'm safe from myself,
i know that already
yet i can't help but confuse the tide
left, right, which side the sun rises and sets
is the night time sky really the peaks of a ceiling in a cave
is night time the end or just the beginning of something else?
and in one moment i'm dancing like a court jester
winking eyes with bells and whistles
and bright-colored clothes
formatting my plans with hand motions,
tongue rolling r's, taste the sweetness of extremity
purring like a cat, glowing eyes wanting to be petted
waving my tail around to keep things from going still, stale
in a hurry to be loved so i can run away when i want, free
before the moment changes and i'm back in rags
with no desire to entertain anybody
it's a genetic fender bender.
it grips me like an airplane and shoots me off,
licking the delicious stars until i'm face down in the gravel
when the moment grows stale and i want to cry for no reason.
not a court jester, but still feeling foolish
as though the joke's on me
for thinking i could climb to the top of a tree
and escape the darkness under me.
and the dizziness? sometimes i confuse it with adrenaline.
maybe it's both. maybe it's what keeps me sane
it's the inner voice saying, get a grip and balance yourself.
this is why i know i'm safe
and writing about it too, that helps a lot.
it feels good to do something you're good at.
it feels good to make good become better.
it feels incredible to grip the reigns and feel your own pulse
like a pen that signs the official letter.
it feels different to be in control
it feels familiar when correlations are made
like living in a town where you do not drive
but to still using your foot to brake
or to accelerate.
and the cars become motion
on your timeline.
brushing past like moments
with colors that shine,
too fast to be heavy
too constructed to be weak.
are they worth telling a story
are they worth stopping in the street?
are they the kind to spin crazy eights
because a good song played
or are they the type to stop
just to make you re-evaluate
your time, your knowledge,
do they cloud your sense of self?
do they set an example
to ride with class and stealth?
or do they become the passerbys,
the lessons left unlearned
only to find yourself standing alone
feeling like nothing has been earned?
counting cars. bicycles and trains.
transport by connection.
minus those insignificant
due to natural selection.
it feels good to finally understand
the art of navigation
to find the pace and set the speed
without giving an explanation.
listening to your own drills and hums
and knowing just how much to give
before you slow down
to make it home in time for dinner
and to have a moment's rest...
i'm standing in the driver's seat
because i passed the test
to understand why your 30's are the best.
gotta go back to work now
i push people away.
not everyone, but most
keep them at arm's length
form the protective barrier of boundary.
i don't like phone calls,
i show up late randomly
i try to pretend nothing's wrong with that
but i know i owe a little more respect.
the biggest fear, a driving force
is hurting someone, is hurting myself
when someone gets close the other feels
to grow the chain around someone else's arm
and make it stronger and important.
when something becomes important it races
to the top of your list of things to do
places to go, people to see
even if it's in the darkness of your own room
just before dawn.
what if i'm just not ready for all of that
or what if i'm already involved
why can't it work both ways just once...?
meanwhile i'll do my best
to continue furnishing my own resources
making layers out of needle and thread
just to protect my head from the brash cold.
weave a net just tight enough to shroud myself
yet still be able to connect.
to secure the ability to trust a person long enough
to let them stand, without either of us trying to
drag the other along. that way maybe
we'll both have the chance to look into each other's eyes
and know we're doing the right thing
little me standing
in big girl shoes
sometimes i don't recognize myself
when i brush by
flying through time like a whistle blown
i've found a place to call 'my home'
and i don't feel so scared this time
to just stay put and actually enjoy it
i've got so many years to think about.
i hear it in the stories that compulsively leap from my tongue
to a dozen heads more or less,
it's a quest for some serious interpersonal connections
and when i think about the faces that have come and gone
characters on pages passed, chapters of delight and deceit
when we didn't know the meaning of discreet
it makes me want to read the book out loud
and share my secrets
look at me standing
in big girl shoes.
but you know i can't just nod my head
it's two steps from dead
i prefer to live with the feeling it all just might stop
so i dig my fingers into the open air
and ride the atomic wave
sometimes i don't recognize myself.
no longer that sad, sometimes too vulnerable girl
with lots of meat on her bones,
i feel like a cheetah.
i'm the opposite of stupid
and deep down i'll always be a brunette at heart
those characters in my story,
what's become of some of them?
i imagine one layered in thick clothes like he always was
except in that foggy summer when i bid zai jin
or the one who lead me there to begin with,
what's his name again? and how the first person
to ever break my heart was a girl
sunburnt in the swimming pool
these beings have given me some onion layers
soon to flake off as i've started peeling
but their aromas are still there.
i smell it in the air.
an undertone in my breath
because i have yet to complete my tale.
a cheetah, chasing the wave of a whistle blown
not so eager to finish first,
and surely not last
just fast enough to savor the adrenaline
and still feel young
lawd knows i like to ramble. thanks for reading.
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