Saturday, December 31, 2011

day 161

2011 in a nutshell

   I am in love         with self worth

Finding my soul after
time and time again, I know how
to swim to safety now.

I just don't know if I will always
reach out to save myself.

    being lost is beautiful.
    I can't say I'm completely
    I can't say that I will
    ever be.

I can say that I am beautiful.
   I am beautiful.       I am
    learning, blessed to
    attend life's workshops. Teaching
    me that beauty is

That I can spread growth, like
     cancer. Like the plague.

     That growth can be spread either which way.
Sweet like the fresh sap of honeybee love     or
dangerous like I want to drown sometimes.

     Who are you, today?
     Who will you be?


Friday, December 30, 2011

day 160

Does gravity exist underwater?

      You love like a mermaid.
 Falling effortlessly. Sink into your
 lover's arm like
 gravity isn't heavy enough
 this time.

       desperation always makes a comeback.

 Mermaid lover,
 love me like
       I have lungs of steel. I can
 carry heavy jugs of water
 with the dead weight arms of a past lover's

 How heavy is love? How hard are you


Thursday, December 29, 2011

day 159

back to pen and paper vol 5:

I am seeking
answers that make sense and
   sense that is not
so common

I am finding      words
that pierce the fingertips of

creation. Thoughts sting
like I can't stay patient

buzzing.    There is a home inside these lungs.

I will someday breathe growth
onto mossy caves. Stone me
like concave memories. We close our eyes and make


They're fucking beautiful. We are lost.

We are finding things other than

I am here
  in a language
  I haven't learned
  to love


Wednesday, December 28, 2011

day 158

back to pen and paper vol 4:

   They are building me a river path to you.
    Construct love out of broken
rafts. Someday, love,
we'll be floating on gently.


Tuesday, December 27, 2011

day 157

Read my body language

Run your fingers over these goosebumps
   confuse them for braille.
Love is blind       anyway.
Explore new languages with
   no translations. Get lost in me.
With me.
Without me, see me,
feel it. It feels warm. That is knowledge.
   She loves you, man.
   She loves you.      Man.

Monday, December 26, 2011

day 156

Jewels and gems
and ear rings, serpent slithering thin
through perfect ear lobes, Let
   me love you with my tongue.
   The strongest muscle of our
   bodies. Put together. Lay
with me


Is this what love feels like

Is this how lust captures
   its prey

like a quiet serpent
slithering thin through perfect

She is where the grass is greener.
   Grow a lover out of me, Let
    me love you with my hands.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

day 155

Five hour nap

You call it sleeping

I am not dreaming
with eyes shut, blind. Playing
ignorance to blossoming

Where do you want to be in a day,
five hours?


Welcoming dreams into my soul's

Saturday, December 24, 2011

day 154

I won't be gone forever

I am smelling daisies in a freshly bought

There is a garden.

And innocent garden snakes. They won't
bite, won't bother,
allow them to slither in between
crops and flowers. Green skin matching
green thumb,
You are creating something beautiful.

Creating airways for
to creep through and blossom into
new born lungs. It's like
I love myself for the very first time.
Being born again. This light
is weightless.

Friday, December 23, 2011

day 153

Dream a little dream of me

Half past two
   these clouds are reserved
two seat booth
with the fancy table center.

Doilies under daisies


That is how love is supposed to feel. Not
that rough shit. More of that
I want to imagine how soft your lips
can sing, murmur dreams on my
ear lobes. I am listening.
I am listening.

day 152

Growing up:

Money doesn't buy you happiness. You get
what you get. You love what you are
able to love.

Fast forward 18 years:

Money doesn't buy me happiness. Or gas
in my tank. I can't fill my car up with love. I
need to be where I need to be. I don't know
I want to be.

Fast forward 18 years and 1 day:

A $12,000 scholarship means that I did
something right.

I still don't know where I want to be.
But things are getting better.

Growing up:

Things are only uphill from here.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

day 150

Tomorrow is my boyfriend's birthday.

Today is Wednesday.

Nothing is relevant to anything.

I want a tattoo of elephants
on the inside of my arm.
Three of them. A storm of elephants.

This isn't a funny poem.
This is a piece where I admit that
      I am actually lost.
 I don't know where I am
 or even where I want to be.
 What I want to do
 or how to start wanting to know.

Christmas is in a few days.
  Tomorrow is the first day of Winter,
I've always thought it was today.
The 21st. The 21st is always
the first of everything.

Tomorrow is the 22nd.
  It's always second best.

It will be in the 50 degree range

It isn't as cold as it should be.
I'm not as warm as I should feel.

My boyfriend makes me exhausted.
Loving him is getting tiring. He loves me,
I know. But I can't seem to
believe him when he tells me that
he's in love with me.

And it's none of that stupid self-esteem shit.
I know that I am capable of being loved
and having someone fall in love with me.
But not him.
He's a character.

Holden Caulfield is still my dream guy.
   He's not even real.

I'm already dead. I already feel dead.
How much more dead can I
be alive to feel?

Today my brother told me that my mother
   doesn't mind if I go away for college.
   Part of the reason why I didn't apply for UW Madison is because

1) I fucked up in high school and my GPA clearly wouldn't be
    "good enough" to be accepted
2) I found home in my second home town
3) This house became warm to me

Nowadays I just feel lost in a city I know best.
I feel cold. Like -52 degree weather.
There is nothing that can keep me warm.
I don't mind freezing. Throw me a few
compliments to radiate my smile,
I'll be fine.

I don't know where I want to be anymore.
Who I want to be with, why I feel so lost.

I am no longer who I wanted to be.

I hardly have the energy to stay animated.
I miss myself.

I've been writing for 150 days straight.
That's a shitload of minutes,
hours, seconds I've been thinking.
The lightbulb is dim, love.
The lightbulb is burning out.

Where is your passion?

    (Good question)
We all get lost.
I'm staying dizzy in this maze of emotions
until I amaze myself with discovery.

Soon, love, soon.
You can't allow someone to fall in love
with you,
if you can't fall in love with
I am losing my beauty.

  (I now understand The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Two months after half-ass reading it.)


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

day 149

Because I want to undress your inner thoughts with
   just the touch of my eyes.
Let my lashes dance in the palm of your hands,
   palm tree sway in Southern weather.
I promise to be gentle,
chivalry  is best done by women.

Evening love,
you are candlelight cozy. Suede leather
sofa. Love seat caresses. I am
sitting on a cloud. I am loving you
like clouds. Light and passable,
   seeing shapes like sophomore
year geometry. Let us bend
tonight. Let us love.

Monday, December 19, 2011

day 148

open letter to the mail man

are you allowed to read open letters?
   do you deliver your own mail?
 how many times do dogs get the best of you?
do they howl?
do you howl?
what does your handwriting look like?
 is it always cursive,
always curvy
like a beautiful, healthy woman,
  apple pie baker,
  heart rich enough to buy a sailboat,
cursive like ocean curves?

do you get motion sickness?
  home sick?

Sunday, December 18, 2011

day 147

For all I know

this could be the end of something beautiful

It gets hard loving someone
when you can't bring yourself
to believe that they
love you.
This is the worst part.
The part where you want to
but you can't.
The part when you realize
your brain and heart
are two useless figures.
Brain, playing nightmare
scenarios when you don't want to
see. Do you hear the
scratching of lonely tree branches
against your windowsill?
They are looking for a new lover.
I want to almost
scratch into you with
twig hands. Love your
blood, feel your heartbeat
through my skin.
I can taste a doubt
hidden behind
cloudy pulses.
It beats, yes.
the military escort.
It's drumming
against ear drums
of lovers in
distant lands.

I am as distant as
distant is.


Saturday, December 17, 2011

day 146

Bathing in my own sweat
  It is a swimming pool of nightmares
sometimes freezing when I'm awake

Can i just dream forever

Friday, December 16, 2011

day 145

back to pen and paper vol 3:


you accomplish as much as you
are meant to.
in one day,
one week,
one year.

i don't mean to enforce
my land is settled in
broken acres.
seeding hope in
open spaces.

one day
you do
in one week
will make sense.
one year,
you will look back
at your
and smile.
how did i do that?
when did i do that?
I don't know, but
I'm glad it happened.

you will learn that everything has a purpose.
be the reason why the world
is wonderful.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

day 144

why i feel how i feel:

A small child
is learning how to grow
skin onto bad memories.
I pick off scabs
like I'm 11 again.
When I pretended that
ugly scars didn't mean a thing
but they meant
two. They meant to
curse my growth with
Like I will somehow
mature into a beautiful
                            woman. Someday
these scars will haunt me.
Tonight they do.
They shine brighter than
a blue moon. Rare.
There are teenagers swimming
in flooded craters. They insist
love is just that. Seeing
everything blind.
And they glow. They glisten
the way scabs break
and blood boils.
You hear that broken blood
Tonight we will
Save an expecting woman
from bringing a lost soul into this universe.
Have you ever realized how many
stars there are? And how many
moments you are 
accounted for?
Mid day you will realize
that you will live
one day less. Nightmare.
This is a daydream you
wasted five seconds
listening to. Pop.
Where was my father
when I needed to learn
about hidden beauty.

The kind of beauty
that sinks knee deep.
Skinny dipping under
blue moons except this beauty
is more frequent like we
all generate a surplus of
red blood cells. I can't
wet the bed with my own
liberty in a city
that doesn't give a fuck. Send me another
mother fuck you.
we share these same
mother fucks. This is a sea
only meant for sailors. I am filled
with regrets of the man's ocean.
See. We are all blind
in sea men's regret.
Ghost waves and dead
sharks. They swim around me.
Surrounding me with hungry
dog eyes. I'm blue and I'm
drowning in it, like
I expected to play some underwater
honey trombone.
I will hold my breath with
dignity. I will watch my
blood boil in warm
hometown fountains
until my own
explode. Pop.
Bring me your knives,
your rockets, I am swallowing
oceans just to stab my guts
to find bravery.

This is my home.
See these scars?
These scales play piano---skin me
alive, I want a reason
pray. I want a reason
to sew rocket ships
onto my heart. I will explode
into ten million
stars and land on a raft.
it pretends that it doesn't care
about being ugly.
But it does..
It's ugly as fuck
and it knows it. Like somehow
it will grow into a beautiful
      woman. But it's only
made of wood.
And wood is flammable..
wood becomes swollen
like it expects only the worst.
Good luck comes
once every teenage skinny dip.
I am naked under these clothes
but can you handle the
naked truth?

Can you hold her,
with arms of clouds and hands warm
enough to call Church.
Kiss her belly button crevices.
Swim into her. You are only
wood. Flammable, yes. Burn
into her with fingertips of
fake passion. She feels your pulse
She feels your pulse now.
That is how two becomes one
grabbing onto broken cliffs
like these shoulder blades
will sprout wings for you.
I refuse to become a
I am full of self
with dignity
and its swaying out of me
like incense sweating the fucking
prayers from my
I will numb the taste buds of
wandering sailors.
Saving sea men from
picking scabs off their scales. They
swim towards boiling
blood like sharks.
And sharks are indecisive.
Take a bite out of me.
Let me bleed my rights.
Sink your teeth into my bones, they
are wooden. I wouldn't
let the taste appall you but I
promised to burn wondering
taste buds with
knee deep regret. Pop.
That's the sound of your legs
breaking. Too much running,
too much falling. Bruises
on sweet nectarine knee caps. You are
dislocated. A lost soul eaten
by ghost sharks in dead waves.

This is five seconds wasted
on one day less lived.
But you will pretend that
you don't care about the scars.
About the ugly.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

day 143

Swollen lips part II
   I will listen to you like I understand
the liar's language. But in reality:
There are too many dialects I
will never learn.
   The liars twist eye contact with
   lie detecting heart beats. This is what
   they do. They fool you.
Kiss you with swollen lips.
  Lips swelled with excitement,
this is the first time he's kissed the girl of his
dreams. Like he was finally the hero
of some sick twisted love story.
   I will listen to him like I understand
the liar's language. But I don't.
   It sounds similar to
                    love. Sounding
way too familiar. I've heard the same
   tone on Route 3. Like sirens.
Ambulances, fire trucks, the police
doesn't care about stolen hearts anymore.
  Those robberies occur too often. It's
too familiar to them. Like sirens.
   Beautiful women I will never understand.
   She sings to me with lips of
swelled up secrets.
   This pitch is from past lover #45.
She is used to the truck stops on
Route 3 from
 soul searching on highway interstates.
For an answer.
   Like she sings for a purpose. This is the song cry
she shows off. Sounding almost..
                    ghostly. Sounding
way too familiar. Like the thunderstorm sirens
on a rainy 4th of July. Firework heartbreaks, dear.
                     FIRE. It feels almost
                     ghostly. Almost feeling like

but it's not love.
I will never understand my lover's language. It sounds
too much like the liar's.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

day 142

Swollen lips
  We speak to liars like it's a new language
  I understand all the words.
  It's easy for something to swell up
You can only go up from here.

Monday, December 12, 2011

day 141

There is an unsettling darkness in this home. It plays housewife to the frightened souls. Like some sort of reminder that things will eventually be warm. This darkness will seep through door cracks the way stove tops keep stomachs from aching. This is how we keep our dreams from straying: Hands free of recipe books. Add one-fourth fear and three-fourths determination into this mixing bowl you call a mind. Stir gently with good intentions. The darkness shakes between the breaths you take. It dances. Do you feel it? Do you sense the tension it leaves behind after stomaching your emptiness? No. This is why your dreams will remain one-fourth ahead. This is why you will remain three-fourths behind. This darkness is a brokenhearted woman in a river of soulful cries. She cannot swim to save you. She cannot even help herself. She is too busy playing waterfall to concave memoirs.
     What is a dream if you leave a dream untouched? It is nothing but a mere cloud. A memory left unnamed. How many dreams have you abandoned? Enough.
     The only way to defeat this poltergeist in your heavy heart is to chase it. Chase it until you get a grasp on its living soul. Eventually, the darkness dies out and you are left with warmth. This is how you become friends with courage. There is no recipe book required. Courage will shape companion in any way you desire. The only ingredient recommended is self-worth.
            You are worth all the dreams your eyes can draw within your cave-shaped eyelids. There is no limit to how many dreams you can create. Just remember that the darkness is constantly hungry. It is starving from stomaching your empty ambitions.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

day 140


yearning to dig deeper than
  hearts have gone.
I want to be sewn together again.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

day 139

Feeling apathetic.

What happens when the fountain of your motivation
dries out.
Tires out.
No wheels on these thoughts. They are going
What am I doing with my life.

Friday, December 9, 2011

day 138

back to pen and paper vol 2:

knife, knight in shining armor like tonight is the
where stabbing will break open
produce more
time. More
power. More
What are you made up of besides


Strikingly beautiful, darlin, you are
beautiful. Tonight you are
draped under the arm of a fine
gentleman. He practices
chivalry like he gets paid for it...

   Strikers go on strike tonight.
Midnight. More
gore. More
There is a role of playing gentleman,
a role of being gentle, a role
of striking out.
Don't be afraid to
  return to bed.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

day 137


she will become home to new lovers and familiar presences. this is where she will lay, with opportunity. it feels like immigration. deportation. the train deports in eight months. save one for a healthy child. with presents. you are a gift, love. topped off with pretty skin and a hearty smile. til we say goodbye. this is only a hello.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

day 136

Working til death of exhaustion
  living til I work my bones to the ground
  dying til I feel alive again.

but I do.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

day 135

5 minutes

four minutes to spare
We are here
 these troubles.
Night tremors.
Treble clef,
   trembling, hanging
over a troubled cliff. Bears
and coyotes,
Tree house play homes for
sleepy owls. Ironic.
It is midnight.
    2 minutes.
A pair of seconds
   Help yourself with seconds.

You can't buy time,

Time together is
          priceless. One minute
   to spare.

Monday, December 5, 2011

day 134

Hhhhh ah.

Silently. Your eyelashes
cry out to me. Say,
  come dance. He's gentle. Without
thinking, this is me wrapping your soul in arms made of clouds
  It is cold to the touch.   Why?
Because I love you
with a blank canvas neck. I say.
Paint your passion
       on me. Today,
I am the creases on soaking wet
Hold me.
 Absorb this warmth. So
delicate. Like
I will become a sharp
shoulder blade
  the minute you turn your back on me.
But rest easy
that I want you as innocently
as I can.     You are blind
  in this darkness. Use
your hands
Your fingertips are fresh
paint brushes. Finger paint
let them run all over the
of my body.
  Over hidden canyons
in glow in the dark
mattresses. Lay
here. This is where I lay.
With five senses
filled with wonder. I wonder how
   loving you barely feels.
bare. I lay here
There is nothing building on me.
  I've built butterfly homes
between each bare
like black and white films, what is
   red here, is blue, is
You are so
         gentle. Delicate.
We are not just meat with
skin and bones.
   We are tangled lovers.
Tangled between passion. We are
  softly entangled.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

day 133

Relying on the
  internet to bring you words
seems awfully lame. 

And it is.

I have dreams of
 of handing out my words
  with cups of
 on the streets of small bustling
    cities. They'll
have walls filled with
people. The kind of
   know how to live. This
   is where I see myself in
a fast forwarded time span.

When paper becomes

Just you wait.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

day 132

It is still Autumn, love
  but Autumn is slowly dying.
   there is a cancer we've been
    exposed to,
it is taking over the homes
  in my veins.
Clogging the pathways to my
Without this flow,
we have nothing.
We will all have nothing
  in the end.

Prepare to say goodbye to
  Autumn. She is
slowly sleeping. Preparing
herself for the beauty
  she's been giving out

Have you ever thanked her?
No, I haven't.

Friday, December 2, 2011

day 131

Mood: hopeful

It's never really over.
Things are
I am begging
you to
hold on,
I am here
when you've lost

Thursday, December 1, 2011

day 130

Open letter to my mentor:

If one day
you should forget
who you are
and what you stand for,
that YOU

A for the amazing
lessons you drop in
clueless mail boxes.
You are

N for the never-ending
face aches
you bring to everyone.
The sound of your
laughter brings
joy to the muscles
in my cheekbones.
making me
love life.

T for times
you will
change the world.

H for heart.
Fickle, yes,
but warm and welcoming

O for OH SHIT.
And that doesn't need an

N for needle points
in hay stacks. They are
rare, hard to find. You
encounter them with pain.
This is what life brings you:
Obstacles that

(Y for) You will overcome.

I love you.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

day 129

Crying in your car on the side of the road: Part 1

The image I've set for myself
  has tainted my freedom.
Where are my wings when I need them
  When did I burn them
     Who did I lend them to
can someone affect my world so much
Why did I even allow this

Thank you
I can't bring myself
to speak what I want to speak.
To express how blue
this blue feels.
Like some fucked up gray ocean,
Pacific, Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico
You might as well let go
  You're going to let go sooner
or fucking later.

Fucking later.

Why did I even allow this
I built up walls
Built up walls
  Dig underneath and swim
There is a moat
A fucking moat.
Sometimes I am too stupid.
There always has to be some
stupid fucking kind of
Lesson learned.

Don't be afraid to be trapped.
You are stronger than you think
  Unconventional confrontational
Love can be roasted in
  a conventional oven.
It's convenient.
 Quick and easy.
Like a famous Hollywood homicide.
I am pretty sure you are a
 two time failing suicide victim.
 You can't die.
 You pump your own blood supply.
Just you.

Just me.
On the side of the road.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

day 128


you harbor my
in the spaces
us. Some days
I won't be there,
eighteen feet away,
but I will always
For you.
With the spaces
between us
filled of sweet
shoe boxed
This is for

I love you, Sara.

Monday, November 28, 2011

day 127

Things I find beautiful
(1) Her soul. Darlin is
strong enough to shake
rhythms out of fear.
She will teach you what it is to love.
  Lightning bolt grasp,
she is Zeus admirable.
  Her lessons.
Her lessons are learned
as quick as she leaves. Today,
  I play waterfall to concave
memoirs. It is still Autumn,
love. Stay lost in her
wanderlust, with me.
Wake up in a bat cave home. These
bat shit feelings make you
feel at home. Let your voice
slither through these halls.
   with such an intensity
you create cracks in sidewalks. You.
You are earthquake lovely.

(2) Cracks in sidewalks. Our child
will skip over all of them. Oblivious
to all the beauty space plays home to.
Like, black holes are bigger than this
universe. Blind. Today,
we are just star matter. Atoms, and
blood. (3) Quivering lips.
She has been walking through broken
down bat caves. There, someone
has found home in her.
Has played waterfall rhythms, roaring.
She is praying for a messenger.
a friend proves Medusa's legend.
Words hard enough to shatter
coral reef homes. This is how
she becomes earthquake lovely.
(4) From the ground up. We are
bones and lost dreams.
Hidden passion and homicidal
intentions. (5) Bulletproof heartbeats.
Sssssssssss. Sketchy silence that
slithers through lonely crevices.
Cracks in abandoned boulevard
boardwalks. Monsters hiding
in bat caves. (6) Monsters.

(7) Today, I am a pieced
together monster. Yesterday
was years ago. I will
forget about this tomorrow.
(8) Sorrow. The monsters
drink tears from waterfall
canyons. They sip the
purity out of happy coral
homes. This is how I'll
become earthquake

(9) They tell me: When
you drown, your lungs burn.
Your insides burn. This
is what star matter feels like.
Like, inside out atoms.
Boiling blood. This is
how you forget yourself.
Tonight, under the sea of five
light year gallons,
this is where your
sleep. Sink or
(10) Swim.
There's a limit to how
far you can fall. Today,
fall upside down.
Become more than just
star dust.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

day 126

confession #582

90% of my favorite people

The 10% that still
to survive
are only my
they figured it

100% of
the people
I admire
We are
our flesh
will turn
worm's meat,
our bones
for creepy
Our knee caps,
the very first
will no longer
be ours.
won't be
around to be

How can I change the world if I'm dead

Saturday, November 26, 2011

day 125

I am
writing to
writer's block.
I will
wall in my
Paving the
to build
sky scrapers.
This is how
words form monuments.
Every phrase
will be
just a bit.
and mastered
until it is
All the words.
All these words.
They are gifts.
The ability to arrange
and array them together
in such a pattern
I sew together
brick hard
I throw them
down dirty
sewer drains.
even the
dirtiest homes
the underdogs
will build
You will
Mona Lisa
with your words.
Think of
Stretch it.
it. Demolish
all concrete
feelings. Create
Feel your art.
Love your
Create a
out of syllables.
This is
you will keep
your gift.
Keep her
Love her. She
will help you

Friday, November 25, 2011

day 124

Our bodies fit without directions
Left hands are right
this is how we collide into each other

Giraffe necks
Mistake me for something beautiful.
We will get tangled in the length of how much I
long for you

3. Somehow I will manage to show you the beauty of a mess

If Cupid really exists,
where do you think he hides his extra arrows?
I have mistaken love for feeding time at the zoo.
Giraffe necks grow like the nose of
They are unfaithful lovers.

5. The duration of this lust is growing as long as
Giraffe necks. I find myself
wanting to collide
more often. Let me
get tangled into you.
We will kiss necks like unfaithful
animals. I will not be the first to be

Thursday, November 24, 2011

day 123

Feliz navidad
Hola! Coma estas!
Como te llamas tu llamas
Me gusta mucho futbol
Soy de Lowell
Dos gatos
Yo tengo
Poqueno pollo

El swago

Buenos noches



Wednesday, November 23, 2011

day 122

i sleep on broken in cushions
  branded leather
it keeps you warm
 like fourth of july kisses
   like fireworks
    it keeps you warm
to have sewn this together
  your hands will grow as big as picasso's
 with more imagination and talent
you will brand warmth onto leather hearts
 with just the flinch of an elbow
   kissing girls with macaroni wounds
this is her heart
 this is how you'll mend it
  piece it together with a master key,
a master's needle
it is noble
and she will sleep on broken in cushions
  formerly broken in by past lovers

   have you ever wondered what she thinks of your past

  yes. of course i have.

i sleep on set in wrinkles
on these brand new
  comforters. i hope for comfort
  these wrinkles won't feel so set in
we will be
set in stone,
anchoring me to the bottom of your heart's chains
  she is still tied to you
puppeteers play tag in New York city
I park my car to listen
  she still speaks your name
    with googly melodies.
she will piece together the dialect of Mr. right now
  with the same rhythm to your heart's song.
  this is where funny bone bruises
  turn deadly. It is not
fun to watch a sprouting love
overdose of numbers up to
  3 million sheep.
They sheepishly grin tonight.
  choke on  your Zs
   play example of bad past and reoccurring nightmares
 she holds me like sleep paralysis
  she is the demon behind my happiness
everything is wrong right now
 it scares me

have you ever wondered what demons are holding her back?

i haven't.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

day 121

(wireless internet,
you make my life
miserable, on days
I need you
You are never where
I am, never where
I wish for you to be.
There is a whole sea
of networks working
on crab ships, nets
full of productivity.
For today, I will
stick with old
pencil and paper: a
True love.
Old reliable.
You can always run
back to the truest
soul mates)

Monday, November 21, 2011

Sunday, November 20, 2011

day 119

A big thank you note:

Thank you for
giving me all I didn't
ask for. Please
don't take that as a
compliment, for
we don't
each other in any
as a conclusion to
this potentially long
note, I will say
that the way
is inching closer.
And you are
to her,
inches away
from speaking her
name. Sounds like
Beauty, it sounds
familiar, and so
does fuck you.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

day 118

button nose
You are my Valentine
Love me threadless but
with strings
I am your
rag doll tonight.
Love me
but with passion.
There is a good 
in these old

Friday, November 18, 2011

day 117

excuse me. Tonight
I am
finding peace in myself
one piece at a time
break me open. Like
pomegranate seeds,
I am tough.
rough housing
with blankets whose
silhouettes bundle
unfamiliar to
my mattress. There
are matches,
lighting up this mind. I
am a spark away from
speaking genius. It's
genuine- this 
thought. This

Thursday, November 17, 2011

day 116

Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for soft snores.
Mama's sleeping now, while my
feet are here rustling
in the Autumn night. I
leave a home
for a house. I let a home
turn into a house.
The mice
will take over my place,
replacing me. They
need homes in these
Autumn nights.
I only feel reds
Sorry Mama.
Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for soft snores.
You're sleeping now, while my
fingers are here
across a notebook's
I leave a home for this
house, you hear
my keys
Collect change I need to
Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for you
to speak home
to me.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

day 115

love me with enough passion
to turn bloated deserts
into swelling seas.
At times my
heart grows thirsty,
it shrinks
with each beat. At times
these beats lack
a bass. A
basic oasis,
save me.
With arms tender enough
to hydrate the living
soul out of me.
Love me with
a passion, overwhelming.
Drown me.
Only if you're

Tonight is for me,
falling in love

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

day 114

A question for Mr. Salvador:

How far did you let her run?

I do not see her footprints
on the broken sand
where you left her.
The honeymoon beach wedding
has faded away with
the waves.
You must have
goodbye to her
far too many times.
She is now basking away in 
the sunlight you couldn't have
ever imagined
giving her.
She is past cliffs
and over shores.
I am sure she is somewhere
Turning a heartbreak into a home,
this is what
gave to her.
A canvas
smudged of colors.
You can't paint 
You can't stop time
with portraits.
You can't bring hearts back to life
by melting clocks.
So Mr. Salvador,
  Try to teach me
how to love.
You must have watched her
meters into
Miles turn into oceans,
you must have drowned her with lost time.

Monday, November 14, 2011

day 113

Mood: guarded

A sorry in advance
  For I forget as much as I
should remember
I leave memories on pawn shop counters
They don't give receipts there
  Only cursive letters on yellow paper
Transcripts that tell me
  how much I do adore
You. Stealing blankets from
warm bodies
is something I'll grow
accustomed to.
Like loving you is becoming a tradition.
A month from now
I will love you with arms stuck in
new old clothing.
Patch your worn out soul with
numb nose kisses.
You won't feel a thing, love,
but when you do,
it'll burn.

It'll burn like freshly brewed passion.
I keep your sharp notes
in a drawer. They play music
like hand-me-down jewelry boxes.
about this tradition,
of celebrating everything
in this air. It's thick tonight.
Thick enough to kill a man,
like smog on a busy evening.
Falling in love with you
feels like running marathons through
wintertime rush hour.
Of course,
  these burning tires will leave
a strong imprint on this road.
A reminder
with cursive letters on yellow paper,
it will burn
miniature mountains on the
paved path we made for us two.
In two months,
  I will remember to pawn forgetfulness
like it's the only tradition I've
grown accustomed to.

This sharp note will grow flat
by the time someone new reaches
this jewelry box. Someday,
I could become home to
anyone but
Trace the cursive road.
It is filled with kisses and
a fresh touch.
I want to love you
enclosed between golden lockets
  Thrift stored on Sunday afternoons
during cold rain
I keep a blanket in the back seat
of my car
to make a secondhand home
out of blizzards.

  You'll get used to this cold,
one day, You said,
I will keep you warm with nothing
but this soul.
    Morning frost is a reminder
of free expression. Draw on me,
 with tiny burning fingertips, trace
miniature mountains in nude
ink, said,
mold identity out of me.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

day 112

How to feel found while being lost

Think about doing
you want to do.
Think of how to 
make mere ideas

Catch wishes
with gold sifters.
Sort out
stinging salt
from riverbeds.
we dream on crummy
Your bed sheets are
filled with crumbs
from eating away your

Don't drive on an
empty tank of gas.
There are too many
reminders of
how whole you
to be.
Stop in an unknown
town. Realize:
There are other
lost souls,

Accept the fact
that you are indeed lovable
We all speak words
we wish we
framed with gold.
Catch bad omens
with a flick of a tongue.
what you want to say
isn't what you need.
Swallow syllables
that get caught in your
Have the courage
to speak with a
lost translator.

You don't always
need to explain

Saturday, November 12, 2011

day 111

Mother carried me on
her back. She's already
tall, she doesn't have to 
swim. Those sick gators
wanted to make a fool's
meat out of me. Mother
tells me I am made of
ivory and tough skin. This
is what beauty is and this
is why gators shouldn't
be trusted. They have
tough skin, too, and only
ivory teeth. Mother tells
me to ignore them. They
are not one of us. One
day, she says, when you
grow tall and wise, you
will realize that your soul
is much more bigger than