Wednesday, August 31, 2011

day 38

Be my stepping stone

We turn snowed in welcome mats into loving beds
Tell me
I could lay like this for ages
Cradle elbows with tissue paper hands
Be gentle
Kiss wrinkles onto foreheads
We will give home a new meaning

Skip pebbles across melting volcanic glacial waters
Freezing time to keep the warmth in
Your chapped fingertips are all mine to hold
Repair broken skin with stinging heartbeats
is where our eyelashes
dance with each and every blink
to the melody of the crashing waves beside us
on a quiet Summer's day.

Admire with ocean deep eyes
No one knows how to swim anymore
but we can pretend
Tell me you hate me
and I know you won't mean it
Don't throw me into the shallow side
My tissue paper lungs will crumble
Love me like pretty bow tied birthday boxes

With you,
my seventeenth birthday is born
time and time again

Be my stepping stone
We turn boulder hard pillow cases into feather light passion
Tell you
I am light,
my bones are brittle,
but I love you close with tissue paper might.
Be gentle with my soul
And in return
I will give home a new meaning
Effortless pretty bow tied birthday boxes
for every day of the week
You make me feel alive
like drowning in volcano glacial waters
pretending to swim to the surface
for another breath.

That breath is the stepping stone to a new lover's heartbeat
Strum me gently with stinging words
Pretend you're falling in love
Keep arms sprawled out
Crawl into open minds
Gift wrap expectations sweetly
I won't be seventeen a year from now,
but sway in the depths of my youth.
Don't forget that I am letting you love me,
so remember:
If I am able to breathe around you,
everything will stay warm.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

day 37


I am willing to pay cab fares
across Atlantic oceans and Red seas
no bridges
Contact the dreamers
Count sheep until this impossible task proves possible

The dreamers have a reputation for dreaming with eyes open
Thinking of foolish unpractical love schemes
They paint nurseries yellow.
Virgin yellow.

There is a price to pay
for erasing memories and yearning innocence
Dreamers surgically remove nightmares
They dream with glossy eyes staring
One eye on virgin yellow sunrises
and one eye on naive love children
We are all lost here

Tattoo compass ink onto my hands
New lover,
hold me
Guide me North in East hurricane winds
and South in West monsoon tears
We are all in need of dreaming yellow sunrises
especially me
but let go of my hands
when my past lover is dragging me backward
Reversing into a parallel universe
of broken utopia
It is still virgin yellow there
but the forecast reads foolish love schemes
That house I grew up in
has lead paint
It was painted yellow in the nursery.
I could see the Red sea through my bedroom window
it reflected see-through rose colored pupils
I am teaching children to love cab fares
To love trading virgin yellow sunrises
for foolish yellow cab one night journeys to Atlantic ocean mysteries
They exchange innocence for being familiarly lost
New lover
hold me
Guide me East in North tropical blizzards
and West in South thunderstorm droughts
But be ready to let me go
when virgin yellow melodies get mistaken for foolish unpractical love schemes
I am all lost here
and not awake
Contact the dreamers 
Count sheep with me until this impossible task proves possible

Monday, August 29, 2011

day 36

Distractions cause rug burned skin
I don't know if I will get used to the carpet
Accustomed to loving on bare foot floors
Not ready to surrender curled toes
Only after let loose curls on
distracted ragdoll burning side burns

I feel burned
A burden
Accustomed to fearing splinters on pinky toes
Building bridges to pinky promises

I am burning these burden bridges

Sunday, August 28, 2011

day 35

most of the time
I think that I'm fine
I mean
I know that I'm fine,
but there are those days
where I'm not
those moments
where I'm laying in bed
and I can't help but think of you.
most of the time
I get this lonely pit of empty in my stomach
where those cheeky butterflies used to dance
And I get sad
most of the time.
Sometimes I'll lay in bed with someone new
most of the time I'll just picture myself doing so
and the lonely pit of empty isn't there
I'm just confused
most of the time.
What do I really want
most of the time?
Sometimes I want you
but I want to be myself
most of the time.
Sometimes I want you
but I want to be happy
most of the time.
Sometimes I want you
but I want you to understand me
I want you to learn from me
I want you to see beauty like me
I want you, sometimes,
but most of the time
I just want you in some other sense.

I remember wanting to hold the shit out of your hand
I still do.
You are a Sunday type of love
but when did Sundays turn into early afternoon secrets
sipping water from plastic cups
on beautiful, warm summer days?
I'd just like to lay in bed with you
most of the time
and just be silent to ourselves
I would save you the right side of the bed
most of the time
and we would sleep
I still really just want you
I still really just want to hold your hand
and sip water from plastic cups
wasting away beautiful days
in your grasps
I really just want to be myself
most of the time.
all the time.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

day 34

“If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose”
(Charles Bukowski)

To the all the people that sing for better days in the shower

Nature's rain can be too cold
but having the power to cry in warm water
makes a cold soul feel mildly better
There are days you will walk with broken umbrellas
capturing the tears of a million invisible bullets
and you will cry under the pressure
but no one will tell.
We mix water with water
Acid rain with saltine droplets
This soul is a beautifully polluted ocean
This soul is damaged
is tampered
is broken
This soul is drowning in the depths of the deepest darkest waters
but this soul
This soul is still yours to dance in the rain with.

Friday, August 26, 2011

day 33

a haiku:

Last day of band camp
This season will be sexy
Gold gold gold and gold

Thursday, August 25, 2011

day 32

32 sugar packets
for an extra bitter coffee

we don't treat each other with love.
money eyes and hungry hands are present
only in the absence of love
you are holding 32
gift boxes of
strawberry frosting
on miniature marble cupcakes

even pastries can't decide whether they love someone or not
everything is always black and white
everything should always be black and white
black or white
or strawberry frosting captured in sepia
distinguish is a silly verb.

why did i bother paying an extra 32 cents for an extra bitter coffee?

32 sugar packets won't make me feel any more awake
and my teeth are going to rot
from our dying tongue kissing hellos

nothing makes sense

your tongue speaks fibs from rented violin bows
ribbon wrapped gift boxes
of miniature marble cupcakes

nothing is either vanilla or chocolate
or black or white
or strawberry frosted indecisiveness
you speak silly words
32 days a month
i lay listening to little neighbor church boy
practice with his rented violin bows
i can't distinguish between the screeching music
or screeching tires on this slippery wet pavement
route 32 is slippery wet
we are driving each other mad.
i love you 32 days a month


Wednesday, August 24, 2011

day 31

what am i doing with my life?

i want to travel
with just two hands and two legs
with two feet
and ten toes

i want to live
in a rainy city for 3 years

make myself a cup of hot chocolate
every morning
and eat a piece of cake
because i can
and because life will be a piece of cake

i don't want a one family house
with a white picket fence
and beautiful roses and vines
maybe vines
but not roses
i am a daisy kind of girl
and i hope i still will be

i want to live five minutes away from downtown
and a library
and a laundromat
and a museum
and a grocery store

i want to walk into a grocery store
with a basket
and bump into my past lover in aisle 3
he'll be buying cereal
for his beautiful children
and i'll finally meet his beautiful wife
they'll be so perfect for each other
that it'll make me happy to know
that letting go 
was the best decision we've ever made

and after grabbing an instant pack of cocoa
and exchanging those
i-fell-in-love-with-you-first smiles
i'll find the shortest line possible
buy my shit
and walk back to my studio
but somewhat happy
and somewhat heartbroken
but mostly happy

and i'll start to spot the gray undertones of the clouds
and be thankful that it's not raining for once

i want to be beautiful while crying.

i want to pick a daisy off a crack in the sidewalk
and place it in a water bottle
on my kitchen counter

it'll remind me of my ex boyfriends
that used to buy me daisies
for birthdays and anniversaries
but remember that he got me a fake carnation
and baby breath
on his prom night
and i still call him my past lover

there are people you meet
that seem so perfect for you
but they make you sad
and they make you bored
and they make you frustrated
and they tell you they want to leave
i want to be able to look back on this decision
and not have to worry if i still look beautiful crying
i want to be thankful that my two hands were once his to hold
and that my two feet and his two feet
once walked the same path
i want to be thankful that he makes me want to be alone
for the rest of my life
but seeing that he could be happy someday
in a stupid grocery store
buying cereal for kids we once named
changes everything
i want to fall in love completely
losing sense of my toes
i want to be numb
in love
the way i used to be with my past lover
but not with my ex boyfriends
i want to be able
to stick ten daisies in a single water bottle
and not have anyone question me
i want someone to tell me that i am beautiful while crying
and that someone is a stranger
in aisle 4
looking at the same cake mix as i am 
and i want to tell all of my secrets to him
on a rainy day
and he'll send me daisies and water bottles
on Tuesdays
because he was thinking of me

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

day 30

this morning i spent time to myself at a park with a camera.
i had a terribly horrible day yesterday,
but today is a new day. cheers to blue skies and pretty flowers.

Today is a new day
I live in a beautiful town
full of daisies and bumble bees
The skies are beautiful blue
and even more beautiful when gray
is a blessing here.
I love my surroundings
I've grown to appreciate the beauty of cracked sidewalks
and stinging wasps.
If you are silent,
and daring,
you can grasp beauty by her green grassy fingers
and honey filled locks of hair.
She will grace by you
like a swarm of gnats 
chitter chattering 
wondering where all the humans are.
We spend too much time online
and in bed
What we don't know
and what she's telling us
is that you can make a bed
out of dew drops and marble benches
She wants you to take advantage of her
She is the definition of beauty
and we live in her thoughts
bicycling through one ways
and carefully stepping on her cracked porcelain skin.
She is a sweet honeybee wind
Do not be afraid
be daring
and speak with careful porcelain words
She will not sting you
if you hum sweetly.

Monday, August 22, 2011

day 29


Sunday, August 21, 2011

day 28

learn to let things you cannot control go

i feel ridiculously empty inside
with a bloated stomach
and a heavy appetite for my lover's past

i've come to terms with the fact that you're gone
but i will love you til i can't anymore
i just 
fell out of love
clumsy kissing tree
we planted the sweet lemon seeds
and chopped it down

chopin couldn't have told his piano all the things
he used to tell his past lover
the piano would get insecure
of how strong of a love
he once had for someone

how bittersweet

how busy do i have to keep myself
to constantly keep you off my mind?
how many more pieces will i write until i grow annoyed of missing you?
how many times do you think of me anymore?

being selfish is such a bittersweet action.
as an attempt to make us both happy
i'll admit red-handed that our kissing tree
was chopped down by me in the tune of C sharp

the green of the leaves reminded me of you
something so pure 
i don't have a piano
but my notebooks are growing jealous over
the words i used to tell you

chopin trees with C sharp axes
summer is nearly over
i am getting jealous of the trees
that will carelessly let go of their green leaves
if only keeping you wasn't so selfish
how bittersweet

Saturday, August 20, 2011

day 27


we live in this river city
and it floods sometimes
but there are mattresses in our canals
to remind us that we can sleep anywhere
there are water proof post it notes
singing waves
and open armed currents

i've been swimming in my best friend’s tears
long enough to believe that i've grown underwater wings
and she’s grown into a  mermaid
crystal shimmers and
pretty sequins
we’ve both grown gills to breathe in each other’s cries

her cries could be heard
1150 miles away
inside the crashing tidal waves
of Florida

she’s had her eyes set on Miami park benches
and free bird balconies since we were 12
she would live in the sand
open handed hugging warmth
something New England couldn't give her

and for six years,
we’ve sat on dark alley cat porches
Catching lightning bugs with our tongues
I would aim to fly as tall as her
just to flick away her teary whispers

we would cry together
in the night on empty basketball court floors
theres something about hearing dew drops grow
on open mouthed tulips
that makes you want to cry
and i would hold her hand
not because i love her
but because i love her
and i would bite my tongue
from saying what her love means to me
it is growth
and we are still growing
and i still wish to be as tall as her
to catch her morning growing dew drops with my tongue
she is a rose
in a field of baby breaths
we've been taking baby steps since
we were 12
when she first had her heart broken
and i still clench my fists around her heart
every time he manages to break her ribcage open

my underwater wings have gotten used to
open armed swimming in her
crashing waves of heart break


I will always be a short swim away
In our dirty town canal systems
But there will always be dirt soaked mattresses
In the bottom of your screams
Its okay to want to cry
But its been 6 years and your heartbreak will cause tsunamis
In the midst of growing tulips
They are open mouthed and full of warmth
I will pick them for you
Plant them in an underwater casket
We will all grow breathless together
But full of baby breath park benches

Do you remember
The time we were 12
And we spent half a day discussing dreams
You’ve always wanted to be a teacher
But I never thought that id be here
6 years later
telling you that
you can live on the coast
even if you live in the sahara desert
there are tears worth remembering
and there are tears that just force you to drown
hes been growing with us
but you’ve been carrying leeches on your back
giving your blood away like you only need water in your gills to live
I swore
That I would always bite my tongue
And never let you hear my realities
But there is a free bird
Sitting on a sun warmed balcony
1150 miles away
It is singing to the mermaids
That are crying over lost shimmering leg bones


I know
That you’re already used to your mermaid tail
so if you have forgotten how to walk
you still have hands for me to hold

Friday, August 19, 2011

day 26

We are all in a war.
And so far,
we are all surviving.
There are invisible bullets in the air
they smell like love
and are hidden in magic cloaks
the horror of falling in love with someone
is hidden by the sweet scent of their touch
and the sincerity of their laughter.

Falling in love can be like falling face first on landmines.
We all have a quick sense of what we're falling for
but there's no way to avoid the heart gashes
and broken souls
and tangled brains

We are all in a war
and so far,
our hearts may be empty
our souls imprisoned
and our brains washed until no memories could be thought of
but we are still surviving
count the breaths you hold before
falling face first.
loving a landmine may be the 
easiest way to know you're still alive.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

day 25

Sara is sweet honeybee tongue melodies for your mind
She is sweet
She is wisdom
She is cavity on wisdom teeth
taking advantage of all time left
She is beauty

Sara is queen bee damsel in her own warrior adventures
She is bravery
is respected
She is walking ninety miles blindfolded
in the mist of an underwater cave
She is her own

Sara is wild beach waves during December twisted blizzards
She is frozen beautiful
is something to awe at
She is the chills that hold your spine by hand
impatiently making you hum sweet humble bumblebee melodies
during the midst of December underwater caves
She will hold you by hand
and drag you patiently in whatever direction is warmest
She may sacrifice her words with an honest tiny sting
but she will teach you how to sing underwater
In December
You may be alone right now
but Sara is in the honey comb compartment of your heart
She is the sweet tooth we ache from adventure
she is the hand you hold during the darkest of days
she is what you feel

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

day 24


I look at myself everyday in the mirror
but I don't see any physical changes.
perhaps my hair has finally grown on me
and my eye infection grew over night
but I am still 
no matter what.

I'm still the geek that
fascinates over simple music theories
and masterpiece tuba tunes
and I'm still the geek that
my chess team likes to show off
because I'm the only girl
and I'm still the geek that
will complain over too much schoolwork
but secretly worship all the challenges
like a guilty pleasure.

I'm still myself
I've changed a few tidbits to my look
but I'm still the growing tadpole
swimming in every direction
just to find where I belong

I'm growing more and more everyday
I get a little guilty
and geeky over how excited
my spirituality is showing
but I'm slowly
into someone
I love.

And even though
I'm still the same little person
that swears like a sailor
and the geek
that sorta feels out of place sometimes
I'm finally sailing smoothly
into a home on the ocean
these waves are crashing at me
cold and dark
but I've grown to love these mishaps.
I love myself
I love where I've been
I am a geek
and today I have a slight eye infection
and a show in front of 1200 people
my hair is getting a little annoying
and my bones are like tadpoles about to
swim out of my skin
but I'm still fascinated
by the world around me.

I'm still the geek
that loves to face these waves
one day at a time.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

day 23

To the boy that can make mosquitoes dance:

We sat by the river and you told me
you like the way I say your name
I didn't utter a word
not because I didn't know what to say
but because
your name is a masterpiece tune
from the bottom of my voice box
It makes my heart sing
at every syllable 
and leaves me breathless
at each attempt.

Then I remember
that I'm just a shy butterfly
unaware of my wings capabilities
but you take me by my heart strings
and pull them accordingly

 Thank you
for sharing the sunset with me
and humming along to our accordion hearts
You make the mosquitoes dance
and play conductor to the belly butterflies I managed to stomach
I can't make mosquitoes dance the way you can
but speaking your name is a sweet enough tune
for all the wild wings at night

Monday, August 15, 2011

day 22

It rains rivers all morning
and oceans all night
Her tongue curls to catch each drop of salt
She is an angel
floating backward on buoy waters

The salmon are mirror images of her blushing complexion
She will make you blush
and emit too salty of tears
but she will catch you
with her curled tongue and
wavy strands of hair
She is an ocean
driving forces of love towards you
at speeds of blinking monsoon flood seasons
She will make you drown
but teach you to soak up each tear emitted on your lovely face
She will leave you floating aimlessly in rivers
catching salmons to bring them back home
to a riverboat house,
it's empty,
because she is a force
that will crash waves of euphoric misery
into your floating thoughts.
Without her
your house is left homeless
during the quick monsoon season.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

day 21


    my life is spontaneous enough as it is
    i didn't ask or try to meet you
    it just
    i didn't try to make those friends i have now
    they just happen to be there
    in the right place and time

the truth always hurts

as much as we've grown together,
and grown apart,
we are slowly growing into different people

we loved like sacrificed grapes in the sun
wrinkles didn't scare us
we would grow old together

as much as the truth hurts
our entire existence was a mere coincidence
and a bit of luck
we loved like aged old wine in sappy secret cellars
i was a perfect secret
to a perfect homebody

your body became home to me
words wrapped around me like gorgeous vines
you will always stick to me like grape jam
reminding me of my childhood lovers
and the fight to get this homebody's attention

the truth always hurts and always hurts a lot
we grew up to sit alone in empty parking lots
sharing childhood memories
and grape jam sandwiches
we soaked in each other's misery like sunburnt raisins

to me
you were my hospital tags
reminding me that i am alive
i didn't ask to breathe the same air as you
i didn't try to meet you
we just happened

we were just two acts of spontaneity
random fits of growth spurts
we grew into each other like wild unwanted vines
we chopped each other off our tongues
at the wrong place and time

you will always
be a reminder of my childhood love
we soaked in feelings like sacrificed grapes
glued our words to each other like grape jam
we sat in quiet secret cellars too often
who knew the truth would mature as quick as us
you were an awkward spontaneous growth spurt
in my constant running life

our memories will never run away from me
i glued them to my soul
with grape jam truths

i will always love you

Saturday, August 13, 2011

day 20

She was born with more beauty
than the sun
the skies
the cliched galaxies
we don't know if she entirely exists
but my heart believes in her.
She is warm sand between piano fingers
fake secondhand store gems on lovely silver
she will slither alongside your faith
willing to crawl nine million kilometers
to see the beauty you birth
from your own growing hands
She is a warm tulip between lovely strands of golden hair
she can make you cry gems
and awe at your faith
we don't know if a woman can make us feel like this
but our hearts believe in her

Friday, August 12, 2011

day 19

The sun is pretty
Reminds me of your loving
You are my summer

Thursday, August 11, 2011

day 18

Cotton bandages 3 meters long
I wished upon 5 centimeter meteorites for tradition to rewind
but tradition is dug skin deep
my mahjong culture has sunken through pale yellow skin
I should be golden
but golden skin is melted ore on dirt floors
It may be beautiful to you,
but it is dirty to my culture
It will stain the cotton bandages 3 meters long
that have become red carpet to fresh soles
I will learn how to walk
5 centimeters at a time
aware of the buckets of Bengal blood in the shoes
my tiger mother have made.
Our mahjong culture forces tradition into our brains
like pretty jade bracelets on pale yellow skin
It has traveled through generations like bright eyed meteorites
this will all rewind,
these cotton bandages will be bound 3 meters too long
we will all forget how to walk

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

day 17

An angry haiku because I've been trying to post for hours now:

Go to hell, Blogger.
Why do you hate me so much?
Stop freaking crashing.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

day 16

what do you remember

the truck slid
it slid as far as i could remember
it slid until i didnt see it anymore
like toboggans on snowy hill tops
like sledding through blizzards
like christmas ornaments surfing through empty attic boxes
but this was not christmas
this was a massacre

this was a massacre
this was

i lived in massachusetts
where it snows torn legs and arms
broken noses and 
broken english

where the truck slid down our neighborhood
like slipping snow plows losing control on slippery cobblestone roads
it slid
and i couldnt stop it
it slid
this was a massacre
this wasn't christmas

the train tracks felt like they couldn't stop rumbling
couldn't stop rambling their mouths off
couldnt stop chatting away
it was cold
but this wasn't christmas

a train slid down the tracks
i remember having braces
i remember getting them off on christmas
but this wasn't christmas
the train slid into the truck
and the truck slid down my street
like reindeer down my chimney
like snow flakes melting on my skin
my skin was melting
like candle wax left out for too long
this was a massacre

my life was a massacre

my trucks always slide
like black ice on new england sidewalks
i used to live in new england
where we have fences around everything
they keep the coyotes out
coyotes eat broken arms and english
they eat torn noses and legs
they eat them like christmas dinner
with blessing

but this wasnt christmas
it was never christmas

christmas passes by too fast
the ornaments are always bottled up and 
stuffed in cases of styrofoam peanuts
i drove too fast
i always drive too fast
massachusetts said i drove six times over the limit
but we had six children
and christmas passes too fast
the ornaments
the red ones
they go back into my mother's attic
we painted ornaments one christmas
but this wasn't christmas
this was a massacre

we lived in massachusetts
where it snows coyote bravery and impatience
it snows fingers and torn ligaments
we used to sled down white crystal clear snow
all six of us
we had six red toboggans
we turned the snow yellow one christmas
one christmas we slid down too fast
life went by too fast
life died faster than my brakes did
it wasn't christmas this time
it was a massacre

my truck
it slid down those train tracks so fast
i dont remember any words
the stoplights were yellow
they were YELLOW
they switched too fast
and the crossing sounds
the signals sang like broken english
my brakes were broken
i am broken now
into bite sized coyote bites
into an ornament red christmas massacre

my truck gave birth to torn ears and teeth
broken ankles and intestines
this was not christmas
this was a massacre
it was july
christmas didnt come quick enough
my life slid down those cobblestone roads
like snow off our broken noses


Monday, August 8, 2011

day 15

to the boy with the sweetest soul,

thank you

for making cavity smiles
and smiling root canals
worth it.
for showing more teeth than i should.
for feeling overexposed
but feeling modest.

i love it all.

the first time i saw you cry
it was in the serenity of my own eyelid captures
i've never seen you cry
only heard you talk about it
my ears
have played shoulder blade therapist 
to your aching heart

thank you

for turning your shoulders into secondhand homes
and elbows
and ears
and hearts
i love it all

your friendship is my faith's finer replica
i feel the warmth of hope magnified to the thousands
when i spot a wave of your hellos

i throw butterfly smiles
and dimple love you's your way
at every awakening laugh that escapes your lungs
if only seeing you
were as easy as wishing
and if everything were as easy
as i wish
and if wishing were as easy
to stomach.

thank you

for giving me a reason to complain about absolutely nothing
for losing my taste buds when speaking your name
there is nothing more sweeter than to appreciate your presence
i feel myself rotting spoiled when i am around you
but i love it all

thank you for teaching me to never cry over spilled spoiled milk

sweetest soul,
there are things i've never spoken:
there are butterflies in every ounce of broken
drowning ears in every tearful complaint
empty stomachs from shallow cries
drilled dimples on blushing cheeks of girls that aren't worth your time
you are worth twenty six ounces of time in buckets
i wrap my hollow arms around them
and hurl them as carefully as i can.

time is spilling by the gallons
but you will never stop to give me butterflies
your friendship means more than monoxide escaping lungs

thank you

for listening to the never ending octaves of complaints i throw at you
discus style
wherever life throws me
our fate will be a boomerang away
take me with you
like a commercial frisbee
we'll be
an arm's length away
in touch.
i love it all

Sunday, August 7, 2011

day 14

my darlin husband left me a good bye letter.
I know he's gone for good.
Yes'm I'm sad, but I'm sure happy for him.
Did I cry?
No'sir I didn't. I don't cry for nobody.
But I'll admit
I did indeed tear up at the picture he enclosed with his letter.
So many sweet memories, sir.
The letter was as sweet as he:

Dear love of my life,
I've only known you for so long,
but it feels like..
so long.
I'm bound to leave soon,
but I'm leaving you with this picture.

this pond..
you see this pond?
I was born here,
I remember it like it was yesterday...

you see that lily pad?
that's where my parents fell in love.
that was papa's good ol bachelor pad.
he had all the ladies.
mama was a jem to have caught his eye.
mama was beautiful, too.
you remind me of her
sweet as honey.

i must be vinegar,
but you make me feel sweeter than the bumblebee's honey combs.

you make the bees jealous.
i don't wanna get too sappy
but i feel like i didnt have enough time to appreciate you.
i dont have enough time to appreciate you.

life is too short
please tell our children
that i'm sorry i didnt get to live to see em grow
to prosper
to love one another
and to fall in love with someone that reminds them of their mama
their mama is a gem!

i love our lily pad
you've made a bachelor pad, a home
i fell in love the moment you flew past me.
you're the cutest darnest thing
you put em in their places
i was never the type to dance the night away
but you make me want to dance.
like there is nothing left to live for, but you.
i love you laura,
please take care of our children
i hope theyre as beautiful a jem as you sure are

joe the fly

Saturday, August 6, 2011

day 13

A series of haikus:

I just snipped it off
Goodbye BNV bracelet
Til we meet again!

I feel kinda sad.
BNV was amazing
There's hope for next year.

Dear my beloved,
Goodbye, sea foam green beauty.
Thanks for the good times.

I don't have a life.
I have been writing haikus
about a bracelet.

I need urgent help.
Or maybe a cat or two.
I love cats..cats..cats.

Friday, August 5, 2011

day 12

i am a wanderer
the feeling of disappointment has never felt so much like home
i feel it
like warmth between my toes
back flat on pigeon stained park benches
closed eyed and grown on apathy.

the i don't cares grow on like moss
rock hard boulder
smoldering thoughts like
spontaneous combustion.
did the time go
where did the

i am a wanderer
lost in the times lost
i am rock hard spirited
wilting away
shove me in solidarity
feels like moss between split ends
and split second decisions


where does the wanderer go when the wanderer is tired?
when the wanderer is tired
the wanderer stops
i collect myself like moss stained rocks
left in the solitude of isolation
i am the echo in coral reefs
no one will ever swim close enough to hear
i bellow
like a yellow belly salamander
whose made home to a smoldering boulder

where does the yellow belly salamander go when its home is on fire?
the wanderer doesnt have a home for it
and the wanderer doesn't know when to stop wandering.
where everything

Thursday, August 4, 2011

day 11

18 questions for my birth

If you didn't choose to wake up on the 17th of September,
what other day would you choose?

If you didn't choose to wake up at all,
what would my mother's favorite color be?
Would my father's favorite color still be her dark brown eyes
and would unity still be their favorite song?

I fear the dark.
I fear the night in day.
The dirt in peaches,
the grime under my finger nails,
the gum under my sole.
But why does fear matter?
Would you even bother waking up if you had a choice?
After the seventeen years of test driving life,
were you just too scared to buy into life completely?
What makes the 17th so important?
What makes everything so damn important?

My favorite color is peach.
For the days that hues of blue get too deep
and as a reminder post-it note for my mother.
I love her.
My father's favorite color may be red,
but he doesn't see my mother in the same tint.
He loved her, too.
I'm sure of it.

When you woke up,
were you thinking that you'd be sure of everything upon you?
Like my mother and father would soon travel different paths
Like I would be such a pathological liar on days when I just can't believe anything
Like crude oil ships crashing against dark blue hues of waves would tame me
Like life is tough, but peach post-it notes surround my every thought
Like if you didn't wake up
how sure would you be that my father's favorite color would still be dark brown?

My mother's favorite color is white.
I don't think she believes in pigment
because the last time she made sense of color,
it was the black of night
against the crash of blue waves.
if you didn't wake up,
how much would the 17 year test drive matter?
Would ruby still be her favorite jewel?
Would my father spend more time staring into her dark brown eyes
into her dirt ground soul
into her own fears

Would he know that she doesn't fear the dark today?
I'm sure it has something to do with him
but why does fear matter?

In about a month,
I'll be 18.
Are you finally getting tired?
Like the seventeen years of restlessness have finally caught up to you

In about a month
will my favorite color still be peach?
Or will I change it?
Because I'm becoming afraid of the dark in day
Who ever knew that the blessing of light
would cause me to fear every ounce of dirt in rubies.
I'm sure you weren't sure of everything.
But I'm sure if you didn't wake up,
my father would still enjoy being down to earth
like the pigment in my mother's eyes.

Is my mother's favorite color white because she may also be growing afraid of the dark?
Is her favorite jewel a diamond because diamonds are the beauty in dirt?

Another peach reminder post-it note for my mother:
You are the beauty of mud brown eyes
We swim like tadpoles in dirt tsunamis
but we will eventually sprout arms to grasp the darkness.

If you didn't choose to wake up at all,
would my mother's favorite color be peach?
Would she leave herself reminder post-it notes to be happy?
would anyone leave her post-it notes
would anyone care enough to remind her
of the beauty she really is?

I turn 18 in a month.
I'm sure I'm getting tired of the dripping mud stains
on open handkerchiefs.

If you choose to sleep,
I'll trade myself for the eternity of blessings
my father owes my mother.