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.