Do Not Love Me

Do not love me to death,
but love me to the life I believed
impossible. Ask me if I want it all
and then hand me the lasso so I can
catch my own moon. Name the stars
after my accomplishments and seep
your confidence into me like the tea
of chamomile and the robustness
of coffee. Let this calm energy
take us night watching as the haze
of what we lacked, lifts.

Vacancy

Right now I can only count
back the days since I have
seen your persuasive smile.
Your vacancy is the origin
of an unknown way to keep
time and in this calendar,
holidays are marked as the times
we conversed about vitality.
Weekends are recognized as
the moments we dispensed
childlike honesty. Sunrises
are marked through as a step
further from the last time
my eyes were drenched
with the view of your face.
Sunsets are blemished by
the space between now
and your return.

Reflections on 2011 and thoughts for 2012

I was looking back at posts around this time last year. Of course, I commentated about the upcoming year, wrote something pessimistic about the lack of commitment people have to resolutions, and made implications about  my own determination to have a successful year. But to put it simply, this year was incredibly difficult. But despite its difficulties I can say that much has been learned.

I recognize that there have been certain people who have pulled me through this year. These people may not have been aware of everything going on, but they astounded me (and continue to do so) with their resistance to run away from my crazy moments. I enjoy the though of me being a logical person, void of mood swings and the stereotypical, female antics. But honestly, I am aware that I can abort relationships by being emotionally closed off, abundant in pride, lacking in friendliness, and thoroughly honesty and opinionated. I am amazed that individuals have possibly seen something else and didn't give up on me. Maybe it was my witty, sarcastic sense of humor, my driving ambition, along with my impeccable ability to make plans. And the previously heartfelt moment has now ended.

I am not looking at 2012 saying "this will be the best year of my life". Instead, I want to tackle this coming year with the knowledge that it will undoubtedly be a struggle, and yet one that I (with a little help from friends) will conquer. Somehow, this excites me. I wonder if this is maturity. There are two things I want to work on and I believe them to be the root of many other things: trust and pride. The two are childhood friends; I do not trust people or God because that somehow makes me weak. Here is the pride side of things. I'm not sure where I learned how to think like this, but I am seeing how a general lack of trust and a large quantity of pride can ruin a person professionally, spiritually, and in relationships. I'm not sure about you, but I would prefer to not damage myself unnecessarily. 

What is it about the end of the year or the Holidays that make me excessively use adjectives/adverbs and be superbly emotional and vulnerable? And the end of another lengthy post. 

Bucket List

Ever since I was around 12 I have been creating lists of things that are important for me to accomplish. I  have been meaning to post my bucket list on this blog for quite a while. Here it finally is! Some of these are silly, but I guess if I wrote it down, it was important to me at some point. If something is crossed out, it means I have accomplished it.

1. Travel through out Europe.
2. Get married.
3. Adopt children.
4. Get my Bachelors Degree.
5. Obtain my Masters Degree.
6. Live downtown.
7. Work downtown.
8. Live on my own before getting married.
9. Have my poetry published.
10. Work at a coffee shop.
11. Perform my own music.
12. Sing in front of a large audience.
13. Record my own music.
14. Write a book.
15. Manage a non-profit.
16. Learn how to play piano.
17. Learn how to play acoustic guitar.
18. Be a good cook.
19. Learn a foreign language.
20. Have a garden.
21. Go on a road trip, Pacific to the Atlantic.
22. Be an extra in a movie.
23. Be in a reality TV show.
24. Have a best friend. 
25. Live in DC for a year.
26. Live in NYC for a year.
27. Tell a guy I like him.
28. Make home-made pasta.
29. Take First Aid/ CPR classes.
30. Overcome my fear of jumping into water!
31. Take a pottery class. 
32. Take an unexpected trip.
33. Sing karaoke. 
34. Own a home.
35. Own a car.
36. Meet Adele.
37. Make an epic YouTube video.
38. Take a poetry writing class.
39. Fall in love.
40. Have a blog with followers I don't know.
41. Hitchhike.
42. Save someone's life.
43. Study abroad. 
44. Take an art class.
45. Take voice lessons.
46. Be outgoing and confident.
47. Be a strong leader.
48. Go camping.
49. Make my own clothing.
50. Be a someone's mentor.
51. Be in a singing competition.
52. Be in the newspaper.
53. Learn how to be a good photographer.
54. Plan someone else's wedding.
55. Decorate a home.
56. Start my own business.
57. Create my own secret/family recipe.
58. Be in a protest.
59.  Get an Iphone.
60. Buy my own laptop.
61. Write a script for a play.
62. Work with kids.
63. Research my family history.
64. Get contacts.
65. Be good at volleyball.
66. Visit every state in the US.
67. Travel throughout the Middle East. 
68. Build a tree house. 
69. Have a personal library in my home.
70. Read the Bible through.
71. Invent something.

So this is an incomplete list... but it's rather lengthy as is! It was nice to cross some things out.

Guarded

I will remember

today as the day

you caught more 

than my attention.

You commandeered

my heart with kindness

and commanded

my focus with sincerity.

Do not maroon me 

now that I've tasted

the gold and silver

of companionship.

Do not pirate my
guarded emotions.
I have been swindled
before and there is little
worse than the aftermath
of deceit. 

A generic, yet vulnerable post about love and such things...

We all have ideas about love. For me, ideas are all I have. I don't have life experiences or extravagant examples of love gained and love lost. Infatuation, attraction, liking, those are things I can write about with vast knowledge. But love? I might as well be writing about mathematics.

I can only speak as to what I see. The majority of the time I ridicule individuals in relationships. "I hate couples" is not a foreign phrase to me. I shun friends who begin spending a lot of time with their "significant other". I am forever claiming to be alone but not lonely. Sometimes, I avoid friendships with single guys. Because I am afraid of feeling something? No. My pessimistic perspective says that I will lose their friendship anyways. After all, the last things I want is the scrutiny of jealous girls.

But here is the vulnerable aspect of this post. Well, first a disclaimer: I don't do vulnerability well. I avoid it endlessly. And the times that I do put it on, I wear it like a baggy coat. It doesn't look good on me. I normally end up crying, and I hate crying even more than being vulnerable. End disclaimer.

I am devastatingly afraid to love. To be blunt, I am a control freak. I plan out my life years in advance. I walk away from situations that are not planned out. It drives me crazy to not have a plan. So this whole "love" thing frightens me. I do not understand it, so I avoid it, like mathematics, or science. In addition, this idea of being stricken with love is strange. To be stricken with lighting, a bat, a fist - these are all negative things. I cannot turn my brain off. I have been taught the denotations and connotations of words and yet suddenly when "love" is mentioned it is OK to be stricken, to fall, sick, etc. Sorry, folks. It doesn't work like that for me.

In addition, this whole "love" thing has too many what ifs. Like, what if my heart gets broken? What if HIS heart gets broken (I can be a very mean girl)? What if a perfectly, decent friendship is ruined? What if he is secretly married? Or secretly a creep? What if he hates my writing or singing? What if he thinks I'm too ambitious (wouldn't be the first time)? What if he dies!? I'm Jewish; being melodramatic comes quite naturally to me.

In reality, it comes down to this: fear and pride. I hold on to these distasteful qualities to shield and protect myself from others. Because as truthful and vulnerable I may be while typing right now, I can't guarantee the same any other time. If you ask me about this post in person, I'll cringe away, similar as to how I shrink from emotions.

Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes the longest post of this blog. Now I need to go and do something to regain a comforting level of disconnection.

Untitled

You are not the

cornerstone of my
strength nor the
foundation of my
happiness.

But you may dwell
in the home I build
where strength
and happiness
are served on platters
at parties.

But we can link arms
like a duplex, sharing
front lawns and back
yards, maybe even
the insides that keep
things running.

But sometimes, you will
knock on my door
and receive nothing.
Know: I am inside,
slow to answer,
waiting for that
confirmation, it's you.

After all, I've been
waiting.

Metronome

I found a writing prompt online and these were the guidelines: "write a three part poem using metronome". So this is my attempt. 


I am a little off beat. I sing
in the rain. I'm like rain,
falling at the wrong time. I'm
like music in a foreign
language.

Can you hear the tip
tap of the drops? I move
to that rhythm. Join

me and let this
metronome guide our
next steps. That is,
as long as you don't mind
Bollywood music
and splashing in puddles.

Cheers to the weekend..... and to honest blog posts.

I'm trying to think of something to write. But maybe that's my problem: thinking. I'm always over-thinking things. I replay scenarios in my head until I am either comfortable with the projected outcome or dissatisfied enough to sabotage something. This is vague. And there I go again, critiquing as I go.

It has been a while since I've done this: written without the backspace button dictating my next sentence. Maybe, even in this public place I write, there is a space for some unedited, raw, honesty. The type of honesty that might not make sense to everyone, this is it.

I'm thinking of this past year. It's amazing how many things have changed. It is amazing how many "I'm crying because of this movie and nothing else, of course" moments I've had. It's amazing how many people have walked away and how I am grateful for those who have taken steps closer. But what amazes me the most is my vast understanding as to how limited I truly am. I am ending this year with an "aha" moment, an epiphany. I have yet to decide whether this realization is negative or positive. I am leaning towards positive.

In more detail, here is this epiphany:

• I cannot change how other's think of me if they are not willing to create a relationship with me.
• I cannot mend friendships that are so severely broken. I have to be happy with forgiveness and peace.
• That boy will never notice me, until he does... and then who knows what that means! Really though, Bonnie Raitt was right; "I can't make you love me if you don't". Goodness, I can't even make myself love.   
• I am one person and I can't take on the world alone. Well, I can. I just don't want to.
• Even if I am entirely over past, hurtful situations (which I am), they greatly effect how I go about my relationships every, single day. It's not fair to myself or these other people. 
• I cannot make decisions for people, even if they are the best decisions. 
• I absolutely despise cancer. And yet there isn't ONE thing I can do to combat it... not one. It's the most helpless feeling.
• I am most exhausted when I can't fix your problems. But the truth is, I can't. I just can not. As much as I want to. As much as I try. As much money I spend or tears I cry or conversations we have. These fragmented sentences mirror my fragmented attempts. But maybe if I realize this, I can sleep at night knowing that I've done all I can. 

And if you've made it to the end of this post, congratulations. That was impressive.

Perspective

You are an old habit in a new
place. You are my thirty day
challenge with a year of memories
along for the ride. You hide my
secrets like they are your own.

I am the potential that makes
you wonder.
I am the "go to" for stability.
I am the bittersweet memories.

Let us focus on the sweetness
of rainy days.
Let's be the place we can't
walk away from.
Let us be, us, no longer you
and I.

Maybe we were blind
before perspective
gave us
beginning.

Answers

I check the mailbox
twice a day for a message
of something better than
i need you. There's only
so much bad news a person
can handle.

I jump
at the toaster's elevation
of my bagel.
Another morning,
another thought,
thoughts.

Remember
Black Friday?
And today is just a Friday
like a Monday; waiting
for it to end while
knowing:
This is the beginning.

I need someone
who doesn't need me.
There's only so many
tears my shoulder
can take
before,
a tsunami, like guilt,
like it not being enough.

Alarm clocks,
set multiple times
because I'd rather sleep
than have a nightmare
called reality.

Are you depressed? 
A loaded question,
and I shoot back.

There are no
answers.

Oregon Students of Color Coalition Conference

So I am at OSCC Conference in Eugene (GO DUCKS). This conference has been amazing! The workshops have been enlightening and inspiring. I went to one about the Student Alliance Project. This workshop talked about using poetry, spoken word, and rap as an outlet for youth. We wrote a poem during the workshop using the prompt "I am from". It was meant to be something very personal. This was the outcome.

I am from Auschwitz and Heil Hitlers:
the strength it took to run away.
I am from the girl in the skirt.
The girl you can't flirt with because
she's too much of a ___ word my mom
said not to say. I am.
From laughing to crying to being too
emotional to not enough. I am
the Christian girl with roots deep
in the Hebrew language; so deep
that I have to start at Hebrew 101:
Aleph, Bet, Gimel, Dalet. Hay. Hey,
to friends that don't quite get the ambition
controlling me. I am from being ambitious
enough for success, but not relationships.
I am from breaking stereotypes about big
noses and matching pocket books. I am
from siblings that make me laugh and a life
that makes me cry. I am from a clock,
ticking too quickly.

Slow. Down. I have not had the chance
to say, I am from:

Travel.
Love stronger than the hard place.
From making the impact
you won't forget.

Slow. Down. I am from
running so quick to get it all done,
never feeling like it's enough.

Love Poem

I’ve never written a love poem.

Only like poems, that speak of some

days and other years and anything

but the now. But right now I’m writing

for the hope of love, the depth of it

wondering what exactly it is, like is this it?

Things I'm Not Allowed to Write About

Things like hot chocolate
sipped with secret words.
The only time I let a man
pay for my food. Laughter
heard through phone reception,
pain ignored through
phone reception.

But if I could,
I would
remind of summer
nights spent with the taste
of salty water sliding into
my mouth, slipping onto
wrinkled pillow cases.

Years later, with best
wishes but still wondering
which intrapersonal defect
led to the rejection lingering
like a domino effect.

If that was love,
counting my losses and walking
lonely, but not alone. Shrugged,
drooped, aching shoulders
and writing inside the boundaries.

Salty water reunited with pillowcase.

Guilt

Guilt:

A clasp on my ankle.
A bird in a cage.
A chain around my neck.
An empty wallet, void
of ID. The location
I forget dreams.

Sleepless nights like
regret so deep;
it's my life map.
The sleeping life.
The shallowed breathing
of change.
Old clothing in my closet.
Flickering street lamps
lighting partial truth.
Safety.

I Love You

I closed my eyes to shut out
the thought of life without you.
My gratitude is like a flickering
street lamp, somewhat lingering.
Maybe if I shined consistently
I would say I love you more.
And yet my love is like a flapping
bird, still in the air, still trying to
speak words past insecurities.

Untitled

So on the seventh day God rested

and I planned to do the same until

you came and arrested my attention. 

This alertness of my own short 

comings makes me aware of my

slumming to find some part of 

a piece of peace inside me. 

This isn't about you, only the

way your kindness leads me 

to the discovery of my self
and maybe I need to learn to like
what I find.

My Way Out

Not all who wander are lost
but I've been wandering around
the thought of you and I need
a map to find my way out.

You are scenery on the side
of the road, but a road I never
wanted to travel. You are
the last song of the play list.

I had a plan to get from point
A to point B which has now become
point C and I don't want to want
to be at this newness. Navigation
has led to no ending and maybe
if I believed in destiny I would
say "it has happened for a reason".

Speaking of reason, I've lost mine.
The ability to do or to have.
I remember having a plan,
having a goal, a destination.
Now this infatuation means I
only have a thought of you,
and I need a map to find my way
out.

Steps

It's been over a month since I have posted. A failure for sure. School reconvened, but no excuses. Here is something I jotted down a few weeks ago. I think I may break it up into two separate poems. 

Let's take a step back to the place

I lost my footing and fell into this pot

hole called something like love. We 

walked together, in sync until you saw

me slipping into a feeling you never felt.

Let's take a step back so I can avoid

a mistaken step. Guide me out of  these

feelings by showing me your own, what

ever they may be. 

You are like a book I don't quite

understand and yet must keep reading.

Your words fertilize a friendship that

grows too wildly. You create a scenery

in my life that looks something like

                                            infatuation.

Confidence

Your face bleeds bitterness.
After all, the eyes are the window
to the soul and your's pierce mine
with severity. They roam to and fro
looking for weakness. Once,
you found it inside of me but no
more. I closed that door and have
found confidence in my height,
even if I stand amongst men.
I stand, with 5 inch heels. 6 ft
tall, looking up to the strong women
so secure that they won't eat
the forbidden fruit.

Something

Let us take a flight to places
we've been before but with
unfit traveling companions.
We can swim in a sea of clouds
with the night behind us and the day
ahead. Become the moment
I miss and replace the existence
of fragmented memories. Make
my history a stranger for knowing
you so well. I would share my secrets
but you are already familiar with silent
words. This could be something.

Loneliness, Ambition's Companion

Pillows are poor substitutions
for body warmth. Tissues, an inadequate
replacement for fingers. I have dreams
instead of a reality, I view a picture
instead of your being. I want to say
I love you but I am committed to fear
and married to distrust. This, an arranged
marriage society has matched for the women
of lengthy stature; as if to say that emotion
must divorce the ambitious ones. Watch
as I crumble into a state of stability. Observe
me stand on my own two feet. I will not cry
for you, but the hours of eight to five will
be my companion, the shoulder I lean on.
Never see this vulnerability of simply
wanting to share the moments of my strength
and show the deepness of my weakness.

syntax by Maureen N. McLane

and if
I were to say

I love you and
I do love you

and I say it
now and again

and again
would you say

parataxis
would you see

the world revolves
anew

its axis
you

Sharing

http://skateexplorediscover.deviantart.com/art/Picnic-With-The-Ghosts-93159570?q=boost%3Apopular%20in%3Aphotography%20picnic%20tree&qo=12

I split my happiness
down the middle
like we've shared many things:
sandwiches, a soda,
stories we told no one
else. How is it that I can
release part of myself to
you and still have no loss
of power? I break open
the side of my humanity
yet to be seen and I am like
a fortune spewing out the wisdom
of ancestors. On your day of rain,
hang your umbrella on the branches
of this tree and sit, sharing
with me my plate of life
devoured with this apparatus
of serenity.

Untitled

This is middle ground. The place
where my ending meets your beginning.
The moment my frown meets your smile.
Wave a white flag so we can triumph
this field of battle. I will comb
the grass with my fingers as I breathe
our conversation. Your words soothe
me like David's harp soothed Saul.
They say that love is a battlefield
but the only thing I am fighting
is myself.

A thought....

Asking a Christian writer to only write about Christ is like asking a Christian artist to only paint portraits of the cross. I write about real life. Since God is the giver of life, I write about him.

Empathy

http://r2624w.deviantart.com/art/i-m-ready-217586791

You taught me empathy, a lesson
that keeps me up at night; I weep in solidarity, whispering
prayers for your safety, from others, from yourself.

You showed me the bruises on your body that mirrored
the ones in your soul. I could only stare dumbly
hoping that my friendship would be numbing to the sting
of childhood memories and present day atrocities. I tasted
blood in my mouth from the devouring of words my mother
told me to never speak. I wish I had shouted them for your
honor, screeched them against your enemies, our enemies.

This hatred of injustice is my sanity. I paint
the white walls of this room with strategies of revenge.
I hear the words you aren’t saying and I pocket
them to sustain me on this journey of recovery,
this walk of salvation, I walk for you.

I write for you. You have closed your eyes to my words.
I sing for you. You cannot hear any music.
We held each other together but you
crumbled in my arms. I am left with pieces of misunderstanding,
misuse, misery. I rock them as if to comfort a baby.
But you are dry bones. I haven’t heard you laugh in over two
years. My lullaby is an amateur prophecy and unlike Ezekiel
I have a fountain of doubts. I have spoken my own words.
I have confirmed my failure.

You were my world and I could not save you, friend.
So I must save the rest.

Questions

If you saw me withdrawing, why did you just walk away?
If I am not to blame, why are things not different?
Why do I think about you every time I write?
How come "friends" hurt more than they help?
Where did the conversations go?
Why does everything seem fake?
Why can't I let you go?
Can you see me?

Why is it that every time I write I sound so depressed? Don't worry; I'll put my smile on before I see everyone tomorrow.

I'm really not so depressed. Writing just gives me the capability to be vulnerable in ways that others will not be willing. I'm an open book if you take the time to read. If.

And so...

Now I wonder if I really belong.
Take me to a place where I am reminded of who I am.

Editing Died

Am I moving backwards because I don't think
twice about my line breaks? Some say
stay put on the publishing, just follow
your dream, write your heart out, right
the wrong out. But honestly, I'm speechless,
penless, wondering where are my senses.
This feel like music but I have no rhythm
in my rhymes. After all, feelings don't really
matter so I gather all of this up and throw
it in a trunk with a lock. It will catch
dust because it already caught dreams. My
paper, a dream catcher, the one place I spill
my anger, where honesty and destiny meet.
I am not an artist. I am a robot controlled
by editors I will never meet because they label
my work as amateur. Maybe it is but I've already
lost too much of the child in me and sometimes I
just want to feel the breeze while I swing,
rather than the criticism. I want to cheat
on uno and checkers instead of the fake words
I write, I lie. So poetry says that this isn't
concrete and there's no imagery. I discount poetry
and say this paper is my dream catcher, catching
dust on your desk, the place I come to quit.

Poetry

If life is poetry than love is the line
break. Give me space to think, time
to believe. The first verse is friends,
the second I believe to be hate
but in between I think of the way
you rhyme with I. There is power
in our silence. There is strength
in the words we do not speak. Keep
me in this stanza. Don’t let me slip
into an ending .

Freewrites!

I can't seem to write anything of length or value lately. But I have some free writes I thought that I would share. I have some new things coming up in my life. I will probably be moving out on my own in September, and living downtown. I am transferring to a university. And I got a new Student Leadership position with ASPSU...I have my own desk! So hopefully with new things will come new ideas and creativity.

First Free-write
My professor said to distinguish between think
and feel buy they have blurred into a shade
of gray. My awareness of you makes me aware
of myself. So I spend an extra moment
in the mirror, thinking of improvements,
thinking - feeling, insignificant.

You draw out other versions of my shadow,
I drown in myself.

Second Free-write
Regret devoured creativity.
I prayed for a clean heart
but I got a muddled mind.
And when I reached for your hand,
there was no grasp because I am
invisible.

Third Free-write
I am in no way interested in you. I have a
mental list of the pros and cons and the resolution
has been negative. But Pride and Prejudice
has ruined me, tell me you love me,
at least like me so that I can say
"No". I will relish in the crumbling
of your pride and mine will rise.
I vowed to myself that one day
I would reject and deny near perfection.

Random Line
I am a soldier of loyalty
at war with other versions of myself.

Hmmm

I temporary deactivated my Facebook account. It was kind of just off of impulse. Before deactivating, there's a confirmation page to make sure that you want to deactivate. It said "these people will miss you on Facebook". I read all the names it listed and thought, "Oh, please" and clicked confirm.

Feelings

To feel anything is too dangerous
so I sit numb, alone.

A Happy Birthday - Ted Kooser

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

I just turned 21. I've come a long way but still have so far to go!

Undefined Relationships

This misunderstanding feels like an ending
and the beginning we once had is now
only a memory. My mind reads the words
you wrote and remembers the things you spoke
and I have to wonder, "What is love".
You said you knew me but how can that be
when I did not even know myself.

I tried to define love but my mind
responded with "no definition available".
I tried to define you and I
but there was no vision and without
vision the people perish, we as a thing,
something, any thing become nothing.
We've been diminished into a state
of "I don't know".

And this goes on and on and on and on
but I've stopped believing
and I do not know what this feeling is.
I wanted to need you but I didn't
and somehow that is classified as
"too much ambition", at least, for
a woman. But I'm not even sorry that I
did not apologize about my desire
to carpe diem, seize the day,
because in the same way, I seized you.

Do you remember when you were added
as an extension to my heart?
It started to beat at an unusual pace
and if we stood face to face
there was an energy created between us.

I never claimed to know chemistry
but this formula of you plus me,
worked. I had hoped that this
combustion would last despite the
facts that we are so different.

But it didn't. So there you are minus
me and I am still wondering about definitions.
The only thing I am certain of is misunderstandings.

Walking Away

I count myself lucky to have known the way that you walk.
I heard the clump of your shoe approaching and I knew
there would be no restraint. I have no complaint,
not even now. But there exists a relief in the fading of your shoes.

Breathing

You have taken my breath away
with the words you say,
but I call that murder.
Since when is the weakening
of my life counted as success.
You have taken my breath away.
I struggle for oxygen and I am drained
of the inspiration you once gave.
You have taken my breath away,
like being punched in the stomach,
like being allergic to a scent, this scent
that some call relationships.
You have taken my breath away,
like my throat closing up
and the air is being released through
my fingertips as they tingle.
This is what death feels like.
In my own way of looking away
I am asking for someone to show
me how to inhale, exhale, again.
But there is no interest in my breathing.

Melancholy Thoughts on Love

I am my own hero. Do not try to rescue me. Leave your shining armor at home. Instead, approach me with valor of mind and heart.

To "need" you is a lot easier than to "want" you. So appreciate the desire more than the fragility. Tell me, when will you ever learn that lesson?

If you do not understand it, watch my cape flap in the wind when I fly away without looking back.

Thoughts.

To write new things, you must experience new things. So bring it on, world.... bring.it.on. And this is yet another reason why I sit downtown and watch people.

P.S. I'm being published in Indigo Rising Magazine, a small press print based in Stumptown (aka. Portland).

P.P.S. I'm reading the book "Publish this Book" by Stephen Markley and it is downright hilarious. I recommend it to people interested in being published.

Spoken Word

On Wednesday, I'm performing spoken word for the first time. No telling how that will go!

Happy Easter All!

Insanity

‎"Your absence has gone through me/Like thread through a needle/Everything I do is stitched with its color." (W.S. Merwin) - Sometimes I stay up late and work so I do not worry. But the lack of words between us implode my exuberance for logic and make me into a being lack of sanity. After all, the definition of insanity "is doing the same things over and over and expecting different results" (Einstein).

Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter ... Video on TED.com

Travel

Spring Break is here!!!!!

Tomorrow I will be taking the first flight. The plane will stop in Arizona.

From there, we will land in Baltimore.

Then, we will take the train to DC.

I will then go back to Baltimore and fly to Dallas.

On the  returning flight, the plane stops in New Mexico.

And in Vegas!

And finally, nine days later and a lot poorer, I'll be back in Portland!

Just Exist

You ran into my burning structure
when the rest of the world
was running out. I don't love
heroes in uniform, but champions
of conversation with sentences
like Let's talk. Don't rescue me.
Exist.

Childhood

I remember myself in a greater

form with lesser height, when

catching butterflies and tad-pools 

was my day job and at night, sleep. 

Regret

This is to the same
feeling I felt as a child,
                            like
rain that was rejoiced
because something other
than my own dripping
confidence could slide
across my being.
                            like
Jonah trapped inside
a sea creature not for
three days
but years.
                           like
The remembrance of first
tasting shame: a bitter coffee
burning sweet taste buds.
                           like
Regret devoured
creativity and vomited
self disgust. I want to
dream of silence.

Hiding

This is a night where I wish I could turn myself inside out and be truly transparent. When you see me, you see the illusion I've given to you; like a magician, my expertise hide what really is.

When you speak like you know me, make sure you do. If you have spoken and don't know, you probably never will. The tricks of the trade will not be shared with ones who pretend to be the master of my person.

I seek no apprentice: just one that can decipher the falseness or take the time to listen to the truth.

Random Writing

I had an inkling that this
wouldn't last. So I inked
on blank pages the way we
laughed. I sketched
words that spoke meaning
until one day, they stopped.

I couldn't write right
and despite all the things spoken
nothing was actually said. Despite
being broken, I never bled.
The life is in the blood,
but you've drained me. I
remain me, but in
a diminished form.

Things I Write in Psych #2

This page is dedicated to the potential that exists between us. We could potentially make something like a friendship work, even grow. Yet there is no possibility. The difference is that potential exists because of facts, because of the things that have come before. Possibility is awakened when carefully formulated from potential, adding your desire, my willingness, and an absurd amount of patience.

Things I Write in Psych #1

I'm taking a psychology class this term: Psychology of Intimate and Family Relationships. It is a really interesting class, and for some reason, I write a lot of free-writes during lecture. I thought that I'd start posting some excerpts from those free-writes.

Don't give me flowers; give me words of sincerity. I write in cursive for you because the casualty of the printed word does not fit into the flowing desire to know more of you. Yesterday you surprised me, and that doesn't happen often. Understand me. Question my motives. I have layers... like an onion. That's not attractive, but it is the humanity of me. Forgive my mental stalking. I cannot get away from my thoughts... you are a plague.

Stiff Shoulders and My Hands

My hands are basins.
your shoulders are cliffs
that scream for me to stay away.

I don't cry into pillows.
I shamefully catch each drop
that slips out and triumphantly
throw it away.

Sometimes I smile right
afterwards and you are supposed
to know, but don't.

My hands were made

specifically to catch tears because 

your shoulders are not so reliable.

Time

Too many ideas, not enough time. An extra hour should be added to my day specifically so that I can blog.

Negative Change (Less of a poem, more of a freewrite)

And the things you say I do not recognize.
I almost apologize. But I'm halted with
the realization that I am not wrong.

You are a withering plant.
Why did you change?

(I feel guilty for remaining secure).

Over-thinking It

You make me remember my dreams.
Even in the sunshine, you abide in them.
This is what makes me smile
when I'm tired, even sleeping
until my imagination alters.

Yesterday, I awoke too soon
and when I returned you were
changed. Awake, I comprehended
again that I am missing
more than unfettered sleep, but consistency.

School has Begun

And it is quite obvious by my lack of blogging.

It may interest you to know that I'm in the middle of reading Walt Whitman's Song of Myself for my American Lit class. That being said, wish me luck.

2011 Is When I Say Hello

There are two things which I
had forgotten: no one can force
me to wave goodbye. I cannot
be baby fed the flavors of happiness.
One day, I will say "hello"
to your smile, a thing to savor.
This single exchange of self
will be the essence of our
serenity as we inhale, exhale.