charred

u win

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 23:54:46 GMT

Angry

Someone threw it away

Thinking it was nothing

When really it was everything and you were nothing

Now there is a void

As if everything that mattered

Everything that made breathing

And living make sense has been carelessly tossed in

The trash- like yesterdays news

Or vomit something unused

And unwanted

I’m broken

You win.

lost

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 14:17:54 GMT

Lost

Eyes closed

Can’t see

Can’t breathe

Stumbling in the darkness

Falling

Crashing

Breaking

Bleeding

Crying

Dying

Will I ever find the way back home?

music

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 02:45:08 GMT

The music rings in my ears

In my heart

So deep inside I can’t imagine

The sounds I suddenly hear

I hear it, I feel it

Inside

The sound fills me

Echoing deep where I didn’t know there were holes

Its spilling over

Like a cup of wine

Spilling over and out

So I’m crying its raining

All spilling confusing

Dripping draining

It falls through my fingers

Puddles on the floor

I’m slipping and falling

Crashing down

The music all around me

Swallowing me

From the inside

Turning me inside out

So I don’t know what’s real

What’s me

But it’s everything

And so am I

Twelve

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 14:57:26 GMT

[[[another with him, i don't know how this part of the story is going to pan out... but i don't want to let it drop, nor do i want to over kill it]]]
We met at the library. It seemed only fitting to meet there, I had no real home for him to pick me up at and it didn’t seem right that I should pick up an angel. I was bundled up in a coat, I probably should have worn gloves or at least socks, but I had been too nervous and too absentminded upon leaving my house. I had to stop when I got to the door, my heart was beating to fast and breaths came out in visible puffs. I wasn’t until my hand started to go numb as I held the door handle I realized I had been standing out there too long. As I was about to shore up my failing courage and open the door a voice came from the shadows to the left, “Do you think you’ll go inside?” It was him I could tell by the sound of his voice and the way I suddenly felt warm and cold at the same time. I turned to face him and was just barely able to make out his shape in the formless darkness. “It’s hard to go inside alone when you know you’re not supposed to be” and with that he held out his hand. It felt like granite in mine and swallowed my whole. As we began walking down the street I looked at our hands intertwined and memorized the way they made us one, I couldn’t see where his had began and mine ended. It was a mess of fingers and flesh and looking at it my heart slowed down, my feet walked more steadily and my hand held in return.

eleven

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 14:56:00 GMT

[[[its back happy national novel month]]]
As a little girl one of my favorite books had been There’s a Monster at the End of this Book starring Sesame Street’s Grover. I’m not sure why as there is no real plot, simply a terrified and desperate Grover- desperate to not get to the monster at the end of the book. The first time my mom read the book to me I was ready to stop reading by page two when Grover started his desperate plea, whispering “so please do not turn the page”. I was willing to stop close the book and read something else, he had asked so nicely. But Ivee was reading too, she had already read this book before- so it’s not to say that her 7 year old self was cruel and laughed at his pain. She knew the ending, knew it wasn’t as bad as Grover assumed, and so with a giggle she turned the page. I felt bad for Grover building up brick walls trying to stop us from turning the page, he was so afraid and it started to rub off I became terrified of the last page. I started begging, like Grover, Ivee lets not read the last page, not today. And still she turned the page- revealing in the crumbled brick walls. The last page was turned, there was no monster- well no outside monster anyway, just Grover a loveable monster and nothing to be afraid of. Then I thought- why didn’t I realize this, why did I get so afraid- if there had been a real monster surely he would have broken free of the last page and come after Grover and me by page three. Maybe monsters are like spiders I reasoned, more afraid of us than we are of them. Such a silly phrase but maybe that’s what it was, I mean monsters are the ones who were hiding under beds or in closets. Hiding, maybe monsters are more terrified of us, I know I am.

Disgust

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 02:30:29 GMT

[[[excuse how horrendously angry and cruel this is... i blame it on my time of the month... but who knows :p]]]

You are a pitiful excuse for a human being
Just thought you should know
Just in case, by some weird happenstance
You hadn’t been told, or hadn’t realized before now
Your existence is like a plague or some sort of gore fest
You are a festering annoyance that no one wants around
No one really cares about you
They pretend because your humanity frightens them
But really you are like a boiling sore that no one wants to talk about
But everyone is disgusted by it, by you.
I can’t really figure out why you’re even alive
Was there some sort of divine calling I missed?
Patience, joy, peace, love, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
Gentleness, self control, and what, revulsion
You are lower than dirt and less significant than the shit that clings to my shoe
Less than human and somehow less than garbage
I don’t understand how you can live with yourself
So insignificant and so worthy of disgust
Your unworthiness is almost in art
You have somehow managed to cultivate over time
I just thought about you in your wretched state, I almost pity you
But then again, I think I hate you too much.

ten

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 02:47:22 GMT

and ten... the language is once again less poetic its hard to create a flow of unity when each ahs a different idea, a different character im trying to get across..... so excuse it but let it be :p
            As I packed up all the junk my dad had managed to accumulate in the 6 years since he had divorced my mom, I let my mind wander. Every time I lived in the moment and remembered where I was my whole body would start to tremble, the old fears I had worked so hard to get over began creeping back into my mind trying to consume me alive. So I started making lists in my mind of all I needed to do. Making lists is something I inherited from my mom. She is always making lists for everything- groceries, to do, goals, problems, solutions, pros/cons, everything. If something can have more than two things written following a thought my mom has probably written a list on it. Its amazing how much lists can calm you down, something that was once overwhelming can be a manageable account of something easily done once it’s written in a list. I have developed a lot of habits that I can trace back to my mom and list making is just one of the many little eccentrics.
            I carried a bag downstairs of garbage and then out to the garage. Looking out over the garage I realize that I have already packed a ridiculous amount of junk. So I decided to start taking trips to Salvation Army today. The drive there was interesting, sure I used to know this town inside and out but I haven’t been back in awhile and I really am horrible at consulting maps. I ended up driving all over town before figuring out I just needed to turn left and go about two miles to get to the Salvo. I think I dropped off a thousand pounds worth of random knick knacks and clothes. The black Avalon I had rented was so packed full of garbage bags and boxes I couldn’t see out any windows. Probably not one of the safer things I had done, while driving around lost. That’s when my phone started playing Falling by the Beetles; it has been my mom’s ringtone ever since I have had a cell phone. So funny she would call when I had just been thinking about her.
            “Hey mom”
            “Char!” as if anyone else could be answering my phone, “How is the packing going? Did he have tons of junk? What are you guys keeping? I can’t believe your sisters are making you help out, when they knew how you felt about him!”
            “I told them I’d help out mom, I was ready for a vacation and Ivee had to go back to her family, Jazz had to get back to work, I don’t mind.”
            “Hmm” I could feel my mom reading too much into it, trying to dissect it, “Well I just don’t think its right!”
            I endured my mom’s righteous indignation on my behalf for another few minutes before I finally made it to the drop box. “I gotta go Mom, Love you”, “Love you too Char, call me if you need me!”
            As I threw away and gave away all the things that made up my dad’s life I thought about things my mom used to say. She used to tell me that when I was younger I adored my dad, she was never sure what happened to change it. I don’t know either, I have hated him ever since I can remember, hated him or moved on to just not caring. I would live in indifference for him until he would do something or I would just think of him and hate him. I hated him so much that even I knew it was wrong. But I could never explain why. I hated the sight of him, why his touch on my arm for his weird hugs disgusted me, why just looking at him sometimes made me want to vomit. It was the kind of hate that consumed, but when it first started there was nothing I remember that was at the core of it, sure as time passed I came up with reasons since everything he did grated on me, but there was no foundation for it. My mom used to tell me stories about how I used to hug his leg as soon as he got home or how I just used to stare at him and adore him, this was when they were still married and she wanted to repair his and my relationship. My mom was always trying to fix everything, yet another trait I inherited, but some things just aren’t fixable, some things are broken forever.

Nine

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 13:49:48 GMT

and nine, this another flashback, the tonal quality is more frank and like spoken word i'm trying to keep up from being choppy with the other chapters, but each story has a different feel and weight so its hard to make them flow, but the story hopefully is flowing.

            At the time when I was breaking apart and wasn’t sure how to hold myself together, I had Aidan. I think he saved my life in more than one way. It took four years for Aidan and me to become best friends but only one year to solidify that friendship for a lifetime. We first met when we sat next to each other in freshmen English. I think the whole semester we probably said two words to each other. I saw him and thought he was some attractive guy I was blessed to sit next to. The next year we had a mutual friend who had a birthday party. We were the only two people from our school and as such were thrown together and ended up spending the whole party in each others company. While the other kids were experimenting with smoking in a bathroom out the window like the 15 year old hooligans we all were, Aidan and I were hiding in the basement playing Kingdom of Hearts. The next year after saying hi to each other a few times in the hall and nothing else, we ended up in a play together. We were both the random outcasts who had been asked to fill in at group scenes and sing harmonies. We spent the whole ballroom scene of Cinderella getting drunk from our ‘fake’ wine on stage while everyone else waltzed and sang Ten Minutes Ago. I’d like to say we provided some comic relief for the matinee children’s audience, but who knows if any one knew why we were stumbling about and laughing randomly.
            It really wasn’t until almost a year later and our senior year rolled around that we became inseparable. Suddenly there was never a Char without an Aidan close by. He practically moved into my house and did become a part of my family. Sometimes we would lie around for hours starring at the ceiling and listening to music trying to discern all of life’s secrets, or we would drive around for hours car dancing and yelling out the lyrics to tweenie pop hits. We both ended up dating someone around the same time, and so we double dated constantly. We even ended up going to senior prom together leaving both our boyfriends at home just to be together and dance the night away. I would pick him up from his club meeting every Tuesday and we would go out to McDonald’s for Mcflurries and discuss religion or talk about some sort of flimsy topic like any 80’s movie. Or we would spend hours talking about our eight children and how two would be gymnast and the rest would be ridiculously tall, or coloring pictures, or playing princess uno. We were soul mates in our own way and destiny had finally brought us together right when I need my other half most. When I broke down, I never really told him what had happened, just the other things that were almost superfluous to the actual incident. I told him enough to explain why I would cry for hours or why I was no longer comfortable around people or why I didn’t want to go home.
            For those months before I went away we would drive around for hours and look at houses around our town, dream of living there and escape to some fantasy life where everything was ok. When I would start crying he would hold me for as long as I needed and not ask questions or pat my back and tell me everything was going to be ok, just hold me tight as if just his arms could hold me together. He would make sure I was eating and sleeping and drove me to work and home. He took care of me when I needed it most. And though he didn’t understand everything, he always knew what to say or do to make everything menial amounts of better.
            One night as we lay on my bed, I began crying again. He held me as I sobbed into his shoulder. When I whispered in a broken voice, “Don’t ever hurt me Aidan, I’m sorry I am such a wreck, and horrid company, I am so sorry, but please don’t leave me, I need your more than I need anyone, just wait I’ll be okay soon, please just don’t go you’re the only thing saving me.” He just held me tighter and whispered “I’ll wait for you forever Char”.

eight

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 11:20:19 GMT

and eight back to the present this one is def less dark and haven't yet decided whats going to happen with these characters! gah :p

I saw him again. His eyes were black, not dark brown or anything but black like a night sky without stars. They didn’t seem empty though, they seemed to burn. It was late, around eight, I had been stalling at the waffle house across the street, but even a waffle and a glass of orange juice shouldn’t have taken two hours to eat. I don’t know what I was waiting for or stalling from. Something inside me was just holding me back. When I finally realized how much time had passed I paid for my meal and walked across the street to my safe haven. The smell of old well loved books once again permeated my system and without a word or movement my entire body seemed to relax. He was sitting behind a row of books on the floor, his eyes were closed. His skin so pale it brushed on translucence and I thought perhaps he had come to the book store to die. I touched his cheek as softly as I could and whispered- as if I would break the still peaceful revere surrounding him otherwise- “Are you all right?”. That was when his eyes flicked open and I saw the depths of darkness. Then as quickly as the burning was there, it disappeared. He smiled at me that breath taking smile and said “I wondered when you would come back, I was waiting for you”.

Seven

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 04:58:18 GMT

and seven another flashback sequence woot this one is a little more ethereal like the first two more poetic etc....

           One night when I was still young, eighteen and thinking I was an adult who knew everything, I woke up in the pitch black of my empty dorm. I tried not to wake my roommate as I slipped into a robe and walked out the door. The rain gently caressed the windows making almost shushing calming noises as it fell in torrents outside. I couldn’t see any stars from the windows as I climbed down the stairs hoping no one would hear me.
            I meandered without seeing, still caught up in the dream that was haunting me night after night, robbing me of sleep and serenity. I didn’t try to analyze it or think about it, the cruel touch of it sullied me and made me want to shrivel up and slowly fade to nothing. The rain became louder as I got closer to the side door. There were no lights on outside as if the power had gone out, not just on campus but in the bleak night sky. Not one star shone, and if the moon was out somewhere I couldn’t see it from here.
            I slipped out the door. There was not porch or over hang to protect me, the rain fell in torrents around me and on me. It quickly soaked me through. As I stood outside the door, shivering in my shirt and robe, being soaked through and through I just wished it would wash everything away. Clean me finally of the everlasting shame and grime I felt coating me. I stared up at the sky, feeling the rain fill my eyes and we cried together the sky and me. As if we were one and the same, she understood my pain and covered me with her blanket of tears. Sobs racked my body- tears I had been holding in so long it felt as if my last wall broke down in there wake. I cried till I was empty of everything and cried even after that. The sky continued to cry with me as if she were trying to help me hide. We cried for hours or perhaps minutes or maybe even lifetimes, crying till the tears were so many I drowned.

Touch me

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 15:22:15 GMT

Touch me
Hold me close
So close we're one
and not even air can come between us
Make me yours
United, Cherished, Possessed
till my hand in yours is your own
till your breath escapes my lips
till your heart beats in my chest
and till my tears cry out your eyes

six

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 15:01:15 GMT

and six back to the present woot excuse the wierd font at the end... it wouldn't let me change it rawr

            I suppose it was hard for me to understand why all the packing was necessary. Ivee and Jazz were with me today as we boxed up pictures we knew no one else would find value in and piled high more things to join our donations pile. I guess it was really the pictures that surprised me most. They were all over the front rooms of the house. Me smiling out in my senior picture, my sisters and I in a group picture we took Christmas of my junior year at college. There were no pictures of me post-college, but pictures of my sisters in their older years were hanging. A classic picture of Ivee and her family was cheap black frame I knew she hadn’t picked out and a small photo of Jazz and some friends out at a café.
        “I didn’t realize you guys were still talking to him so much” I said out loud. I hadn’t meant to, it came out more accusation then thoughtful question. As if I was betrayed in some way or their choices disgusted me. When really I didn’t think I had cared that much, not really, not while he was alive anyway. They looked at each other and passed some sort of silent mutual agreement.
        “You told us never to talk about him Char, so we didn’t, it doesn’t mean he stopped existing”, Ivee’s matter-of-fact tone scolded me as much as at placated me. I guess it was true I hadn’t wanted to think about him. This place, its memories.
        “He always asked about you” Jazz said as if she was trying to mollify me and redeem the conversation. As if that made it better, I hadn’t talked to him in five years. I hadn’t needed or wanted him it was the way it should be. Our relationship at best had been rocky at worst destructive. I shrugged my shoulders as if it was nothing more than weather we were talking about, “I just hadn’t realized I guess”.
    I let my mind wander to the bookstore and last night. I had gone, meandered down that aisle. He hadn’t been there, but I suppose I really wasn’t expecting him to be. His smile, his face had been too surreal to be something I could find within the shelves of a small bookstore. I had been happenstance and perhaps a small bit of miracle I had seen him the once anyway. Maybe I’d go back tonight, not for him of course but to soak in the calming essence of old well-loved books, I needed peace.

five

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 18:05:53 GMT

and five- another flashback woot

            I was desperate the first time that I dated a guy, I mean really dated. Not necessarily desperate for a guy, but for that deep connection you often feel when you look into someone’s eyes and see that they adore you just as much as you adore them. Perhaps I was so desperate I began seeing things that weren’t really there. Or maybe I was fooled.
   He said my name deep in his chest as if he were trying to hold all the sounds that defined me within himself. I loved it. It thrilled every part of me that wanted to be possessed and owned. And that perhaps was my downfall. Possessive and controlling behavior can only hold tight to someone so long before it breaks them down. I think a small part of it was he was my first- my first kiss, my first thrill, my first desire. The one thing he wasn’t was my first love. He used to throw it out there all the time. I love you Char he would say. At first I didn’t know how to respond, I felt the words meant something- perhaps giving them more credit than they are due. And I couldn’t just say them to respond to a sentiment, like it was nothing more than words that meant I like you or I’m mildly fond of you. Love inferred some deeper soul connection something- more.
           The first time I sensed something was wrong was on a night when the moon were so big I felt it would swallow me whole. He held me a bit longer than usual on the front steps to my door. While he held me he whispered in his deep voice “I love you”. I held him tighter, not knowing how to respond. Suddenly he held me away from him, looking into my eyes he clenched my arms and repeated “I love you Char”- slowly as if I were challenged or stupid. I looked in his eyes and what I saw there frightened me, though I had no reason to be afraid. Nothing he had ever done before had hinted at violence or aggression, I shouldn’t have been afraid. Besides his hands clenched tight on my arms, there was nothing to fear, but some small part of me cried out in alarm. As the silence stretched on his hands almost seemed to close in tighter. The vulnerable part of me shied away from aggression and in a small voice I whispered “I love you too”. It was that night the first part of me died a little bit and I began breaking apart.

four

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 02:51:54 GMT

and four... kinda disjointed too- but it ties in a few of the others before- its a little less fluid than the rest, perhaps a little forced... ill work on it :p

I think it is silly to look for answers when you don’t really know the question you’re asking. So I guess it made no sense that I was here packing up a house full of belongings I didn’t want looking for the answers to questions I didn’t have about my father. While I am sorting through messes of clothing, Folding and separating what can be donated and what will be thrown away I let my mind wander. I am thinking of returning to the book store tomorrow. It’s been a few days and I can’t get that smile out of my head. It’s as if it has become the face I see in the mirror, blocking out my own reflection. I wonder if he is a regular, perhaps I will see him again. Or perhaps in all his glorious perfection he wasn’t even real, a figment of my over exerted imagination or my first impression and angel visiting the world to report back to heaven. It seems almost wrong in a way to be thinking of this one living man who owned a moment of my time when a man who owned a lifetime worth of moments is dead. It isn’t hard to think of him in terms of past tense, its how I always though of my dad. He was this or he had done that, he really wasn’t a part of my present till now- till he was forced to be by death and responsibility.
          I wish Jazz or Ivee were here. They wouldn’t mind remembering the past. They found it easy to recall good times that included my father over bad times, or at least they seemed to have an easy enough time of it at the funeral. They cried when they were supposed to, and reminisced about funny stories that included Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoons and our dad’s warped sense of humor when they were supposed to. And I stood a cool unemotional rock in the midst of there emotional exploration and honoring of Dad’s life. I tried to cry during the funeral, I thought of all the things you’re supposed to, puppies dying, losing a friend, emotionally dramatic movies, but nothing; it was like there wasn’t anything left in me to cry even one tear. If Ivee were here she would say something responsible and organize the cleaning, if Jazz were her she would say something philosophical about a life half lived and avoid work at all cost. Instead I am here alone, sitting in silence listening to the hushed whisper of fabric brushing against fabric as I slowly empty out a closet of someone I barely knew.
         When we got the ashes after the service all three of us discussed what we would do with them. I suggested we flush them down the toilet; all I got for that comment was a droll stare from Ivee and a small smile hidden behind a hand from Jazz. Instead they took them out to the lake. I volunteered to stay behind and begin packing up the house. I didn’t want to see the dust he had returned to.
           I decided to go to the bookstore at eight tonight. I was desperate to feel something and I was hoping I would be able to see my angel tonight. Maybe he would be there, and maybe I could see his smile and be enchanted again. Something good had to come of being back in this place where all my dark memories were hidden in dark corners. I needed to breathe and release and let them go.

three

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 16:02:58 GMT

and three... this one is a mite disjointed- i have a bit that explains the events pre this event but its a work in progress.

           Death has always saddened me. I don’t know why exactly, but it has always wrenched at my soul and broken me from the inside. Maybe it is not the verb death precisely but what the verb does to those in its wake. Death is an action word not a thing, a presence. Maybe that’s it, as a verb it should be controllable and its not, perhaps the sadness is a weird sort of fear or a compassion I don’t understand. From a very young age seeing death happen to characters in movies or books, starting with Bambi’s mom to the death of a mother in a fairytale, caused me such immense amount of grief. Then I discovered real death of people who were not imaginings and the sorrow that filled me was so deep, below bone deep, achingly deep. Still to this day when I hear about someone who died- an acquaintance, a celebrity, a well-known public figure, a friend, someone I vaguely knew through someone else- it causes everything in me to go quiet and still then crumble apart. I cry, mourn for them like they were a close family member and not someone I didn’t really know. I give myself a short mourning period then move on, as one has to do to survive. Really though, it’s not that I am afraid of death, wary maybe, but afraid no. In its own way death can be beautiful. It’s like a silent peace at the end. I watched my dog die when I was a teenager. I remember him lying quietly on the tile floor, his brown eyes saying adoring loving things to me, laboring to breathe. Then that final breath came and a quiet hush filled my world and through my tears I thought now he is in a better place. As if that makes it all better, as if the whole a death leaves behind was nothing and now that they are gone the space fills as if they just moved away to some ‘better place’. Somehow though, it does make it better, it lets you put a finite hold on your infinite sadness; otherwise you would end up crying forever lost, broken into pieces with this empty space following you around where they should be.
          Somehow I have cried for the death of people I don’t know and have never met, as if I was personally robbed of their life force. It’s as if the air I breathe is a mixture of everybody else’s air and now that their own breath is gone everything tastes different, smells different, feels different. Perhaps this is the reason why I was in shock that I hadn’t cried yet. I found out two days ago my dad had died and nothing, I hadn’t shed one tear. Not one on that phone call or the others that followed, from my sisters and mom, not one tear as I flew up to New York and saw Jazz waiting for me at the airport, tears in her eyes. It was then I really noticed my lack of tears, looking at her and seeing her sadness, seeing the lack of mine. I hugged her close while she cried on my shoulder. I murmured senseless words of comfort while she whispered brokenly, “We didn’t even like him, he was our dad now he is gone and we didn’t even like him”.
           Our dad, I suppose that was true, but he felt more hers than mine while she cried and I stood motionless. My dad. It sounds too personal for what I had. I never wanted him and he never gave much thought to giving anything of himself, so really he was never mine. And the word dad seems too much of a purpose filled word, an action, a job title. I was more like the next door neighbors pet dog to him than daughter. When I wasn’t seen I didn’t exist and when I was seen the best I could get was a subconscious pat on the head. As a child I waited for these moments when I existed, then I grew to resent them as if he was just rubbing in the times I didn’t matter. Then I matured and I just didn’t care, he wasn’t my dad and I was defiantly not his daughter.
            When I first heard the news something soft filled me, almost like relief. Later though it was different, in the dark of the hotel room, Jazz curled into my side on the huge unfamiliar bed. I stared unseen at the television as the images moved in and out of the screen. I felt empty where sadness should be and lost where my tears should be falling. The darkness of the room was consuming. I wanted it to storm outside so that something at least would be feeling the rage or inconsolable grief I should be feeling. Throughout the day and a half since I had heard the news and arrived in this quiet hotel room people would come up to me, hug me and say in quiet words, I am so sorry Char. My mind would wander and I would wonder why they were sorry, sorry for what? For the nothingness? Nothing had changed. Maybe that was the problem, nothing had changed. That’s what made me feel so empty and lost, was I incapable of sadness here because there was never anything to be taken away. Nothing had changed and something drastic should have. Instead I was in the dark breaking for nothing when I should be breaking for everything. And I guess really all I wanted that dark broken night was to cry.

two

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 16:24:27 GMT

maybe a bit disconnected but part two of my vignette series :)

My first memory is more of a glimpse in time rather than a memory. I remember it being dark, as if it were night or storming outside or a peculiar mix of dismal emotion and pulled blinds. I remember being small as if my current consciousness were translated into a smaller body whose legs don't reach the floor but swing unknowingly from heights unfathomable. I remember that it was warm, not stifling but warm enough to brush at uncomfortable without embracing it. I remember thinking the room was huge, like an ancient burial cavern when in reality it was a tiny room in an even smaller apartment. I don't remember doing anything specifically besides seeing- as if my smaller self was just a set of eyes and the rest grew in later. I remember seeing the light on in the kitchen while the rest was blanketed in darkness and quiet, but most of all I remember the horrific sorrowful sound of stifled broken sobs coming from my mother's silhouette.

snow white

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 16:12:43 GMT

When skin's white as snow
blood leaves a darker stain
first you couldn't breath
then 100 strokes before bed left you gasping
then poison took its price
it's a good thing you died quietly
or the angles would have cried
instead little men lost their maid
birds lost their song
an apple lost a bite
and true love found a kiss.

one

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 16:07:19 GMT

I've decided to try my hand at little vignettes- that hopefully will [eventually] translate into a whole story. So though poetry will continue to appear bear with my experiment and we shall see what happens!

He was so beautiful, the first time I saw him I thought he might be an angel. When I entered the building the wafting smell of old books filled me. A small sigh escaped me, a favorite smell, a familiar smell. I followed a remembered path to a remembered shelf. It had been so long since I had come here, but suddenly it was as if I had never left. The building had not aged and nothing had changed, the familiarness comforted me in a small reassuring way. I felt my skin chilling as if the air condition had just been turned on, while my inside seemed to warm and twist. I caught sight of him just as turned down aisle I had followed remembered footsteps too. He wasn't looking at me, a small part of me wished desperately that he would, while the other parts longed to never be noticed so that I could watch him forever as his shadow. The book I had been looking at slipped from my hands. The sound of hardcover meeting tile floor was like a huge clap of thunder in the quiet of a storm. My eyes stared down at the book and my hands aghast. A gasp slipped from in between my lips and it was then I realized I hadn't taken a breath in the passing moments. I felt the dull heat of embarrassment flow across my face and neck. I looked up quickly hoping no one saw my idiotic clumsiness. I attempted to shake off the earlier dark fascination that had held me momentarily captive. I quietly laughed at myself as I bent down to pick up the book. Determined to regain control I clasped the book to myself like a shield and turned to make my way out of the aisle. Thats when I caught his dark eyes looking at me. When our eyes connected I felt the hairs on my neck rise, a shiver raced over my body as a different sort of heat than shame filled me. Then he smiled.

Too late

Wed, 28 May 2008 17:15:26 GMT

Too late words come easy
They flow out as if a sudden
Dam has broken along the
Lining of your heart.
The torrents of words you had wanted to say
Pouring forth like god’s great flood out upon the earth,
A waterfall of all the things you meant to say.
Though no one who matters hears,
To most you are a babbling brook
With no meaning and no destination
Behind the streaming flow of words.
But to that one, it would have been everything,
To you it is everything,
if only you had told them
Before it was too late.
But it is only too late that words come easy.

silenccce

Mon, 12 May 2008 13:50:53 GMT

Silence’s embrace is cold
Her hold is cruel and quiet
Once wrapped within her grasp
It is hard to escape.
Her mouth on yours leaves you mute
If she wishes to instill her sister Quiet for a time.
Her breath in your ear causes deafness
That leaves Silence to reign forever.
The burden she gives is heavy,
Weighing down on you in the day.
But monks embrace her close
Buddhists worship her piety
Lovers celebrate her dark curves and hidden passages
Thieves pray at her alter and seek refuge in her depth
And Night, Night loves her above all others
Charging the Moon to shine down
Forever illuminating her dark beauty.

a song for my mother

Mon, 12 May 2008 13:40:03 GMT

Holding me close
Rocking me gently
Whispering words of love.
My heart of your heart
Beating together,
Yours was first
A lullaby to yet
Unformed ears
Until my heart joined
Into the song.
A graceful harmony
Weaving in and out
Weaving us together.
Before I knew the words
I loved you.
More than a series of words can say
Without knowing why or
Where or when it happened
Whether it was when
Bold and bloodied
I lay in your tired arms
Or it was when I
Keep you awake at
Night crying in
The darkness missing
You when you were more
Than a breath away.
Or was it before
Before I was even a thought in your mind
When God and I looked down on you
And I pointed saying, That one
Please that one
Make me hers
Make her mine.
When I was still small
Eyes barely seeing over the counters
I watched you get ready for the day
Looking at your face in mirror
Then over at mine
I determined I was going to be
Just like you.
When I was scared or sad
Crying and lost
Crawling into your lap was like coming home
And I thought this,
This is everything that matters
And I thought, as I was held in your arms
In the darkness,
Still haunted by nightmares,
I thought I could never love you more than this
I knew you were perfect.
As a teenager we learned new things
We learned that we were imperfect, you and me
But it was these imperfections that
Let our love grow stronger.
The song has changed
While time has passed us
Our hearts beating differently than before,
Still, they are singing in harmony
A heavenly tune nothing can destroy.
Sometimes I am loud or annoying or ridiculous
And I wonder why
Why don’t you grab me by the shoulders,
Shake me and say what the heck is wrong with you
And sometimes I find myself staring into the mirror,
Taller now, getting myself ready for the day
I look in the mirror and think determinedly
I hope I am just like you,
I will be just like you.
You who was made to be mine
My mother, my friend, my home.
And I who was made for you
To be your daughter
To hold your hand as if we are two puzzle pieces
That fit perfectly, that are
Meant to be forever connected
I think one day
One day your heart will falter and stop
The harmony our hearts were creating will change drastically
As now one heart beats sadly alone.
And the melody we had once created
That was o so beautiful before
Now will seem empty and hallow
Seem lonely and lost as if it can’t remember the next beats.
I’ll want one more day of music with you.
Then I will remember
The look as you held me
The way your arms felt around me
And the way our hearts beat together
The way we were made to be.
And know all the time in the world
Would never have been enough for us
But our souls will sing together
Even after our hearts have ceased.
We will love.
So I give you this
When tears are not enough to express how much
When a short three word sentence is not enough to express how deep
When two arms holding tight are not enough to show how close
You will read this and know
This is what we have,
This and so much more.
I love you.
Happy Mother’s day.

Alone

Wed, 07 May 2008 14:36:47 GMT

Alone wraps me softly
In her lonely embrace
As with Solitary I stand
In the midst of No one
In rapt contemplation of Nothing
Knowing this is all there is
All there will be
One amongst a Void
A Void dark and empty
So deep it swallows me
Without trying
So that consumed within its depths
I see the Nothing I was
And the Nothing I will always be
Not lost but alone
Not unloved but forlorn
Not miserable but empty
I stand
Until the Darkness consumes
And I can stand no more
But am held down by
The ever so gentle arms of Loneliness
As finally my eyes close
And I am gone.

Abcd....

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 12:41:19 GMT

Accursed blessed creation dreams,

Ever fighting, grappling headfirst into

Judas’ knavery.

Learn misery’s new opulence,

Part quiet riot, stating the untold version

Within Xty.- Yahweh’s zymosis.

Xty.= Christianity

Zymosis= fermentation

Little child

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 17:11:18 GMT

Little hands whisper
Little words quiet
Love holds tender
Guard over silent
Night and silent
Sleep while
Little eyes hear
Little breaths catch
Little bits as
Quiet Death holds
Little watch until with
Little sigh that
Little body starts to die.

the kiss

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 20:41:41 GMT

In this moment--
A n t i c i p a t e d
C r a v e d
When lips meet
And skin touches
Where two become one
One is this
And this-- means everything.