Perhaps

Perhaps when you wish to speak more,

you should think less.

Angry Rhymes

Can't you see the pain hidden just beneath my eyes?

Can't you hear the shaking tone that rattles through my lies?

Can't you smell the fires that burn deep with my soul?

Can't you taste the passion when you and I are whole?

Can't you feel the softness of every breath I take?

I can see, hear, smell, taste and feel

everything you fake.

Altered

We all, 

we and me and you 

we all want to look back, 

to remember the good ol' days. 

If such they were.  

If such they were good, I mean.

Do you remember now?

The innocent days. 

The carefree, careless, stoned school days. 

The Friday night football, 

be home by curfew, 

Strawberry wine, 

No. 2 pencil days.

Back in those days, 

when the temple of unrequited love lectured from his soapbox, 

lectured from our parents, teachers, televisions, dealers, 
etcetera etcetera...

I hung out with the Third Street Anarchists that summer. 

We made up conspiracy theories in the backyard 

over tequila shooters and acid tabs 

and when god left, 

because he did, 

when god disappeared 

I left that small town prison for the city of dreams, 

where the anti-existentialists rule and nothing alters everything. 

Everything is altered. 

Even here.

Maybe, especially here.

Hide and Seek

I've been hiding.

But I never said I wanted to be found.

Waves

waves run like electricity

and pound against me

like pure 

magic

these shades of gray -

bittersweet

will not go back, will

not go back

to the original sparks created

and cannot go back

again

i fall

and fade

and crack like glass 

and melt in the sand

beneath the waves 

that run like electricity

through me

Today's Ramblings

today a poem woke me and this time, this time I was ready.

even if you were not.

Sonnets or Symphonies

I spoke with Shakespeare last night.

He told me stories in iambic pentameter.

But I didn't listen.

You see-

Beethoven was down the hall playing Fur Elise.

And all I wanted to do,

Was dance.

A Metaphor

My grandmother has a jewelry box where she keeps a special ring for each of her granddaughters.

She tells me the story of mine, which is hope.

It breathtaking.  Captivating.

The ring.

The story of the ring.

But I know it means death, before I wear its past.

So her jewelry box, is really Pandora's.

Error

                              you                   ask
  how I can                      justify
                                           such margins but
                                                             as
                                                     you
                                                  will
                                                             see

sometimes the pen controls me.

Spilled Milk and Other Tragedies

It began-
A simple kiss.

Your lips bless
Curse me now
That you're away.

I was so close, we
We were so close
But milk spills
Into flesh and
Spreads across the
Space between us
In tiny ripples
Of silky, smooth softness
That is not
Me.

No use crying.

A Cluttered Commentary on Chasing Circles

I was just wondering, if I sail around the world in eighty days and you do it in seventy nine, does that mean that you love the world more or that you are the faster sailor?  

Or does it simply mean that you are better than I am in chasing circles...

Conversation w/ a Stranger

*I'm a poet.* Un-confident. More of a question really.
*Are you?* Nonchalant. All knowing.
*Do you doubt me?* Even I doubt me.
*Never.* Serious.
*I'll write for you.* A challenge. A motive. A meaning.
*You always have.* Unbroken composure.
*I don't understand.* A thousand questions burning me outside in.
*Don't you?* Fixed. Constant.
*Perhaps...* Wheels are turning, fires burning.
*Perhaps what?* His eyes on mine. 
*I am an old soul.* Understanding.
*So you do understand.* A star falls.
*Goodbye, then, old friend.* Sometimes there are more than two halves.
*We'll meet soon.* When the planets align for us.
*I know.* I know. Finally, I know.

A Cluttered Commentary on Starting Again

When I was a little girl, and would complain about being hungry, my father would smile and whisper to me, "hunger is the best spice." And he was right. But not just about food, about life, about the world, about love. Especially love. Sometimes he still looks at me the same way he did when I was eight and in love with the universe, and I'm reminded that being an adult doesn't disallow me the option of being in love with the universe. Does it?

But how do you fall back in love after so much has happened? How do you leave behind the car wrecks and unpaid bills, the flashes of light-lost imprinted permanently on your heart? Start the car. It's all that simple, isn't it? Just remember... everything worth happening, happens when you least expect it. And breathe. Breathing is a necessity. And while your breathing, something might just happen, because life can change with every breath we take. And when your heart hurts, just breathe. And when you can't stop the pain, just breathe. Sooner or later all the pieces will fall into place... they always do.

A Rambling on Whispers

Tonight 

I want you near

To invent me a game

Where sparks fly like shooting stars

Where each new morning 

Brings new love.

Whisper my love,

Say that you will.

A Reflection of Dreams

What color are your dreams?

Do they break or blossom?

Red Day Ramblings

Sometimes, there is just too much red.

If you don't know what I mean, don't worry.  Someday you will.

And I'm sorry for that.

Musings on Real Life

I made love here once.  In a field of yellow tulips.

Once upon a time, when life made sense every time he said, "Forever, Sweet Girl."

It's funny, I got a once upon a time, and learned that there is no happily ever after.

Not for me.  Not anymore.

But like I said, I am loved, I have loved and I am grateful.

This is why I adore fandom.

The wonderful animatedbrowneyes made me this little vidlet for my fic Nowhere Left to Run.  Enjoy.

Ramblings on death

“If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down? Or speed up?” ~Chuck Palahniuk

I wanted to die once.  No changing costumes.  No coming back.  I was all alone.  And the world is a very scary place when you are all alone.


Judith Kitchen once wrote, "...tell her there are many ways to die and each is lonely."


I don't want to be lonely.
I don't want to die.  Not today.
So Chuck, I choose to slow down.  
To savor each kiss, each laugh, each love.

Because we all die.  And it will be lonely.

A Cluttered Commentary on text messages from hell

So here's how it went down.

Him:  I miss you.  Call me.
Me:  Don't you have a girlfriend?  Call her.
Him:  Just talk to me baby.
Me:  Do you, or do you not have a girlfriend?
Him:  I just want to hear your voice.
Me:  That wasn't an answer.
Him:  Can I at least call and say happy belated birthday?
Me:  Still not an answer.
Him:  I just want to talk.
Me:  And yet, you still can't answer a simple question.  Go away.

Because I'm still worth more than you.

A Reflection on why 2 am phone calls never end well

"I want to be lost poem in a stranger's coast pocket that conveys the importance you." From Chelsea Walls

Fuck that.

I want you to be a poem worthy of me.

But you never learn, do you?

A Cluttered Commentary on Heartbreak

"Have you ever been in love?  Horrible, isn't it?  It makes you vulnerable.  It opens your chest and opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.  You build up all these defenses.  You build up this whole armor, for years, so no one can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you.  They don't ask for it.  They do something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't yours anymore.  Love takes hostages.  It gets inside you.  It eats you out an leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its' way into your heart.  It hurts.  Not just in the mind.  It's a soul hurt, a body hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.  I hate love." ~Neil Gaiman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Think positive, I tell him, though I don't really believe it myself.  The world could slow and stop and end all life.  End all love.  But it won't.  Won't slow and won't stop.  Tomorrow we'll all wake in the same beds we fell asleep in.  We'll wake tired and alone and sore from too much pain and loss and beauty.  Just too much.

But I love her, he says.
And I know. But what else can I say?
What else is there?


Remember beauty.


There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much beauty.  There is so much.

Because even when your heart is broken, there is so much.