45 ( people you've been before that you don't want around anymore that push and shove and won't bend to your will I'll keep them still)

Again and again

I long for the talent and creativity

to write a poem.

What is more beautiful than a poem?

What is more miraculous than when a mere person can find the words

to illustrate a moment- a feeling

to color the world with a memory or fantasy

so real that you can taste it?

The sadness, the pointed resilience

or romance

found in music

is intrinsic to its nature;

to isolate the senses, and solely hear...

we feel the rest: we know the rest

But poetry...

Language is incompetent

the reasons why are unimportant;

but in how many places in life are we lacking words?

From expressing the deepest of sorrows to the most intense love

we cannot form the thought into coherant translations

those fair few

who can manipulate the tongue

to speak to the depths of our minds

those fair few

have tapped into the collective soul

to amaze us all..

I am sitting on a mattress with no sheet on it in a room with no furniture in it. The light in this room is dimmer than most others.

I am a schmo. I work like a maniac and haven't been sleeping well. However I had a meeting today with one of our partner agencies, an administrative one, and they were complimenting me and our organization quite a bit. I must say I felt really validated. By them. Another staff member was there and she said she would tell my boss... That was nice. Then I went to another meeting and then I moved 85% of all my shit back into Brianna's house. I had moved out, if I didn't say that before. I moved out may 1st. before june 1st i began my plans to move back in. finally its happening. i am wearing dirty clothing and haven't yet showered. Brianna is moving back to New York on Friday morning. My kittens have a vet appointment on Thursday morning... they have fleas, and there is a group of 24 youth coming to work with us tomorrow morning and the organization running the program that hired them is the biggest shit show I have ever seen. Those people have had me stressed bad... not to mention I have a serious deadline coming up next thursday and I am nervous.

But at least the world isn't cracking up. Or maybe it is. The air here is suffocating and the heat is oppressive. It storms daily, which is generally the high point of my day when it's coolest and the least humid. For some reason, last summer seems to be much less hot than it was. We also have barely any long termers. We have an americorps team, I like them all, but I can tell there may be some difficulty with agism. I only know 3 of their names. Maybe they aren't to blame. I am achey and I haven't gotten my licsense yet. Maybe I will join a gym, for the millionth time. Moving costs a lot of money. I dream about strange things, and I wake up feeling like I did falling asleep- like I just need rest.

Sometimes I wish that everyone would want to read and follow this blog. And then I think about it and I wish that no one read this blog at all. I don't know what I want or where I'm at, let alone where I'm going. I'll tell you this though, I'm on my way.

hear me,

raging in my crusades

rumbling forht like nightfall

when you wish the day would last

with my cross to bear

i bare all

there are no nails in my palms

only psalms of sadness

feel me

when my skin burns right through yours

and the fever of my need

binds your blood to my veins

this is my cross to bare

44 (You will believe in love...)

I am tired of empty words and continuing a discussion that doesn't go anywhere or mean anything.

I am tired of sleeping restlessly and waking up in a world of dreams, narrow and misguided.

Nest. Nest. Nest. Nest.

I would like to waltz in french and dip you in a lavender dress.

I would like to wake up in a haze of heat and light, with drops of dew as the sole clarity in the world. What earth would be in the summer, if all the moss would overgrow my conscious self.

If all the stringent blood and acerbic words would take a moment to swirl up in a cloud of imagination, if all the awkward scenes would fast forward... so fast that the world would be one of haze and heat.

the sun would ripple the streets

there i would be

peeling at the edges

strip off every layer and find there is a cloud

vapors, water

a mist dissolved

all my thoughts are only a breath

the thick coating of experience

on my tongue

high blades of grass

fingernails with a thin crust of mud

making dimples in the ground

i can hide here, in the meadows un-mowed.

let the body be

enveloped

once the skin and bone have pared

a light will escape

brighter than the sun

the quiet of an eternal moments imagination

stretched with longing

summer lasts forever

43 (I've gone crazy, couldn't you tell. I threw stones at the stars but the whole sky fell)

i don't know what i am doing at all and i don't know why i don't know because i think

i know some things but i suppose i am wrong in thinking that i know anything. i don't know anything and i don't know why. and i don't know why i thought i knew anything, and i don't know where the knowledge i thought i had came from.

who knows what i know? what i know is nothing to know. there is nothing to know.

so if there is a need to know basis there is nothing to say. what is it that i thought i knew? i don't even know what i thought i knew. i just know that whatever i thought i knew was either wrong or i didn't actually know it.

i want to cut off my lips and run in the grass

i want to cut off my clothes and roll in the dirt

i want to tear off my skins and lick my teeth

i can only hear the ringing in my ears

and i can only taste the blood

from the heart i've torn and chewed

like cud

______________________________________________________________________________

i am a painter of dreams

i am a writer of light

my eyelids

are heavier than

2 bricks

______________________________________________________________________________

sad sold sentiments

in my pocket

fuck this.

who can say what i what i

i have nothing new to say.

the art of the stringing of words

like beads

to create the most beautiful

intricate necklace...

my fingers are paralyzed

crammed down my throat

and over my eyes

who could ever know that all i could think about

is everything

and you, you, random and worthless

are my recurring dream

and the rest of you

fester/s/ in the stomach

wrestling, flailing, in the bile

and unbeknownst to you

caught in the rip tides of my acid

you will be burned alive by my insides

my stomach, my stomach

clenching around you

churning

how do i purge?

running nauseous and blind

my nails are scraping

the soft insides of my throat

where i long only for sweet melodies to escape

42 (Everything I say she takes to heart. Everything she takes she takes apart)

there was no token of your feelings

there were no good times

to remember

like a fish

i was at the end of your line

one of many cast out from your ship

you never even put me in a bucket of water with the others

you played like a child

thrusting me forth from the sea

to flail and gasp

plunging me back in

to drown in my own waves

for you

it was only a game

perhaps you thought

the fallout would be minimal

but i have whiplash

and there are scales missing

one above my right eye

that one was my dignity

one at the edge of my tail

that one was the lie

the five that surrounded the rip in my face

those were my pride, my idealism,

my trust, longing, love.

my scales will regrow

but forever there will remain scar tissue

from your harmless game.

the game ended

when i opened my mouth to show you

the broken skin

the missing bits

don't turn away and hide from me,

i am but a fish

flapping in your hand

so throw me

and i will swim away