here's something...

 maybe there's a chance that this tidbit of advice is glaringly obvious, you decide:

  ** Be Honest. With yourself. With people.**

lover's eyes

their eyes.

just one

from each pair.

I lay down on them

at night when

I go to sleep

in this bed.

most of them are

blue. Some are

brown and some

aren't any color.

shame that

this space used to belong

to me

and now I have to share it

with them.

When they are angry at me

my back hurts from their staring into it.

when they taunt me

their coy glances leave me wanting.

but most of all, when they

rob me of sleep,

they inhabit my dreams.

I might wake up in

a bigger bed with more

of them woven into

every stitch of the sheets.

hmmm

Why is it that I get a resurgence of creative energy at the most inopportune times. I seem to only know what to write when I'm trying to fall asleep at 3 a.m. or when I'm in class. Most times it happens when I don't have a pen within my grasp or I'm in a conversation with someone. Can you imagine..."hold that thought a second I need to jot down a poem," what strange looks i would get, especially from people that don't know me. hah! 

bar on the corner

Shrunken crumpled
on a sidewalk outside
of the dirtiest bar in town.


That's where I was left.


Cheeks stained with mascara
color faded red rimmed orbs


Exposed like the rotting siding
peeking out from layers of
peeling paint.


For decades people have been
discarded, thrown out to the hard pavement.


Pain is deeply rooted
in the structure of the old building.


The mirror behind the bar mocks
it's patrons in self hatred


Its rogue charm could be added
up to some broken chairs, split floors, fights, tears and
beer served in plastic cups.


A jealous lover shot up the place once.


and the songs, though good,
lost their luster after their rotation
pattern became apparent.


The empty person
that's still around at last call,
has the sound of crashing bottles
clanging in their ears
long after they return to where
they were from.





*photo credit: news & record

short thoughts

a neurotic wanderer

she might find herself waiting tables

at a dingy diner in some southern town

or dealing black jack in Vegas.

mmm

Just because I can. I can because I love them. And because I'm weird.

wire

entangled, wrapped into

a possession of herself.

night after night feeling

the gold threads tied tightly

around her skin

compressing-

circulation suspended

for a moment

a flash of a life

that lasts

and throbs at pressure

only to wait

for when the wire threads snap-

give way

to desires,

agony

and red stripes are

revealed, an impression

of their existence.

and waiting no more.