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Sunday, December 9, 2012

there has to be a special word for that

the bites are more frequent now- a sting on
the back of my eyes followed by a short-lived constriction
of the throat. a thought will float
to the surface and it's buoyancy carries me
further than where i'd expected so
all i can do is exhale a
thank you
thank you
thank   y  o    u 
until I can pull myself together and
carry on.

I don't cry often, but sometimes I start to feel so happy and grateful about something/someone that I start to get that pre-tears feeling. It's a little embarrassing, to be honest, because I kinda feel like a huge emotional dweeb whenever it happens. But I guess it's a good thing to get the positive kind of emotional over nice things? I don't know. That was too many synonyms or "good".

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Emotional Roller-Coaster

I am remembering the roller-coaster, the buildup 
of gravity in my bones- [chik].[chik].
and on and on until 
and the 
and the 
It’s been so long since I've seen 
the world rush by- but I can feel it now,
and when I ache to tell you about 
the roller-coaster I’ve been riding on, 
the physical memory seems 
so much better, by comparison.


I have a lot of feelings.
I am tempted to bake a cake.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Maps Are Dumb.

I press my finger flat against the map,
momentarily tempted to push straight through
but it wouldn't do any good.
The length of two knuckles- there are small scars
littering this hand, compounding papercuts and
childhood mistakes-
two knuckles and over two hundred miles.
I can't think of anything else lately,
I'm being eaten by a beast
and these miles are teeth.
Distance is my boulder,
and I am always struggling

Fun Fact-
I am a terrible navigator.
less than half my soulfriends (and regular friends!) are living in my home state.
I have a bad habit of making friends with people when I travel someplace... which certainly doesn't help!

slow dawning

i remember the moment when i knew
we would be friends,
laying awake before bed-
the best description i can manage is
that i felt our friendship
around my heart,
blooming among my ribs
and various vital organs.
i smiled,
went to sleep,
and dreamt of warm nothings.

this past summer, i saw a friend who i hadn't seen/ spoken to in a few years, and i was nervous because i tend to overthink things and what if we're too different to really be friends now? but it was alright, and i'm really happy about it still!
this is how i feel most of my friendships, so that's a cool thing that actually happens.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

amber and tiger's eye

We were sitting around the table, a deja vu
set in flesh (plus or minus a few)-
we returned to one small moment, where
everyone's eyes were blue
except his. So odd, so ironic, so
in a way
that I cannot think to conjugate.
I cannot recall if he refused
to acknowledge what we all knew-
that brown eyes
can be nice,

[true story. i think there were seven of us? eight if becca had been there, but mark was the only one with brown eyes and everyone else had blue eyes and i just think that's pretty great.]

Thursday, August 23, 2012


Sometimes I think that we are stones
dropped into the [pond]river-ocean
of this world, left to erode in
the current as our ripples spread and
Sometimes I can sit and feel
the water, whatever it happens to be.
We are always drowning,
but rocks do not need to breathe.

(I am absurdly happy with this poem.)

Thursday, August 16, 2012

soothsaying sucrose

periwinkle pink plaid cherry chocolate pie
cookie dough quiltwork
gashes in my thighs
marmalade magenta sugar reigns supreme
cyan candy cruellers
heart attacks with cream

I'm not entirely sure.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Handle With Care

Eggshells, the bones of
small creatures, trust,
hearts; things that can easily
crack and or break,
fall apart, fade away.
Fragility lives and breathes
in every moment, on the
edge of every breath
and at the start
of every step,
no matter what you do.
Ironically, it is the strong
who are able to carry through.

Working on the same theme as 'Fragility'

Monday, August 13, 2012


Cup yours hands carefully
around the wings, beating
like hushed laughter against the
skin of your palms. Leave
some gaps; nothing large enough
to set it free, but to let some
air in to breathe. This feeling
of wonder and fear and joy
and caution- it’s right, it’s proper,
it’s what you should be feeling. Now
that you have learned something-
set it free.


Wednesday, August 1, 2012


I like to walk away as if I'm never really leaving,
because I manage to always act
while almost never really thinking.
I like to pretend living is easier this way, loving
the moment and how I will always stay
where I am if
where I am is
anywhere I can be.

I like it when I'm never still, because then I can believe
that everything is fine; as long as I keep moving

the future will be the last thing on my mind.

It's funny, because I literally cannot think far enough ahead. And then I'm stuck in the middle of something, and I realize that there was a flaw in my non-plan and then I just shrug and take the next step out.
Soooo hilarious.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

"inch by inch, life's a cinch"

The cycle begins again, it seems as if this is all I've known- the scare of strange streets gradually losing their unfamiliar sheen and becoming something more acquainted, closed doorways and corner shops giving their silent nods in greeting as I pass. This season will soon be coming to a close, though, and my time here will end. On everbody's lips is the same question, and I have it now on my own- where will I go? Washington state, I ponder, or should I try to stay in this city that is still slightly new? I have yet to truly learn even a niche, which I would dearly love to do (it's a lovely place, I think)- but who knows! Not I, for sure, and maybe that should be disconcerting but I am currently inclined to let the current carry me where it will, and without too many intentions I will say, "To hell with the consequences, I will have to learn to love another small space of this enormous world."

Sunday, June 17, 2012


it's the smell of a room once you leave it, that makes me hesitate
in the doorway or open a window. I could never wish pain
on anyone, you taught me that in your roundabout way
(I don't think you were aware
of your lessons, the tears streaking my sister's face)-
I could never wish glass in your heel
or a car coming too fast out of a turn. This isn't kindness
on my part- pain hurts me. But I am leaving soon, and
I would not be there to see the rosebush scratch your eyes,
I wouldn't hear the crunch of bone (maybe
not a car accident, maybe a bad fall)
and the phone call
that would inevitably come
would not inspire any sympathy pains-
normally hearing about a dislocated knee
will make my own ache, but
there are always

Tuesday, June 12, 2012


[ I just retired a little over 50 poems from this blog... and tomorrow I'll be pruning some more. Whoo! Alright, that was all. ]

Friday, March 16, 2012

where have my words gone

when we walked beneath a bridge at night, both afraid but not willing to admit it, made jokes and laughed with extra volume; how it felt to press my forehead to your spine, falling asleep in my older sister's bed because she was never there and you always were, just for that summer; fishes crafted of iridescent ribbon, tethered to their mobile as they swam small swirls into the air.

what can i teach or learn or sing, writing from memories?

touching down felt like breaking the surface, like we had been living our lives underwater and this was the air, this was the land and this is where the plane took me back to breathe. everything was open: the sky, the mountains, the cactus and their arms. everything was faded, bleached, fresh with dust and too much sun. they appeared in the sunsets, in the wind that whipped the palms trees, in the miniature dust devils, and in the fragrant citrus branches; i took deep breathes, i harbored them in my lungs, and held them in my arms- then i let them go.

i wish i had kept some, just a few to take back with me. there is no desert here, we do not live in an oven, and we are not surrounded by hostile plants. my lungs are only full of air, my arms are empty and so is my mind. empty empty empty.

[I don't know, I really don't know, I'm just going to keep writing and hopefully someday I'll look at what I'm writing and know what's going on again, I don't care if it's stupid or ugly or pointless, I just miss writing so much and I don't really have anything to write about except things that make me sad but if I don't write about them then it makes them ten times harder to figure out and I just want to figure them out! that's all I want to do!]