This Time Around...

i saw a lady on the train and she was crocheting, and it was the first couple of stitches, and i could see her struggling - i guess that's how it goes in the beginning. but maybe sometimes it's worth it to scrap everything and restart. a few snips here, tugs there. and she has been around the block, collapsible cane and everything. pills on her sweats, sweat on her brow.

god bless<3>>

i am 22 years, 2 weeks, so many days, minutes, etc.

and time flies, or speeds by - whether you're having fun or none at all.

the deep stains of time can come out, when you're willing

motionless behavior though is unacceptable, and not truly cleanly.

the seats quickly empty, i see the indentations of spaces where people were sitting. and i know i'm random but i have a feel for the future that will unfold ahead - just not in depth. if we were in person i'd wink right now.

but back to that lady. she was concentrated and it was still difficult, but she, better than us all, knew it was work towards a masterpiece, her masterpiece - probably a doily.

as i prepare myself for situations and things like them i realize i'm nothing more than a pantry filled with rotten foods that must be vacated so the fields outback can grow and then when i harvest they'll sustain what little bit of life i have left, but none of what's been left behind. soulmates only die. so don't try to read to deep into words like forever, always, and love - they're trumped by lust and desire. and we don't give as many second chances as we'd make it out to be.

Psst Hey You, Up Here

i sit and wait for you on the roof top, that way i'll know earlier when you arrive. i can see so far out, past towns. past all the roads that interlock. but those roads they spill and nothing is there to catch them, but they bring you to me. i consider them my friends. and when you finally make it i turn on the stove. and i'm cooking you shrimp, but when i look down they're sardines, and i'm wondering who is gonna eat that - i wouldn't even let you get a look at them.
the good lord made a mistake making me ever let my eyes set on you.

i consider how badly i'm screwed, then i look at you, and my body becomes graced with a presence you must know so well. the riddle that makes my anxiety is shallow, and i bear it. i knowingly engage in this relationship blindly.

you won't stay into night, you say "the afternoon is long enough." i know no length. i can't even measure. in my head every single thing is forever. i discard nothing, it all remains, and however untouched it always stays fresh.

and when sometimes i do something that resembles a smile, i know it only has to do with you. and that the pain i've survived somehow lended itself to helping me learn to smile. to smile and mean it. to smile and want it more, to wish i could all the time. feel that way. and i'm not wise enough to know if it's love, or just a sample. a rendering of something much more potent, and too the point.
requited love that cuts the head off and watches the body run a muck.
i'm unsure why i make this all up.

They Reminded Me Of Gma & Gpa

the world is a wonderful place. it's mid-november and the sun is still warm.

the diversity within mankind must make mother nature proud. for when i got on the train today i sat across from a man and woman and before i could even sit down i heard him say "i shoulda worn a shirt and tie," she shot back "we're going to get drugs." my interest peaked and i asked them what kind of drugs (although i had a pretty good idea), when they told me heroin i told them i figured. a glimpse into the next twenty minutes, pre-transfer, would include her talking about how all her "blades" got taken away, how his ex-wife is dead (the big C), her ex-husband calls her for sex, and the quote "they shouldn't call it coke, they should just call it more!"

when i transferred at Babylon i made sure to avoid them, not out of discontent, but rather because i had some reading to do.

now across from me is an elderly lady and as i'm reading my text she says "excuse me dear can you open this", she reaches out and hands me a Poland Spring water bottle and adds "bad wrist." i open it with ease and give it back to her, she says thanks.

and then i'm prompted to write this. because happiness takes the same form in all types of individuals. can you recognize it?

Swimming Through Concrete

on the way home i passed an empty pool. i suddenly pictured all the melancholy you remind me of. the lack of substance. what i was bound to jump into. a slide show of all the awful you bring to mind. i snap myself out of it, i almost feel bad. it really is unbelievable. as i walk towards my house i start to do so with rhythm. i picture all the saucy faces you make come to my mind. i can't comprehend that you never lost your balance, never once punctured the perfect picture. that's when you remind me of snow on top of a school bus, and why winter makes you feel only the realest emotions, the ones that carry on in a person. and you're so proud, you never lead on even an inch. you make me want to take my thoughts and shove them in a blender. tear them all apart so they can't be placed back together. i wonder what i bring to mind, how i make you feel. like what you say when people ask you how i am. the images that come to mind, if you wish you knew the answer. and how little i did that you knew was for you. i was just an outlet you chose for that moment.

now i feel myself trying to swin, and what a disaster. the concrete is ripping my bones apart, and the blood isn't nearly enough to fill this pool up to let me rise up and drag myself out. and it might stain but no one will see it. we won't spend too much time with the empty. tired memories that don't rage if you won't let them. the debris of bone is basically me, the divider between the shallow and deep is right at my fingertips, i can almost touch it. but i'm losing consciousness and gaining nothing.

i meant nothing and that's what comes to mind. something you had hand picked you tossed out.

They Said, "I Was Meek."

i make one thousand different faces, i save them for all the different moments. so i can out do you. and you wage a war with your working class grin. and you don't pick up on it but everyone finds you to be a mediocre person, nothing special. and i'm tempted to walk right up to you and laugh, i'd like to make you cry. but that's when you'd go into a dance, sidestepping all of everything real that i've asked you to relinquish, to reveal. undo those buttons, and take off that top - what's the problem? is your skin stretched too thin, are you scared to admit you're a regular and the trash company you keep can't bring you down because you're already there? but you're a soldier - the heavy armor is wearing you out, weighing you down. it's a fascinating problem. and all the witnesses to the scripts of you and i, kept themselves distant and perched at a height neither of us could climb. and you sat still as they dissected every bit of all the inches that brought us here, and you never once interrupted, tried to silence the curses these people brought forth. it poisoned us, and tortured me. i was muted by people who would never advocate for us. and one specific time, i knew what you were getting to. i couldn't look you in the eye, i stared down and buttoned my winter jacket, avoiding their questions coming from your mouth - they started a fire that i couldn't douse. i was meek.

I'll Turn Down The Heat With The Promise You'll Keep Me Warm

i'm so turned on by the sunless sky, the effortless clouds strung about. it reminds me that i might see you in another life, one we don't know right now. where the trees grow from the sky and houses sit on sponges and when you pass by you're enthralled by all the distaste of everyone living inside. and our mother passes out pamphlets reminding the masses of a savior. that's my cue, i hide from no one, in front of nobody. i'll stay like this through winter when i'll come out so you can see my breath, proof enough that i'm alive cause you said you can't see my body of lies. at first i thought you were being figurative but then you looked pass me.

sometimes i wish i could write this story from your point-of-view but i remember you're a shell of a human and you'd probably describe it all in one word.

and i guess it all inflates my hopes, and then i pass the place where you work all day into night. i see you through the window, try and recreate your day. i worship your interests and i'm smitten with your speech. no matter how i change the story, it always ends with the same conclusion, i don't blame you for not seeing much in me. you're pleasant and i'm really not. but you wear your clothes too tight, haha. i can still laugh behind your back.

Tribulation (The Trouble) < Trials (The Attempt)

here with you, but off to the side, after days the pain subsides
i watch you with the fury of all the bitter days

but handling it can only surely save me

from the candid pain

walking through the doors, i walk a step behind

living in the last season, there's still so much to find

i'm in a bout of rain, that i bring to the engagements
that only seems to stop when snow hits the pavement

my suicidal thoughts, while branching off from lavish lessons

erupt with flimsy reason, slams me to the prior season
while in this backward motion, i continue on
i never get to rid of you, my face red as i recite
this awful situation back to the pages in my diary
it's like reading a future where repetition's not easy
one day after then next, all filled with fear
jumping off the pages are solemn scenes,
with all the same faces
i erase and rip them up to save me from imitation

but

i want to ask you simple questions

given with a steady voice

without all of the flowery emotion

you've heard so much before

My Stature Without Protest

a wind chime through time
in an abyss with no wind
i wait for you to come
filled with dreams/stocked with sin

to start a current that stirs the air
a pesky breeze that changed the end
that flows around in a shrinking circle
starts up to me with my mouth wide open
and out comes hallowed shaded birds
they fall to the ground, their wings
- broke

where they land the abyss can't know
in the vacant black, in the dampness
with the rest of my cleared head

It's Only A Dream To Me - Convincingly

last night i saw you in my dream, not your face
but it was still complete enough for me, what i saw
it was so vague, all i remember is hugging your body so tightly
and i never wanted to let go, from there on
if that moment lasted through eternity, i'd let it burn through me
everything i needed was right there, it was the opposite of lonely
but not in company, filled with excitement as i tucked into you
and you enveloped me, overlapped we would be

so today when i saw you i was surprised, shocked and in awe
i kept quite and stayed close to myself, you were always in sight
and i wanted to let the love gush, to tell a total stranger i love
i couldn't. and now i give up.

so i remain the basin who's draining
everything from the dead to the present -
serendipitous moments comparable to heaven

In Three Parts

prelude:
sometimes you sit down and you tell me how you feel. i let you know the feelings they will fade. that's when you usually take a deep breath and don't exhale. i can see it hurts, but i don't object, instead - i let you be. i wonder if you even know i see you fighting. exasperating all your energy. even though i was an accessory now i'm doing the damage as i hold your head underwater just to keep things blurry.

just to recap:
you pried and it was inherent that i couldn't withstand the the faintest pressure to crack. and let a little free. and you huddled over you're snatched good, and i couldn't see your reaction so i stared away and waited for the next day. all that was me is what you thought you got, so the day after i changed, and rehearsed new lines with fresh motifs just to be sure what you got wasn't endowed. rather it was guts that have soured since i didn't pay them any attention and now you're stuck with 'em.

for the future:

it's that sound of a kiss when something turns off. that false sense you had that i defiled you, but you would have been too fond of that so it can't be true. so, my new mantra is that of a badly scarred whale - hit by a boat when i thought i was king of the jungle water. but you will keep on, but never forgive because behind your eyes lurks remedial thoughts of me. you cozied up to mistruths to keep you from freezing standing next to me. the air i give off is ice, i was never in a panic, i just wait for another cold blooded animal. and for the promises you faked i made - it was a mirage that fooled and brewed our grave friend that we've got to know so well, regret.

on my side of this story there was an ocean of life with love that suddenly dried up.on yours its still that mirage, still never really there.

Not Just A Number

i'm always thinking as i'm hurting, i've been thinking a lot lately and i think i discovered a good point. i want to share it with you folks - i'm sure some other person like myself has addressed this idea but here it goes:

if you're a kid your parents should take care of you, right? if you're a super old senior citizen, with one foot in the grave you've had plenty of time to save a small fortune to retire on, right?

and everything in between is the harshest chunk that life has to offer, right? it's where the struggles and difficulties lie, where the crises take place, the hardships, the long periods of unpunishable depression, the crippling fear of life (that seems extinct, or barely a seedling when you're a kid and dissipates [i'd imagine/hope] when you reach those golden years).

what i'm trying to say here is - why do they get all the discounts. is it just a marketing ploy like almost everything else out there? or is it more? is life waterboarding us when we least need it? rolling our skinned bodies in salt, laughing all the way along? just another straw on our inbetween aged backs?

i have no idea, but its in poor taste.

Where Are You?

i don't talk to anyone because i'm so scared of rejection. it all starts with eye contact, lillys on a pond. i often explain it as i'm the kid in class that the attendance sheet never gets to, no matter where i'm sitting. i'm not sure what it means, but i know it drives me towards being away. towards crazy.

it makes me resent myself, and i'm not sure what for. most days i sulk in solitude - the uncontrollable hiccups of my mind swooping in reminding me where not to begin. but how to continue, to perpetuate forward. effortlessly waiting for a lifesaver, a life-changer - i listen. it must be one who knows me and separates me from my sullen thoughts. one who with ease carries me from decimal points and rumored boats that wait for me to be aboard.

it makes me resent myself because the unadulterated thought has crossed my mind that we've met, maybe in passing and i found you too old, ugly, or fat. but the truth is we'd be glamorous together - outrunning foes and joining follies, maybe even being biased unnecessarily, but without attention to the details.

this is just a dream i caught and kept in a chest with a latch.
let me know if you want it back.

Good Girl Gone Bad

when i'm down i feel like shit, i don't wanna move or rather move far. sometimes though i'm high, and not in the traditional sense. this is the high off chocolate or coffee, maybe a funny comment or tv show. anyway i look in the mirror and thank god for my gene pool. mostly my thick head of hair. i know i'll never go bald. female pattern baldness is actually hitting closer to home then most of you even realize. not on my head, not ever. even if i pull my hair out of my head. and not seldom, it's frequent. every once in a while clumps. the kind that will yield an abundance of DNA. enough to stuff something with. no, now i'm exaggerating, but i got a pompadour, and they make you immediately awesome. just like that, yeah.

bigger isn't always better. modesty in your pompadour. please.

some of the greats have rocked them, and with power and influence. i hope i can make something of mine. recently they've grown in popularity with the ladies. of course the regulars come to mind, Rihanna (pictures everywhere) specifically, then maybe Gwen (Hella Good music vid). you've seen it in magazines, etc.
the best i've ever seen. Natalie Portman. hands down.


what an inspiration. always. her fucking hair. beyond sickening. in a good way.
it commands attention. it's pure prowess.
and i'm a rock star. at least when i feel like one.

Nothing Like What's Next To Me

four years of college and i don't know what i want to do. i don't know. i'd pump cesspools if it made me happy, but i don't think jobs can make anyone happy. not completely anyway, momentarily more likely. so i'm stuck, sort of like a stick in the mud, but, i'm not unhappy - maybe a bit sad, but i always find it has little to do with me and everything to do with the world around me.

watch the news.

read the paper.

listen to the radio.

absorb it all, reconsider.

and so i make graffiti on the train because creativity makes me happy.

i like to read and write and watch other people,

pay me for it?

i like to go fishing. not that i'm "serious" about it. i don't go out there with the right bait, rod, or casting technique, but there's something about feeling that life on the other line. knowing that even when you can't see it life is out there - alive! just waiting to feast and be caught.

and i'm a student, but nothing like the one sitting by me on the train. the difference is she has focus and a diet cherry coke. all i have is heart and a Natural Ice. i'm riding this train, not with the intention of moving forward, but with the intention of suspension. i'm dying for distractions from my text. she's reading "Art in Theory 1900-2000". and i find it amazing how they cover 10o years of art in 500 pages. at the very least us accountants know we're full of shit, an invention. art however is not an invention, it's a fruit of being and how i die to eat more than 500 pages.

without a dream there's not much to follow.

i'm sure it's very informative, but heck that's what other things are for. a book describing art almost feels like a disgrace to art. other peoples descriptions and opinions take away from your own.

maybe i'm drunk, no

i am.

So I Settle...

what is so bad about settling? i've seen those particles at the bottom of some solution and they look calm and peaceful. i'd like to settle - but i do see a problem with being still.

there is always bad to go with the good, and vice-versa. if i could just learn to accept it. the definition of perception should be the same as life, however unlikely. even if i'm wearing blinders the shut out still exists.

how far from perfection is rejection?

it's funny because the further the sun goes down the more it becomes a blinding force - the clouds a protector so high up - above ground.

and all that settles keeps low, under the radar.

that's what i'd like in life.

to end on a high note, i'm getting towards those particles.

Ice Makes Everything Better:

1) drinks (self explanatory)

2) bruises/cuts/aches
3) meth-heads (haha)
4) sweet 16's/bar mitzvahs/weddings (sculptures)
5) d-tea (& T)
6)coolers (it practically puts the "er" in the word)
7) wiggers (gold chains, etc.)
8) luges (@ the olympics and paired with a keg)
9) cream (obvious)
10) jewish people's holiday lights
11) queens (i don't know, i've heard it before)
12) pops (that was lame, especially after cream)
13) names of color crayons
14) skates (rollers are totally O-U-T)
15) road truckers (they get their own reality show)
16) high fevers (bath)
17) hard, straight liquor (it makes it go down much smoother)
18) bridges (maybe more fun, not so much better)

Secret Sauce

i've been relegated to the keurig. yes, the keurig. at one point i was disgusted, found myself better than it. no longer. anyway, today i thought alot about bullcrap things. like if you put the word Hershey's () on a piece of shit someone would friggin eat it. seriously though, and they'd pay for it. assholes. and what about a stirrer. newsflash you can stir a drink with anything. from a set of eye glasses to the wrong end of a knife, hell even a screw driver - and that's not me trying to be funny - then again you never can tell can you. but we make something they sell just to stir things. weird. and some of them are seasonal.

ha. SEA-SONS.
that made no sense.

you are a sucker.
what kind of people are they trying to reach out to. the audience. the crowd. the demographic. mmmm. idk.

and after this little bullshit post, all i can ask myself is hello HEINZ, it's me meghan.
what's up with the ketchup. that shit is old. also, it's free at 7-11's and burger kings world wide. you can steal it from diners. bottom line it's not hard to come by.
and the 57 varieties, what the hell is that about. i've seen 2, maybe 3. i think you're full of shit - and you almost had Joe D. () - it's time to redeem yoself.

how about this, and i'm no kind of condiment genius, but it's a 1:1 ratio of ketchup and mayonnaise mixture. people would go wild. it would be sold out. talk of the town. you could have a commercial starring a ronald mcdonald lookalike (see mac sauce minus pickles).



mocking mcdonalds. you'd be a hero, a fucking pioneer.
there might be a hit out on you.

but hell it's better to burn out than fade away.

With My Back Against The Wall I Reversed The Fall

"This is my letter to the world,

That never wrote to me" - Emily Dickinson

not too long ago somebody cited my passion as the driving force behind my "craziness". passion, obsession, love - what's really all the difference? i know i love beyond the scope of others, with an extra sense that sees into a fourth, even fifth dimension. i can love past all the guilt i feel for the wrongs i've chosen, all the hate i feel towards the deceptive snakes, all the anger i administer, But with all the energy i exhibit. i am capable of saint-like love. tender and sanitary is my heart, and willing and welcome are my eyes. i use you to explore the capacity of my love, it has recently diminished - leaving room for you, but barely another soul. i don't mind. i never believed in a love for me below the surface but this tree i've grown has it's roots wrapped around you (how i've flourished since i retook all my love back and distributed it to you). the taking wasn't simple or smooth but once i succeeded i knew the damage was worth the rebuilding that lies ahead - newness is grand. life is a thousand tests. and sometimes when they're bunched together the burden becomes a hole you can't climb out of, so you're alone and unoccupied. and time, as at the time it might seem to be, is not the enemy. it's a tool you must use to formulate a plan for freedom.

i spent the last couple years in a ditch, now i'm almost out as those roots strangle you.

and i feel good because i know you don't mind, it's like how i'll watch you for a couple seconds as you sleep.

me and you

are nothing
but peace.

8/28/10

on my train home from my first day of class i spotted this charming old man, skinny as could be, alone, bouquet of flowers in hand. he was so skinny through his clothes you could see his bones, the shirt was just hanging on him. he was so fragile and when i got a closer look at the flowers they looked as sad as him, mostly baby breath. i wondered if he found them pretty or if it's all he could afford. when i first started speculating where he was going i thought a girlfriends or maybe a granddaughters graduation party. then it slowly occurred to me what if it was a grave he was headed to.

his wifes 10 year death anniversary. somebody what - 6 feet under the ground - buried, being visited by probably one of the few souls left who even cares. her body wasting away only slightly less than his own. he briefly wishes doctor assisted suicide was legal, but then he hears her voice, all those years ago, while laying on her death bed. she said she'd be waiting for him. the scenes outside passing so fast he considers the terms of the vow - would she still be waiting after this long? after all he had waited for her, still bound to she who no longer existed in a tangible form. he thought it would be insulting to their marriage to stray even inches.

upstairs she was scrambling to make arrangements for their reunion, knowing much better than him the wait was almost over.

he got off at jamaica where we made eye contact, but his face was now expressionless.

I Am The End

all i can see is the end of summer. all i can feel is the end of me. with nobody. maybe it's a stretch, or maybe its condensed. i'm not quite sure, but suddenly everything is even more meaningless to me. things i thought i had are frequently gone, and ways i thought i knew are redirected from you. how impossible is nothing, and how possible is everything.

there is nothing to brag about, and even less to mention. days they pass with no intention. i want to get out, i want to break free, how badly i'd like to be nothing but me. i know i'm away and no one can see the things i've done to end up without grace, to end up face to face, with the person i thought could be a change - they were the worst, and i hate to place blame.

i'm off. i'm done. i'm like you on a day after work where you realized this isn't what you want. i'm sorry and sad, but i bust through the day - i want to end up free from the shame.

i can't run fast enough. i can't wiggle through the net that's you.
and when i see all the old men who frequent the dust, i collect what is mine and i'm off with it all. i'm at the office where you should be. i'm out in the street running wild with glee. i'm punished with you, you track my every thought. but unlike you i have my own.

i'm honest but troubled and i can't even lie. i'm rubble beneath the river you cry. wish me luck i'll be gone in time, it goes fast. if you ever wanna talk again i suggest you change and discard all of the shit that made you happily with me.

The Shards They Cut

people are everywhere, and somehow within the population we find ourselves almost attributed to some. like lines in a web, significant of all the relationships, that's the word. they're like lines. some run parallel and they're next to you but you don't ever intersect. then there's the ones that do - intersect. who knows for how long, but they do. and it's very different, parallel and perpendicular. the ones that touch must eventually part, they're going towards opposite destinies. the ones that walk along will always be there, but never There.

who's to say which is better? it all comes out looking like shit anyway. whole pieces of your life headed the other way, and you're left looking down at your hands wondering how you'd be better off. i try and blank myself of the whereabouts of the pieces left. corpses from them all rot in the spaces of my mind.

sometimes i can't find relief. i'm looking for a place where reminders don't exist, much less seen fathomable. it's away from here, but it's around. mighty things have to be far. change is distance, and the further the better.

Don't Answer The Door

i'm drab in the morning as i drink my coffee. it's not outside and i want to go out, but i want someone to go out with me. it's too early and i wont even leave to get the newspaper. not yet. it's a game of cat and mouse between myself and the paper. it tormenting me, and i toying with it. my sly and flirtatious looks out the window yield me nothing though. at the wake of the day i settle in like i'm going to bed. backwards motions and death defying thought bring me to the foyer and walk me out the door.

how many people will come to my funeral. if i died this morning. 75? 125? am i being modest. or maybe too optimistic. i'd like to see the demographics, some real breakdowns. for instance, how many: people who should have passed before me, siblings of actual friends, people who were inconvenienced, teachers, people who actually liked me, people i didn't actually like...stuff like that. funerals are funny, most of the guests are probably driven by curiosity, not even pity or sympathy - and that's cool. chances are the dead don't care why you showed up even if you decorate the room with flowers and send food baskets to the immediate family.

well, back to the actual news.

At My Knees

sometimes i think, is it so bad how much, i want to. live on the beach
watching the water current, wondering if you're coming
i imagine i'd track the path of the bludgeoning sun
- no clock - with me, to share the fun

then when the tide goes down, i'll go out in the sea. but just up to my knees
so as i don't drown
since all my thoughts are clogging my head, i now breathe through my knees

standing there still. my memories all hurt me
they scold me and i burn
it's a see-saw of emotion and there's nothing left to learn

i wait for night to take my place where vacant space separates
me from all the control i granted onto you, the time where -
i lost my implicit belief
and sifted through all the stakes, and
i didn't think before i torched rabid fakes
handicapped you left me watching you
feeding like a hawk on my remains

Dreams Aren't Just Figments

i had a dream last night that i was playing sandlot baseball, pitching a great game, and next thing i know i look at where my shortstop should be and it's just a cardboard box - there to represent my hopes and dreams. this brown-cardboard-worn at the edges-taped up-box. i stared back at it and wondered if it was empty.
only a second passed.
i went back to pitching. i didn't take the steps needed to reach the box, and open it. had i my dreams would have been revealed to me. i swore there was something telling me not to. a voice without a vessel screamed out of every direction "knowing too much can lead to delirium." anyway i could take a guess at what's in the box, i'm not completely in the dark. but i cowered from the ah-ha moment cause i know i don't need it. my unconscious was trying to test me, screw with me, checking to make sure i'm not what everyone says i am. i'm still me.

i'm still that same person, who after i reached the top of the tallest mountain i ran down it. the view was terrible, as it spanned everyone. for now i'll wait in the valley, and i won't tamper with any boxes. and heck, there's things i regret but retreating down that hill just ain't one of 'em. the nonbelievers won't rest. i just hope it's me that keeps them up at night.

My Eyes Gaze Out The Train

i see the world in shapes and sizes

but not to anchor any prizes

Salt In The Wound

my body told me turn around but the momentum was way too much. how could i come to a screeching halt and do an about face when i've been running so hard in one direction for so long. the laws of nature don't allow it. and there i was trying to think of ways to go against nature, to beat her bloody hard and make her look a fool. haha. i had myself going.

i think i have ADD because next thing i know i'm thinking to myself where the fuck to they come up with these important ages. like you can't watch racy movies until you're 13, can't smoke until your 19, no drinking until you're 21, driving at what...17 these days, cheaper coffee and whatnot at 65. the list goes on. offensive video games at 17, renting a car at 21 also - weird how those two are paired. enlist in the armed forces at 18, tattoos at what...18? they won't diagnose you with crazy insane-people diseases until you're like 20. heck with parental consent you can be emancipated before 18 and do a whole bunch of what i just listed earlier. it's all cool if your parents are on board for the ride. hell, at least you'll have them to blame.

after a moment removed from the moment at hand i find myself tearing off scabs just to wish on them. to wish for the things i lost back. the things that walked away. the things i pushed away, and the things i threw away. for some of them to be like a boomerang.

and i know the impossible can't become possible just by wishing, but there's too many hours in a day not to at some point find myself believing in miracles and in time travel and in what ifs.

i'm mindfucked.

also, i'm thinking of inventing a real travel size salt, the size of a credit card, because how often do you find yourself wanting salt, but not badly enough to get up and get it?

TOO OFTEN.

Love Is Blind And So Am I

they say love is blind, there's no doubt in my mind she is. she probably got into a bar fight and got her eyes ripped out and then they were subsequently donated to denial and falsehood. they each have but one eye to see a smaller venue, the ones that are nonsensical and lead to hatred among the people who hate themselves. these eyes, or tools, are used for pure evil, the kind that consume and devour simply standard people who know their wants but bank on the bad because it's what they've seen and what they've felt. on the inside, throughout time.

if I could lead the blind i'd tell her to take a step away from the love, from the admiration, and climb the ladder carefully feeling each rung that brings you that love. take a look at how you got there. believe you have the touch to turn that loaf of bread into the shiniest gold. the type people would take a second look at and desire immediately.

but actions will always speak louder than words, and its a real shame because at times our control diminishes from us and we're left to ruin that gold. the gold may move on, but it doesn't forget. it remembers behaviors that were set free and that turned a moment into a memory. a chilling thing that can't be revoked or reversed. and the action was disconnected from the words and thoughts, the beliefs. it took on a life of it's own, but that's what gets remembered when life returns to equilibrium. where the words are absent, when the cat has our tongue.

Mother Fracture

You Think: you know people, you know them from the inside out, you know their core, their soul. you know their quirks and their attributes, their basics - the building blocks of them without a question. if they were in the body of an antelope moping around you'd know it was them. if they caught the breeze and were a tulip you'd smell them and see the way they moved and you'd recognize it as your pal. if they danced with a stranger or begged for a quarter to make a call you'd know. you'd know it was them.

However: once you're sold out, you're sanity leaves and you begin to believe that you didn't know nothing. what you knew was a hoax, and they set you up. they sold you to a pawn shop for way less then your worth. you are stupid. and you're me.

But: you will wake up. you will overcome. you will take on the day and satisfy things that never needed satisfaction. you will prove yourself wrong, and make fundamental changes that you knew you had to but never insisted upon. you will break the cycle and move from the range of the anger left from the tiniest bit of your heart. eventually everyone needs to restart. and begin anew.

Then Again: nothing is easy. and life is a boat that sets sail on a shallow pond with the fondest of folks and if you don't take part and look for some fondness everything will be worthless and beyond what you thought was a furnished life with love.

SO JUST COME. HOP ON. LEAN OVER THE BOW.

A Real One-Liner

i walked so slow to school today because i didn't wanna get there.

A Dog Off His Leash

i love the sweatshirts and shorts thing, because it means summer nights, borrowed cigarettes, binge drinking, grilled peppers, humid warmth, silent streets, slow mornings, tired eyes, and it defines me in an outfit. it's like a dog off it's leash. a rabbit in the garden. a civilian at the bus stop. an ornament on the tree. it's warmth amongst cold. it's beyond me and i'm beyond it. it's patient and scared, and i'm right there. i wear it proudly and sleep soundly. i ache and it torments. i don't push any further. i look deep in it's eyes and swear that i'll come back, i wont embarrass my soul when its pitchforked on a street i used to walk and sweat as i walked the beat. i'm looking for you to tell me the answer regardless of how many days i spent pushing and avoiding, on top of that i took something sacred and lit it on fire to see though the street.

i was a dump and everyone saw it. i made new friends, they couldn't be bothered. everyone has their answer, and their excuse. mine are the same. one of kind. the abuse.

if i had stronger arms i'd lift you and take you through the river with me. cooled but hot i'd move relentlessly.

bygones are bygones maybe yet again.