Advice

Everyone seems to have their own opinion about what I should do with my life. I haven't heard a solid one yet.

New Direction Continued

This is something that I literally just wrote.

Superficial

I remember when you talked and I decided I liked your hair.
I remember when you wore a lot of eye make-up and I thought it was sexy
so as you talked I stared into your eyes.
I remember when you wore new earrings
and as you talked I watched them dangle.
I remember when you wore that tight black dress
when we talked at the wedding.
I remember the way your teeth looked sweet
as you spoke to me.
I remember when I held your body
as you whispered into my ear.
I remember that low cut sweater
from when you yelled at me.
I remember the way you smelled
while you used your hands to talk to me.
I remember when we talked as we held hands
and I couldn't believe how soft your skin was.

I don't remember a word you said.







Just wrote this one too. No justice, train of thought, too many people considered here.


Halfway to Back Home

It’s when the eyes have you
crushed under bricks
and eating a load of shit that you don’t need
keep talking and wasting
telling yourself it’s all right
like everything you believe is just a rationalization
because you could burn for this
and that’s what these dreams are about
women or girls
dollars or cents
they’d think this is not the way
you were raised
but most would never speak
of all the words they know
you run by and by in your thoughts
feeling as if one might just crack the skin on your forehead
then pour out and you
can use it as ink
to write that letter you never finished
because she liked you more when you were like her
talking about yourself
and all your accomplishments
and what you’re going to become
status is her attraction
not some gloomy rejection from that paper
like caring for you could matter
send her away
packing
with her Italian boyfriend
and his cheap suites
fuck him
not like she does
but fuck him
and punch his mouth
until you can feel his teeth cut into
your fists
as they poke through from
his upper lip
then kiss him and her and say you love them
because you are always pathetically sorry after
any sort of destruction
however so happy they’re hurt
and let her know
the big city makes your hair stink honey
and I’m not buying you anything
or any word you say
I know I’m very pretty
but I didn’t have enough of what you wanted
or maybe I was too old

A New Direction

A friend told me a few times to stop using my blog just to write posts about bands and that maybe I should use it for something else too, maybe something a little more personal. So this is whats happening. At one time in my life I was writing a lot of shit (not shitty stuff, just stuff) and I stopped for a while because I just couldn't seem to connect or feel anything the way I wanted to, and you can't force yourself to write about something you think you are feeling. I think that's the worst, not feeling anything, I am really in to the ups and downs and when I couldn't feel these things everything was a monotonous joke.
Within the last few weeks the sky has opened up and devoured a lot of my thinking and I have been reading some of my old "poetry." I've also felt like writing again and I think some things are bound to pour out real soon. Mind you, this is just how I feel now: like everyone enjoys spending there time wanting to know how I think or feel and that I AM really important. I usually go back and forth on feeling like sharing my thoughts might matter, but now I feel like this is it, the final time when I just let it all out there and accept the fact that I am a great thinker and if some people don't see that then they can write it in their own shitty little notebook. Don't mind my mind.
Here is a new direction, two pieces each update, and updates more often.

Here is one I wrote my last year of college:

Skin

She says, “If not the sun
then let the rain drown you.”
Is there hope in drowning
when you can’t breath
in the first place?
Suffocated by anxiety, jealousy, frustration.
Is it lust?
Is it love?
Is it the passages your mother hopes to read?

None of these bring a showing of teeth;
Only once,
they fall out from bleeding gums and
Cracked, sore lips
full of cheat.
She attempts to strangle you
with influence
as she hints at death
from a split and poisoned tongue.
You boil over with self-hatred.

Turn it around.

Turn. IT. Around.

Bring the wolves home with you.
They claw down the door
and shatter windows
as they jump through
with snarling fangs, flowing strings of spit,
stomachs ready to devour your doubter.
Lead them to her hiding place.
Watch as they rip out her neck
and peel the skin fresh from her bones.

Is this your victory?
Mixed up in fur, blood, spit, and skin.
She will meet the man she’s hinted at so often.
You are not jealous, envious, or hateful.
You have graced death,
touched his leather cloak
made from the skin of lepers,
and loved him.




This is one I wrote about a year ago, when my cousin thought I was genius and asked for some of my writings.

Wreckage


Broken since birth is what they said.
Their sympathy is a cheap fix,
full of soft hands and moist eyes.

Many words have built the foundation,
only to see it crumble
under pressure from demanded perfection.

It's when the door is opened
and visitors take a look inside;
They see a presumed sturdy home
Weaker than they'd like to believe
A floor plan they can't understand,
unattractive decorations.

Attempts at repair become futile
A fear the tools will rust
if the truth rains down.
No one has been able to repair this for 24 years.





* These may have been posted in other areas before but this is the first time they are together here, and they begin our journey into my past/ present/ and future.