I’m a bad reader.
Like many other things I’ve accomplished in my life due purely to a desire to prove other people wrong, I learned how to read out of spite. To make a long childhood story short, I skipped the majority of 2nd grade thanks less to a belief in my academic abilities, and more to a surprisingly effective attitude that I would be ok because I had no other choice. Coming out of a Los Angeles hippie commune filled with celebrity children and teachers who believed I would do things when I “was ready”, I found myself in a summer school program designed to keep kids with working mothers occupied, unable to write in print, and unable to read. Continue reading “In Defense of Getting Bored”
I covered my eyes to see you better,
covered my mouth to
keep a peace-
unrolled understanding like
a carpet on your stones,
kissing corners just to bring in
a little light
I risked my shame for greatness,
hoping you would do the same-
I wrote you in songs, and stories and poems to keep
your sacred silence in tact
Continue reading “Things I Have Done”
Time is a rubber band
stretching this way and that-
thin and small, then
wrapping tighter around
my accusatory finger Continue reading “Relativity”
Most alive in my heart, most loud in my head,
I cannot bury you; you are un-dead
There are 20 minutes left in this day, and I’m ready not to think anymore.
All I want to do- were I unhampered by all these pressing eyes- is to sit and think, staring at nothing in particular, about your face. I wonder how it’s changed since you’ve been gone? I say that you’ve been gone because you left, even though it was more of a literal inevitability than a gesture of abandonment. It didn’t feel any better.
15 minutes left. Continue reading “Minutes”
“I’m just tired of living like a fucking nomad.”
I stopped trying to shove yesterday’s jeans into my work purse and exhaled frustration. He had lent me sweatpants again; because I had slept over again, because we saw each other post 9pm again, because it was the only time we could get together and I felt guilty if I only stayed an hour. Again.
“You can keep some stuff here, you know” he said, in the same way he always did.
“I know. But then I wouldn’t have it at home. I just hate carrying everything back and forth all the time, it drives me nuts.”
I just want to go home, hang up my sweater where it won’t get wrinkled, put my underwear in the laundry where it will stay and not revisit the same bra again six hours after I take it off. I just want to go home. Continue reading “Before the Break(up)”
*(I didn’t say no)
I was so, so hungry
and it was such a good drug for the pain
of carrying you on my sleeve;
because it was too good to be real,
too old to be new, a familiar habit-
Because I saw it coming and it was still a surprise,
Continue reading “Excuses”
I wished it was over as soon as it began. I wondered vaguely what I had wanted, what the disconnection was between what my head wanted and what my body clearly could do without.
I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t care if I finished, because I’d rather he just end it so I could go home and sleep. Maybe I just liked knowing someone wanted me- because the sweat, the pain, and the awkward recognition of fakery in my own voice I could do without. I didn’t bother to fix any of it because I didn’t really care. Continue reading “Casual”