the thing is

that I've finally found it.

updated.
edited.
fuck you, I'm done.
so much is different and I don't know.





I'm scared to talk about it.


But after someone told me, accidentally, that I wasn't a good writer I edited this and proved everyone, myself, you, but mostly myself, wrong when I started to believe it. So, fuck you.



End


memory devours
like a long road
eats laughter

don't tell her to stay
her feet are movement

the roar
is an oven and

you
are
nothing

but an empty swing waiting in the breeze.








Steal it............and DIE.

writing crap about trying to write things that aren't crappy

more coffee, more tea
beat me, beat me, beat, beat
somethings gotta rev this engine
and haul this tired, fumbling mass of mine
into literature about literature
and journals based on
lies
lies
wilderness lies
I'm wandering
around
downstairs
barefoot in a december storm
letting rain
beat me, beat me, beat, beat
the
wind
keeps
time.

You were never mine at all...

I have a problem with letting myself feel bad feelings. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe its a sign of a good self-defense mechanism. Or, maybe I'm just a baby that needs to realize it's okay to feel bad every once in a while. I'll do whatever it takes to not feel hurt or disappointed or neglected or depressed or stressed or jealous or stupid. Anything.

Feeling bad has its advantages, I'm starting to figure out. I think just letting myself feel the weight of all those bad things I've been ignoring will change me for the better.

If I can handle it.
I've been numb for way too long.

Things to look for

Well, this might be pretentious of me but I was thinking I'd post a few poems I've written this year through taking a poetry workshop with Claire Davis. So in the next few posts look for that. In my four years at college this is my first poetry class so I definitely need improvement. Despite having multiple workshops in fiction & nonfiction I still need improvement there as well, so if I can find old work I'll post it here too. Just don't steal my stuff. ;)

Criticism is welcomed with open arms.
I'd rather have someone just rip my work apart than say, "Oh, good job...it's like, good...or whatever. I liked it..." which comes up more than you'd think in some creative writing classes. Also, I'm in the process of researching the progression of literature for my senior thesis and am coming across a ton of interesting things there, so I might get the urge to share some really cool aspects of literature....if you're into that sort of thing.

So, look for poems below this post and everything else above.

list poem

September 15, 2008

Whirling Memory


Mystery aches inside us, its path in cackling, cracking bones, emerging through thin paper skin. Longing holds us together even as we feel like breaking into who we used to be. Spinning through the darkness, what is left glows. We are beating hearts knowing how to die. We are echos of the slap, a newborn's first prompt. We are a glimmering milky way trailing memory.

And what will it be that takes us?

Car accidents, lightning strikes in the middle of a soccer game, murder, drowning in the Snake, disease, cancer, suicide, "hold your wee for a wii" competitions, wild animal attacks, starvation, heart break after heart break after heart break, love, choking, strokes during sex, child birth, drug overdoses, war.

Falling, failing

Summer's final shooting star
Our faces illuminated
With the moon
With the glow of not knowing
You're next

You were meant to let it go

Balding, a comb
over like angel hair
spaghetti
Lost her appetite
More than that
His sweat
dripped
Onto her
Had enough
This is the last time
This is it
She sighs
turns
watches
Channel 5 News
She forgets the
simple movements
Moves on
and on
and on
and on
She's gone

anaphora

Free (Anaphora)


I used to be different.
I just don't know when I changed.
I used to be different to them
All these people that line up at my door.
Spilling into the staircase
Pumping their collective fist
When I don't tell them anything
Because all that knocking is hollow
To an empty room to their empty shores

I used to be different
Am I?
I'm gone.
My notice uncharacteristic
of a slave to the system
I used to never want to leave

I used to be different
I used to care about the anger that filled absence
I used to be different about making these plans
I'm sorry but I'm leaving
I'm selling my shoes
I'm selling my shirt

I used to be different
I used to be the same
I used to listen in the break room, in the bar, and in the bedroom
To silence and nothing words that moved like baby waves at my feet.
Now you're all fuming that I'm breaking free

I used to be different
And all I can think about
is the road
and how I used to be like you
and how I used to be me
and I used to be different
I am
I'm better
I'm leaving
I'm free