Sunday, January 31, 2010

the kill switch

Oh, atlanta, please
Need me, the way
I needed you; let
Your chilly embrace
Open wide. Cause
Atlanta, I'm fallin,
Like most people do,
And I need all your
Strength to survive... move
With me, now, and
Let the good blue skies
Wrap me in this
Shawl of disregard,
For the ones who were lost
Will maybe be found
As the time cracks
Your ground, on this
Virgin divide; don't
Whisper your nothings,
I've been since deaf,
Dumb, and blind, and
I'm tired and old which
I I wear as being wise...
You failed me before, what's
But once more? I forgive
You, as I always do,
Cause my heart needs
That disguise.


Saturday, January 30, 2010

needle in the rough, diamond in the haystack

it's moments like this, alone, all in one, that i think of the mismatched letters you gave to me so soundly; about this cowboy sunset and black-flower bed, your riddles and ink pouring out through the teeth on the floor... mouth full of matches, you say? well, burn burn burn like roman candles exploding like stars across the night sky, and me, trailing behind, riding the moon like a horse into the desert horizon. grow your hair long, see it shine in the morning sun, and tattoo your hands with memories of lost smiles and forged notes; and as the truth sets in and you find her hair on your jacket don't get it twisted, son, you will miss your match when it's all said and done, cause these poems, these mind-vomit characters that bully my brain and grind my bones inside my skin, they aren't the lie i once let myself live in. i can't swivel my chair and look the other way. it's not right. it's not natural. it's not fair. the wild in my eyes refuse to let the silence set like gelatin in my skull, making little shapes for the children to eat on this playdate of life. i don't believe you, and even if i never see you again, i won't believe you for the rest of my life. it's not that i'm dumb. or that i'm playing dumb, or that naivety is a trait i take to heart... no one can make that shit up. the shit you wrote me. how you looked at me. your skin on mine.

it simply wasn't a lie.

so gild your golden words. i'll eat mine when i get hungry enough. until then, time is being bode underfoot, under the setting sun, under the precipice of success and the edge of this cliff... i will believe what you never said to me more than i ever will what you did.

this just won't be the end of the story. we still have to step through those swinging doors in italy. we still have to drink 40s in the park. and we still have to ride off into the night, laughing at the ones who will never understand.


Thursday, January 28, 2010

are all of you like this???

do you ever wonder where all the left socks of the world go in the washer? or how you lose your favorite pair of underwear randomly, even when you aren't dating someone? i mean, how do you lose a pair of panties? that is one piece of clothing that is a touch more elaborate and much less likely to fall out of place than say, a glove. or an earring.

well, i know where they go. they go to the same place my patience goes when i have to deal with people who act 15 years old. if you want to be a sophomore in high school, go fuck a cheerleader and then her best friend. that will cause enough drama to stir the pot for a hot minute.



Tuesday, January 26, 2010

oh, so ruined, you

now you're sorry?
now you want
me back? watch
my back as i walk
away, today...
you can't have everything
both ways.
so now you're sorry
and playing the
fool, so
tired, this game
of poor ruined you...
this victim card
is dog-eared and
old, like
the words strewn
about, broken,
and bruised.
don't tell me you're
sorry, cause
i've known all along and
the wrath of
this apathy is losing
it's song...
go ruin the others
and leave me alone, that's
the best gift you could give
now that everything is

sorry is a stupid way to say i miss you. i don't like what you've done, the questions you've posed in your absence, and all the answers i've had to make up for myself. it ain't gonna be the same, baby. no matter how you try to swing it, cause the validity has drained from your weary words. i don't like who you have made me become, because the person i was when i was with you was amazing, and now, bitter and sour once more.
so much for being different than all the rest. turns out, you were the same all along, and that's just plain boring. anyone can break a heart. keeping it is a different story.
take your sorry and make a big stew pot of GO FUCK YOURSELF. i didn't ask for this shit, and i certainly am not going to believe the jenga game that is coming out of your mouth. go make believe with someone else, cause i see right through this little charade, you jackass.


Wednesday, January 20, 2010

dear hypocrisy... love, vengeance

dear hypocrisy.

let's have a heart to heart, okay? it's totally fine when i imitate you, because i let people know that you and i are friends, and that we understand eachother very well, and that because i have given a disclaimer, it is perfectly acceptable for me to walk in your shoes for a day. however. there are way too many people who don't know you, who tell me that not only are you not friends, you never will be. these are the people that look me in the eyes and tell me that they hate you and then go make out with you at some random house party on the lower east side. just so that they can brag to all their friends about it the next day, and deny the fact that they will ever hook up with you again.

don't you see, hypocrisy? don't you understand that these people are just using you for one night of sexual prowess and napoleon conquering complex issues? i hope you are using protection, hypocrisy. cause these men are dirty sons of bitches.

i want to tell you a little story. this is one of loss, quote-unquote love, and human feces on a bathroom floor. it has much to do with you, because i was so unaware that the man that i was just seeing for about a month and a half was also seeing you, and i thought you should know. and it's okay, cause i didn't know either. i really didn't. but it's okay, hypocrisy. i got him back. settle in and listen to this lovely little ditty of retribution.

what shall we call this one? due to his mental problems (which i just found out about, hypocrisy, don't feel bad you didn't know. no one told me either), how about we call him BB? for bipolar bitch. that works out very well. BB. a tattoo artist. a maker of leather goods. a writer. a romantic. balding a little, but that's okay. he made up for it so many other ways.

red flag #1. getting angry about someone i dated before him, that had nothing to do with him, that he tried to convince me i was lying about. telling me to 'fuck off.' texting me overbearingly cliche lines of hate poetry. defriending me on facebook. that was all in the first two weeks of us meeting.

if i haven't said this before, i know, i'm the one that stays with these psychomorons. but. it makes for great writing.

he also got angry with me a couple more times, and ended up apologizing. and things evened out, and he seemed happy, albeit a touch possessive. and by a touch i mean it was like trying to get gum out of a child's hair. natalie moved in about two weeks ago and he was so threatened by her we ended up never getting to spend time alone. i guess he didn't really have many other friends. i don't even have that many friends here, but i love being by myself. or at least not having to hold a grown man's hands and cater to their clinginess.

so BB's birthday was on a sunday. he wanted me to meet his parents and go out to dinner the night before with them, and ate at a country as fuck (but delicious still) all you can eat barbecue rib joint somewhere in bumblefucker new jersey. it was glorious, and i ate my weight in baby back ribs, garlic bread, apple fritters, collard greens, and baked beans. food coma. it was like the county fair for a recovered bulimic. actually, that's exactly what it was.

so anyway. everything is great. we get back to his loft, watch a little tv, fall asleep, and wake up soundly the next morning. the food had settled in my intestines and i was beginning to want to take a trip back to my apartment so that in case world war 3 would be between the toilet and my colon i would have my own space, my own privacy, and my own pack of matches. this is a thing with all women. we understand that men do not think the number 2 exists in female bodily functions. in the same manner that we can't smell like body odor or get laid casually and not be considered a whore. anyway. that's a whole other story.

so i decided for the first (and last) time to go for it... to empty my bowels in someone else's bathroom. it was an internal struggle that my intestines eventually won out. and it was glorious. i had exercised the demons and bought a t-shirt on the way out the gates of hell. angels were singing, the sun was shining, and i had a smile on my face as i toggled the little silver handle to make everything disappear underneath the streets of brooklyn.

the water, however, had a different plan. it did not want to go down underneath the streets of brooklyn. it wanted to hang out with me in the bathroom and mortify me. as my eyebrows raised in horror and i whispered, "no, no, no nonononono..." it raised until it almost flooded over. of course. the one time i (ahem) take the plunge, the toilet clogs. "well." i thought. "well, at least it hasn't overflown. yet."

i stepped outside the bathroom and looked at BB, who was so graciously cooking ME eggs on HIS birthday (way to make me feel like a dick), and asked, "hypothetically speaking, if there were to be some instance where the toilet is clogged, where would one find the plunger? hypothetically speaking, of course." holding the pan above the burner, he raised his eyebrows and said, "right next to the wall. do you need me to help you?" to which i replied, "absolutely not. there is no way you will be coming into that bathroom for the next half hour or so, we clear?" i swiveled around, marched back to the bathroom, and locked the door. and prayed.

plunge, plunge, plunge. water level is not changing. plunge, plunge, plunge. still not changing. i put down the plunger and willed the water to go down. c'mon, water. c'mon. if you do this for me, i won't drink for two weeks. okay, well maybe one week. and i won't curse when there are children around. or at least in hearing distance. ooh, and i'll even give money to the homeless people who look like they really need it, like the ones who look really, really homeless and don't do too many drugs.

it wasn't working. the willing obviously wasn't working. i went back out of the bathroom.

"so, hypothetically speaking (of course), how many times do you have to plunge the toilet in order for the hypothetical clog to go away?"

he looked at me skeptically again. "it should be fine after three or four plunges. seriously, do you want me to help you? your food is getting cold." he started for the bathroom. "NO!!! (cough) no, no, really. i'm sure it will be fine. i'll be right out after the toilet flushes. promise." i smiled a little and backed up into the bathroom, got through the door, and locked it. leaning up against it, i silently began cursing my new arch nemesis, the porcelain god of mortification across from me, glaring at me, threatening to fuck up all those years of running back to the privacy of my own house to relinquish my bowels. laughing at me. i hated it. i wanted a better solution than the one that was presented to me, at this moment of do or die. i slowly started over to the handle. please. please do not overflow. i will be on my best behavior for at least the next year if you please just humor me and go down the drain.

well. fuck me running. looks like fate had a plan, and that was to spew my shit all over his white tiled floor as i spastically tried to pick up things that were in the way of my own personal mt. vesuvius disaster-tragedy-comedy of errors. his roommates budiore bag to the chair! trash can... in the sink!! shower curtain - over the shower rod! and stand there, palm to forehead, watching my new bowl of problems move in and settle down. once more, after the water had stopped and i was surrounded by death and destruction, i walked calmly out into the kitchen, where he was reading and casually drinking a cup of coffee.

"hypothetically speaking, if you had rags that you use to clean things up, ones that you would never want to see again, where would they be? oh, and it's time to call a plumber. i'll be out in about a half an hour. see you then."

now, i don't know if you've had the pleasure of cleaning your own shit off of someone else's floor, when they know that's what you're doing at that very moment, when you've been trying for the last month to have some heir of mystery and sexiness as an enticing factor in the relationship... it's not all that you may chalk it up to be. believe it or not. i imagine it's what having kids is like. you have to clean up shit, piss, and vomit for the first years of their life, and then get ridiculed and berated by them in their teens after doing so. except i was both the parent and the child and it was disgusting. but more than anything, i was pissed off at myself, for pushing down that little lever to begin with. that sanity in the back of my head was telling me, don't do it. this is not going to turn out well, and you are going to have to clean up literal AND figurative messes as the result of this decision.

and of course, i didn't listen. and there i was, standing in my own shit-water, in the bathroom of the man i've been dating, trying to figure out how much bleach would have to be used to sanitize each and every tile directly affected by my love for all you can eat ribs. i was embarrassed, i was mortified, and after the plumber came, broke. 175.00 lighter, waving good-bye to the man who snaked out the mess i made, BB kissed me on the forehead. "well i guess the shit really hit the walls on that one. literally. you're still mysterious and sexy to me."

i wasn't really that upset about him braking up with me the following day, seeing as no matter how many times he told me i was wonderful, and beautiful, and whatever else cliche he could think of at least i knew i got retribution for how he treated me when he was angry. he had this pedestal about him, like he was so great at all these things, and he was never wrong or morally corrupt. it's bullshit, of course, because we are all morally fucked up. there is no perfection when it comes to being human. even if you're good at a lot of different things. i should have called the plumber on this relationship before all the pipes got blocked and you, hypocrisy, reared your presence into existence.

you see, earlier that morning, when he woke up and went downstairs to make coffee and start breakfast, i decided to check my emails. he had two tabs open. the one that was on the screen was an ebay item he was tracking, so i clicked on the other to set up gmail. well, lo and behold... what was this? an email exchange with someone i'd never heard of, of the sexual nature. dated, the day before. isn't it funny that even though i never had contact again with the man i dated before BB, BB still disbelieved me and tried to make me feel like a liar and an awful person. like he wanted to destroy my character. yet he was doing it to me, and i never suspected him of it at all. don't you see, hypocrisy? this is where i realized i had to write you a letter. he was using you this entire relationship. he was tugging us both around, and i think we deserved to know. i feel much better now that i know you know that i know you were involved. and it's okay, hypocrisy. he covered it up well.

yeah, he may have broken up with me so he could fuck another chick. but i got him back, and not just for me. for you too, hypocrisy. i decided to shit on his floor the day before he could grow some balls and break up with me because he was using you to get to another woman. how fucked up awesome is that train of events?

it was totally worth the 175. don't worry about paying me back, hypocrisy. it was the gift that keeps on giving. hey, we should get some coffee sometime. call me. xo.


ps- have you ever been on you should check out his picture. he looks worse for the wear ;)

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

1,000 yous

leave me alone. all of you, just leave me alone. i'm sick and tired of your crazy, your pathetic excuses, and your weakness. i'm sick to death of your whittling, your exaggeration, and the stupid shit that makes you special. i'm tired of irresponsibility, of carelessness of tongue, and heart. i'm sick to my bones with overwhelming questions that make me second-guess myself and my intentions. i'm sick of hypocrites that won't admit it and i'm sick of the phrase "i love you."

you don't love me. you don't even know me.

i'm sick of games and i'm tired of losers. i'm sick of letting all this get to me. i'm sick of my big heart and tired, so tired, of how it affects my head. i'm sick of thinking about your beautiful eyes or running my hands through your curly blonde hair, i'm sick of how your voice has resonated in my head for the last ten years like a racquetball bouncing off walls. i'm sick of your hands and the how they make amazing food and i'm sick of your art and how you have to be so damn good at what you do, i'm sick of thinking of that song you got me hooked on, even though i should've listened to the lyrics closer than i did at the time.

i'm sick of all of you, tugging me around, keeping me as a pretty little thing that collects dust in the corner, and never appreciating what good i have done in anyone's life. i'm sick of you. i'm tired of me.

so leave me alone, just leave me alone, please.


Saturday, January 16, 2010

life on grand

it is a lovely new york day.
the sun is making the blue bluer than blue of the sky look exceptionally HD, and the subway trains underneath my feet are purring sighs of happy transport. i slept in, i feel good, and despite a couple potholes i am not worse for the wear yet...

these are the yan to my yin. they are the days that help me understand that the bad will forever be good, cause it will always remind us that the good is inherent.

thanks. to whoever thanks are in order to. thanks.


Friday, January 8, 2010

from over here

you will miss
the days gone by
and the warmth of
palm to palm, of
starlined lovers, of
tinfoil dreams, of
songs sung in smoke
and steam, this
radiant course
pummeled with feet
the city streets
that bend and break
but don't worry, you
at least you have
yourself, at night,
to come home


Thursday, January 7, 2010


just so you all know.

i'm taking over the world soon. who's in?


Friday, January 1, 2010

fuck you, 2009.

the safety of
my deli wasn't
sanctuary, enough
to keep the nerves
under wraps.
saran wrap.
crystal fucking clear;
as to understand
the situation in
my hands, this
strength did
no justice, paying
for pastrami
as you walked out
with her.
happy new year,
you said,
a hand through
you hair,
all collected.
and me, with my trainwreck
cold-cut hands
muttered something
disheveled, something
this art mocks my life
as it mimics it.



new years resolution(s):

-give more
-get more
-be more
-see more
-do more
-love more
-release more
-ride the wave more

happy new years. i hope the fresh start is exactly what you need. i know, it's what i do.