Thursday, July 24, 2008

plain jane

i am beginning to feel ordinary
the excitement is waning with age
sweating palms just to be alone with a boy
silent and thrilled at the touch of a hand
like a whirlwind you find yourself in awkward positions
there is always a first time
when curiosity wins out over what is expected of you
i wonder what happens when you are 30
what can bring that feeling to the pit of your stomach
that hot flash of something new
back then it was making out in the back seat
steaming up windows
smoking a cigarette
driving fast down ventura blvd
when we were still invincible and noone we loved had ever left us
before i had the capacity for love that i do now
and feelings were so minimal
i am beginning to feel ordinary
sometimes a haircut or tattoo is not enough to reclaim
the fire inside your ribcage that keeps you moving
quickly down the highway blowing stop signs
now slowing and looking around,
acknowledging the things lost, and left behind
trailing behind you like a tin can string
from a dented fender
moving fast enough to make sparks
i am beginning to feel ordinary
like the things i've done were really quite charming
i am wanting new doors to be opening
so i dont have to see the eyes of the cool girls roll anymore
when i tell my stories
now dusty and dated
there is more now to me than the people i've hated
and that angst and boredom
has dissipated
i'm beginning to feel ordinary


I like familiar voices
spoken through a memory
described by a halted moment
blindsiding you with the repeated message
of typed words on paper,
names and places
these are post its stuck to the insides of me
I think I only remember the lower register of your voice
I practically recall the smell from my grandmothers herb garden
I may be able to draw the tattoo he had on his shoulder
but i know i cannot find my way to my first home
it could possibly be
next door to a korean church
if I remember correctly
but I could have written it all down wrong

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

soggy pinafores

sitting in puddles of water, with soggy pinafores
little girls are all waiting in line to grow up
tapping scuffed patent leather impatiently
biting fingernails with chipped nail polish
sitting up tall with shoulders back as they were taught
they hold nameplates reading words like
eventually all the nameplates are collected
or stolen by the shadows of disappointment
leaving torn fragments of newspapers
to provide new messages
something in their eyes changes
once freckled noses with wide smiles
seeing things through cyical sideways glances now
squinting to remember where they misplaced their childhood
moving quickly with sexuality
ill fitting soggy pinafores from
sobs dropping into clenched hands
omission of handling with care

Monday, July 14, 2008

symphony of strained words

They cut and burn my tongue upon exiting
these vile lyrics
meant to unleash a lashing
with fire balls
thrown from pierced eyes
blind to reason
offering no insight to the inside
these syllables are formed
with a forked tongue
made from pieces of me I hide at dinner parties
where there is no charm
no vibrancy to shield a conspicuous look
I watch too closely for my own comfort
convincing there
is conniving yet
knowing in my heart it is my own conducting
this dramatic orchestra of invisible musicisians
play songs I am writing
from my histories of lost faith
out of tune

The First Entry

I'm not sure when I lost sight of my ability to discern truth from crazy.
Recently the reality of lost youth and mortality has turned my sense of urgency up in regards to situations I never noticed previously. I have stopped writing. Perhaps those feelings deep inside that developed all my insecurities are not being purged appropriately.
So now there will be a blog.
we'll see.