Thursday, November 24, 2016

What am I? 

Nothing. 

What will anyone remember? 

What does anyone remember now? 

A lunatic,

Crazed, perhaps? 

She tore down the mirror with hand-tipped claws.

A /mono/ possibly, /Mona/

Up the tree, a little tipped in the brain, 

Simple. 

Or even a red star burning out, 

Terrible and sublime (sub-lime) for a while, 

But in the end, 

Quite disappointing. 


I really am nothing that is thought of me, 

Only a hollow voice and a thirsty ego. 

A little too eager to please, 

But soul-dehydrating fearful of 

Falling short of all of your expectations. 


I would like to see with eyes unclouded 

Clearly, truly


At my best, 

I am lucky, 

a star smiled gently upon me 


But really I'm just mediocre 

Ochre

Ocre

Nothing at all 

But a small heart 

Trying to grow through the cracks 

In the sidewalk 

Towards a sun 

A billion miles away. 

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Egomaniac

If I am left to my own devices for too long
The world whirls out of focus,
I lose my balance

My mind
my mind chatters away,
Digging a hole to hide in

No reason why,
Only that I am paranoid,
and a narcissist,
and I'm not entirely sure I am lovable,
deserve to be loved
at the same time that I believe
Everyone should love me. 

Feck

Damn everything.

I'm listening to Leonard Cohen, I read the New Yorker article about his death this morning.

I drank jasmine tea, understeeped while eating oatmeal and reading "Walk Two Moons".

This thesis won't write itself, but there are other things calling, other things neglected in the neglecting of it.

Leonard's muse. My muse, I don't really have a muse, but I have a twinkle star that won't come to my fingers, eludes my veins.

Deeply feeling, do you suppose? Or just a twisted column, kinked towards the bottom?

Damn everything with a fork and spoon, my life will probably sputter out, ghost promises and cobweb hopes.

The Cripple of Inishmaan, brutal and sweet and cruel, feeds some of this, perhaps. Bitter.


Thursday, November 17, 2016

All of the words that 

Want to come out of me 

Have already been said before 


Redundancies and cliches 

Slithering from my typing fingers 

A hollow voice repeating, chirruping anxiously. 

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

It's just that 
I want to love-
want to be loved.
But I become a hurricane if I see 
A drizzle.
Instead of a fairytale mermaid, 
Languidly brushing her hair on the rocks,
I am a siren, and my song is sublime and terrible. 
Galadriel when tempted by the ring, 
Perhaps a thing of ugliness and repulsion-
When all I want is to be by your side, 
And have you at mine. 

But really, I am none of those things 
I am a girl, ordinary, awkward.
At a point in time where my life 
Has intersected yours 
And I hear a song from your heart that I like, 
I am drawn to the light in your eyes. 

Maybe this is nothing, or maybe it is everything. 

All I ask is:
Can we walk together a little while? 

Monday, November 7, 2016

Why is my heart a 

Black hole? My mind a windy 

field of barley. 


I am not so sad 

As the waterfall world, but 

I want to wail.