new

They say that when you put your pen to paper
you will eventually find
its reason for getting there
in the first place.
But this...
this is without structure.
Kind of like the last 5 months.
I can't figure it out but trying can't hurt.
And my hand keeps twisting swirling
making lines that make words
that make
fragments. So
something must be coming from this.

When you love you don't abuse weakness.
How did love even get involved?
Not mistake, but we are so small in
the grand scheme of things.
Especially me, in comparison to you.
Or at least that's what you taught me.

Taught.
But now I'm learning.
It's like this new euphoria-
and it never made sense
how much fun it is to read new expressions.
To feel the different shape
of new fingers
and their entagnlement with mine.
How much it makes me feel alive
in a way I never knew until now.
To think..everything I've missed.

But I'm here.
I've watched and felt enough crying.
Tears like debri-
descending human beings.
That would rather jump then stay where they were.
They would rather plummit then suffocate in eyes
that were, then, scarlett.

I don't look there anymore.
These eyes are new, amber.
New skin.
Not by any means a tower, but an oasis.
Admist the chaos
and that feeling-
that horrible feeling
that I was involved in a slow process of decay
and screaming through soundproof glass.
No, never again.

I have found a sanctuary.
In all of them, and finally in me (this is the newest feeling of them all.)
I've seen so little of the world, and I want them
to hear me,
but not be changed by me.
I want to scream so that China covers its ears-
and to laugh until my stomach collapses.
I want to spin with you, my new start
like the sky that circles and spun above us
while we kicked the water around in my pool-
spinning around us
or around them
or nothing at all.

disgust

Something happened to me today.
This isn't a poem, it's a stream of thought
of truth.
This was my Sunday November 11
at 6:50 PM.
Pulling into a gas station to get milk.
Coming face to face with a truck
with two men inside.
The details aren't important.
The words they said are not important.
I couldnt post them if I wanted.
The gestures they made are not important.
Once again, I would not post them.
Theymake me sick just thinking about them.
Being followed out.
Violation from far away.
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
I'm sorry,
I don't mean to just rant like this.

But it horrified me
and it chilled me.
I'm a 5'2" girl
they had size, and strength on their side.
Maybe they were just trying to be funny.
But it didn't feel funny
I felt terrified.

I hope none of you had a Sunday afternoon like I did.

hello blogspot

Why would you have to
let
yourself live?
Don't we just?
I've realized
that poetry
doesn't have to
be
poetic,
not anymore.

How dare philosophy -
Aristotle and Plato alike.
How dare they suggest that this
is not real.
What is a dream - do you have
to be dreaming to dream?
Are they flawed -
or does taste really
not exist?

And what of sight?
Am I not really tasting the scent of Autumn?
"Ignorance is bliss."
I don't call it ignoarnce.
You can have your criticisms of
acceptance.

"an empty shell"
"blinders on"-
I call it something different. . .
I see the fulfillment
in constantly searching for the wrongs
and the flaws
in the world.
Cliche as it is,
I'll savor the good.

Like or not, this is what I have.
I've dealt with enough real wrong
to pick and choose which good to discard
and which to dismiss as
not real.
It's all I have.
Take it from someone else.