circus pony

I sleep with
your handwriting
beside the bed
penciled loops,
delicate scrawls-
pretending
they make up
a love-note
left
for my morning eyes
but I'm always
blindfolded
into seeing
how that's impossible,
like me leaving
to join the circus
and ride
two white horses,
one foot on each.
balanced in layers
of satin & tulle,
my fantasies
would perform
a dog & pony show,
knife-throwing,
sword-swallowing,
and we would
trapeze,
only to fall.

who's ordinary if everyone's special?

cardboard stars
dangle from my ceiling fan
hitting each other's chains
hating each other's change
a holy trinity
of fan blade tempos
three speeds aren't enough
to knock the dust off
a report card
"C" isn't up to par
when everyone is expecting
to be
better than average
whether with
batting averages
or average temperatures
in weather
were they ever measured
by men in tweed coats
huddled against sharp snow
or against
just-washed sheets
covered in semen?
it’s possible
i could love you,
because you increase my
appreciation for being
alone
but then, that's just using
love the way
my unfinished dinosaur
skeleton painting
is used as a magnet for
curious compliments
something to keep
my easel company
the dinosaur is indifferent
unmoving
teething nothing
but black acrylic.

girl

be honest.
how many boys have you kissed
in the past 3 months?
i wish i could show you
a montage
of your lip encounters
& romantic rendezvous
maybe it would mean something -
a more interesting format
than just sticky, tangled sheets
and sweaty necks.
then it's
good morning!
we're fresh out of toast & coffee, sorry,
have another
breakfast of gluey-eyelidded smiles,
dry kisses,
& your-arm-has-fallen-asleep-
but-don't-say-anything-now-
because-his-tongue-is-in-your-mouth
moments.
i'm tired of seeing you so empty -
and keep in mind
that empty doesn't mean the same thing
as alone.

>>

I'd like to fast-forward, please.
Fast-forward through
stepping back on
public transportation
sitting & yawning
in an art lecture
walking home
uphill
and back here again
to put some songs on the radio
that no one wants to hear
while my friends are at a concert
listening to songs
and cheering.
My diet can't consist of kisses, corn chips, and false hope
alone.
Suddenly, I'm my cat, mewing half-desperately behind her food dish,
I'M STARVING
(for attention)
the minute you leave the room,
the second my bowl is empty.
Someone, push the button.

Again - 2 more new poems

Describe
-a writing exercise-

My favorite sweater is thick, black, and woolly; always warm
Angus Young is on stage in a t-shirt and jeans
leaving the country for two years with a complete stranger
Rudy's tail was like a worm, his ears constantly twitching
A rat dons a school-boy uniform
I'm the orange peel on the cafeteria floor,
or the sawdust sprinkled on fresh vomit.
My street began quiet, but houses and children grew up around us
The beloved ice cream truck grew wings,
started pedaling steaks instead of confections, while
Foghorn Leghorn punched Teddy Roosevelt in the neck
and my big brother kept stomping on towering anthills


Afternoon Reverie

The softly-prickling, shady-cool
slope of the lawn
fits like a puzzle piece
into the small of your back.
I close my eyes
as the sunlight,
pouring like slow, warm butter,
shifts over our skin.
This is the part where
you roll over and kiss me, all fireworks & desire,
with my eyelids still drawn -
and my fingers find
handfuls of auburn hair
and make a nest there,
like a pale, cooing bird.

2 New Poems

Another Day Has Come To An End
September 24th, 2007

I’ve become
a dull brown-haired girl
staring at
two unread books
and six over-played records,
spinning slowly through the evening.
Four candles,
flickering from fan blades,
burn in my living room,
and three white ceramic mugs
of wine later,
part of me hopes
that something will
catch fire
when I’m not looking.


Muffin
September 11th, 2007

Eating an (awful) blueberry muffin
alone,
at five-seventeen in the evening
almost places me
(with the softest, gentlest of hands)
into a state
of nervous breakdown.
No part of this library
belongs to me, and
I’m on the edge,
of everything,
all the time.
I push my fingertip into moist crumbs -
I paid good money for this
desperate attempt
to recreate happiness.

Offend In Every Way

A conundrum:

Consider yourself shy, and others will probably judge you as being snobby, an asshole, or ignorant, all because you don't always say what you're thinking.

Become confident and you'll still get called an asshole, because you're assertive.

I'm not sure what's worse - to be quiet and to be quietly judged,
or to be open & honest, even if you make some enemies while doing so.


Unrelated note:
I don't care if it's lame - "Tiny Vessels" and "Someday You Will Be Loved" by Death Cab make me choke up. Almost every time.

I wish you could bury memories in a time capsule.

Quixotic notions are what I do best.

If you consistently & consciously set yourself up for disappointment, your life will be full of pleasant little surprises!

Don't sit home alone with a plateful of freshly-baked cupcakes sitting in the kitchen.

Having people critique one of my poems for half an hour makes me feel like I'm sitting in a psychologist's office.

My daily life has reached a point where meals are the most exciting part of my day.
I also put off going to bed, so that I can sleep in later & the days will go by more quickly.

When I think of Autumn, I imagine myself wearing a scarf and going on walks with glowing pink cheeks. In reality, I'll still be sitting here.

Quixotic notions are what I do best.