December 2010
10 posts
“I beat when I play
And I play when I beat
I just want to be a round
Not a square”
– “Par Pierrette” - Liz Dougherty Pierce
“Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind....”
– Janet Fitch
“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.”
– D.H. Lawrence
What is horrifying right now at this moment in time, the most recent chicken scratch in my leather wrapped book of thoughts are RECIPES.
Where did the real me drift off to?
I am two tip toes
knees with scars
backporch at the sea shore
and tobacco colored guitars
collarbone and shadows
arms like an ivy vine.
A pocket full of quarters
and no watch to tell the time
my heart finds solace
in a flannel shirt
a rough patched chin
and a smudge glass door
fingers tapping out a song
the hollow sound of our metal sink
keeping rhythm our shoeless feet.
“She would smile and show no surprise, convinced as she was, the same as I, that casual meetings are apt to be just the opposite, and that people who make dates are the same kind who need lines on their writing paper, or who always squeeze up from the bottom on a tube of toothpaste.”
Julio Cortazar, Hopscotch
2010
The girl who runs free. Carefree. The girl who lives a thousand lives and then lives to tell a thousand more. A girl who is loved by many but never truly known by most. She lives and loves without abandon, she champions her struggles on her own. She proudly displays her heart on her sleeve, but only allows a little bit at a time to be taken. A girl with a loud voice and a carrying personality. The...
Nostalgia Part Two
I am painstakingly the worst kind of narcissist. I am the one that hides her face from her public in fear of imperfections. Shielding from cameras, shying from contact.
I once prided myself on being the constant center of attention. My wild ways got the best of me - I was a horse unbroken. That attention then one day turned so negative, the effect I allowed to power my fear more than my...
Nostalgia Part One
To be more like her, to even be more like him - to be prolific and poetic with my dictionary words. To live in a typeface of regularity.
My life is lived through eyes that have faced more than life and more than death, and although embraced, just once I would like to hide the sadness that those eyes can find in everything.
