maybe our ribbons are meant to cross.

you were in my dream.
when all i had was a jacket,
and you were across the room.
in a way, you chose me.
and i reciprocated, because that's
what i do.
you confuse me.
suprise me.
and i like it,
i guess.
what is this?
a poem?
an unopened letter?
an unanswered prayer?
whatever it is,
it probably is not to who you think it is for
so deal with that
while i pray for more.

weekend.

yes, i learned. perhaps i grew.
for now, i will leave it at that.

what color is dust?

for a moment or two,
i wish my life was full of feelings
"straight from seventeen magazine"
just like
just love
just hate
nothing in between, where they
clash
forever asking where my heart lies
but that would not be my life.
in the same way, i ask for
no other heart
no other mind
no other body
except on mondays
because then i am faced with the real world again
or perhaps
it is the fake world

the story of 89 and 90.

numbers 89 and 90 sat on a couch.
then 89 got pissed and laid on her porch in the sun.
90 worried.
89 knew it.
89 liked it.
90 groveled.
89 forgave.
now 89 and 90 are happy again.

the end.

you know it's a bad sign if...

you know it's a bad sign if you are social and people think something is wrong with you.
you know it's a bad sign if your used-to-be favorite class now makes you moan.
you know it's a bad sign that if the only thing you really care about doesn't even make you that excited.
you know it's a bad sign when you're too exhausted to be with people that can always make you laugh.
you know it's a bad sign if you're trying to think of somewhere to belong and are torn between where you should be, and where you "should be."
you know it's a bad sign if songs you used to hate now have a whole new meaning.

echoes connected.

that evening was unlike any other in a very long time. pushed to a brink, and willed back to the same edge that we had almost fallen from. my hands touching a mirror, than for the first time in oh so long, hands lifted in swaying, wordless nothing. for i did not know what to do, or what to say. all i knew was i could see my face as if in a movie, and that it was a face of total shock. arms around me, pushing me from side to side, catching me before i fell. like rain on a trampoline, tears on a lonely night, and waves beating me down from my perfect balance. what was left of me? what more could i give? nothing.


So I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I pray, to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope.

you think i have a title for my confusion??

oh, Lord. what do i do now?

88.1-106.5

i turned and walked out the glass door, through blowing wind and a dusty downtown parking lot, trodded by thousands of poor feet, old feet, and shameful feet walking to the place of redemption. he called my name, i said hello, and we managed to see each other quite a few times. of course. i thought of the people who i put all my trust, and how some had let me down. opening the car door, placing my key in the ignition, happy music came on. and sadly, there is no better word than happy. my quick hands turned the dial, and i was lost in the song. singing with all my heart, eyes closed, but open. because i was driving. my hands gripped the steering wheel, and i was off. changing channels as soon as one song ended, all with different emotions, auras, and words. but i felt them all. i felt them all so much, i did not know what to do with myself. so i took the long way home, saw people running, walking. speeding cars getting pulled over, and robins picking at dead winter turf. eventually, my car found it's way home. dad asked me why i sped into the driveway, but i had no answer.


i was lost in the song.

men.

thanks for trying--but my eyes aren't blue.

come closer, now step away.

if life were a circle, i would be in the middle, running around in spirals, breaking often. reflecting.
i ripped that paper bracelet off her wrist because i hate so much what has happened.
how i cannot deal.
the fact that i am lost in my own sadness and fail to see the struggles of others.
cause the fact of the matter is that i am not smart enough
"hot" enough
fun enough.
even when my past told me yes to all three.
so in this moment,
i look back on my stupid, lopsided foot prints that are only me
caring about me
hiding my draggy toes and unkept soles
telling myself lies
or being hit with the truth
and somehow
never being treated like i should
both good
and bad
damn
we're messed up.

4n6 hottie list?!

what they h.
why do people do these things.
hidden gems...
at least someone said that.

yup. this is a multiple post.

i ain't got no home
i'm just a ramblin round
just a wanderin worker
i go from town to town
the rich man took my home
and drove me from my door
and i ain't got no home
in this world anymore


the words of people that lived so long from now fill my every thought and movement for fifteen minutes--but really fourteen and 13 seconds.

spring is coming.

with words he raised me,
but with skips i spoke joy.

5:45

lets be honest: there's no way that enough words exist to capture what happened, is happening, and will happen.
so i bury my face in my hands.