look here
i will shut you out of my life
because you don't have time for me


lookee here
i'm afraid of you
if i hand you flowers, will you witht he other hand chain my wrists?

it's like. i hate you. but you're my mother, and i also have this innate need to be near you.

what does it take?

i really upset my mom today

OPPiio

what not a sign time and in chimes

wat frog you got der?

what a little froggy.

it is cold and lonely there.

dark and i don't want to go home.

but inside my pockets

a picket line

of white south africa

laughing on the bed

in HIS room

cause we are all male

made is HIS image

jesus was an anarchist

mega churches make me tighten my abdomen in fear

i like basements & wine

no one really knows how to believe that maybe just maybe

there is something

and maybe you won't ever get it

but there is goodness

and well-intentioned words and syllables

can't always get thrown away

Im in love.

i can feel it.

nothing can harm me.

im  golden fairy.

i fly and im dirty.

it;s okay a little birdie told me

one of these days

rain away yer eyes out

i love you so much

i dont even know you

we all have issues

like running rolling toilet paper

maybe it was just a misunderstanding

your war that finger on my nose

im not just a wizard.

im not just sad.

i'm an angel.

i'm not just angry,

i'm not just crass.

this blood is mine ya know

i'm a golden fairy

ya kno

poem from 2008

if hard and soft are both concrete
i would rather be between
that there perhaps, elastic uncertainty
a mushy mixture
chaotic rest
coagulation
of the non-exist
i love it
me, us, ours, mine
three, four, four, five
sufferring aching pride
choice upon choice upons sands of choice
moist     carefull    full    let --
All surround
My self
my selfish, self-nurtured ego--
shell, unbounded hell
hell, caked below waves
bouncing jelly paves of ways
orificing out & through
between me and you and he and me and you

to lucy and lazers

a least there is that.

a hat for me hanging on the coat rack when i come home, take my shoes off, and enatly tuck them away into the corner next to the others.

push the shoes up against the wall... covers up the cat litter container with my urine in it from when i was afraid to go to the bathroom in the dark.

from when i was afraid from when i was afraid from when i was

just beginning! she said with a grin, "am i a girl a boy? there ARE only two choices."

hairs split to remind her, those were just words. and that question is not easily answered. because the body hangs around like a ghost, i fall to remember my face. i scream, touching my tears with my blindess to my wrinkles.

"am i old? am i old yet? am i disappeared on these steps?'

just another crackhead(?) winding down for the night on my front porch while i sleep above them deep in dream-sleep, waking occasionally to the tossing and turning of a never-settled mind... and as I wake, the sounds of muttering and anger-plans and requests to ladies who have something better to do... comfort me in my alone time, unlike the lantern and the blanket, the small couch i sleep on, the blinds. they do nothing.

the street lamps though noxious make me feel not so alone. the cackling. the intimate conversations on the street-side. the smoker's pull to the outside air. is my air. is what all i breathe.

and in the morning i try to figure my way through the lock of space and time i've got myself into.

is this a business?

are we in it. to win it?

not gone.

still breathing.

i beg for something to touch my bones so my hands do not go flailing another night across some fae's chest to grab onto a single heart beat.

no matter how much i love you. (the you-know-who-) i cannot stumble blindly through fogs of retreat.

for i have been to the forest

you see.

and i have tasted of the berries, you see.

and i have stepped in the muddy moss.

and i know what it feels like to grow.

and my funeral so over

i forgot, and at this moment remembered, i was re-born.

but now i remember that i had forgotten.

so what will tomorrow or tonight be like now?

i can believe. it is all new.

if i wanna.

there is  alsight dimming light that beckons one's bloody throat if you sneeze you might miss yer chance to not let it swallow you

Oh swell worried stories and dreams of poetries on paper and publishing rampant and forgetful words


If i can just get a job a lick a stick a hat I could write poetry in my free time. BUt my fingers so stumbling call me back and the mask that olympia was cannot be forgotten for the facing of true ills and woes. Like magnetic blood red sticky hands that grab and grasp and choke and flatter walls so flat falling over top of each other creating new walls.

I think I had forgotten to write. i had long forgotten to read,
words are dim and no one understands.
But the true worth for me to write for myself is rmebered today

at least there is that.
and the knowledge that i am not truly depressed.

Maybe the future holds.. so many different places I can imagine.

and it is not entirely torture that i bring myself to this place
of origin

because there is something, i know, of worht here , it is worht gold, and is much sought after

it is under mounds of dirt and sin and memories of shying away from reality of what you do and do not want
of what you did and did not accept
and reality rings that we are much more free when we are alone


so maybe i just want to be alone


THENEDDDDDEND

KBYE :D  kuwaii

squig

not share experiences

beating yourself with a hammer for stubbing yr toe with a hammer
is not maybe the best way to treat one's self

I am putting this into the category of "not share experiences"

talking about beating yrself with a hammer for years afterwards and how much you have to self-discipline yrself years after you stubbed yrself

also in the category of "not share experiences:

not being able to relax and viewing yrself as an eyesore with a slight cute quality that therefore allows people to accept you, like the way it has become more popular to have a pet rat, or gerbil, or baby eye eye...

in the category of "not share experiences"

shutting down every time you make the slightest mistake

in the category of "not share experiences"

BUT

getting back up and trying again even stronger next time, and never giving up, and always trying hard and being super enthusiastic and being able to take any weird odd damaging strange experience and still loving everyone and believing in a collective consciousness

category of "not share experiences"

and as you know not/zero becomes infinity
and "all share experiences"

forced free write for 14 minutes

are you intelligent?
what if one day you woke up and couldn't use your brain in the same way? you could perceive the way in which your brain used to work, but couldn't make it work that way...?
how blah blah blah all the sounds and people and mouths would become
all this joy, how you got there, you smile and laugh when the drum-stick hits the drum
and the crash syllables

all the toe slapping good time

fingers that can't move fast enough for words that can't move slow enough for lips to hover
lips that stop space and time

illness that degrade and give off the illusion of age

money is every where
money is eternal
money found the fountain of youth and drank it dry

we night time swimmers spin still
waiting for the woven string to catch up to our tongues

in the meantime we sing
and twist our lips, and even a tinge of breath makes a soft hum
like an electric car
all roads lead to death, money, don't you know
honey you cant be old and alive for too much longer

love and rockets
yooung memories
utah
i hate those punks now
i hate most punks
because most punks are living off their pappy's salary & ignore me at shows

why didn't momma pay for my court settlement?

sometimes it's not money it's privilege

i'm not white i just look white

i got that light-skinned privilege but not that white privilege

i got that light girl privilege but not that "I've got a family who can help me out in bad times" privilege
except i do


it's part of why i am afraid of the dark. and afraid of the mouth
who weaves words that slip under yr fingertips and move yer hands about
shielding yer face
covering your heart

i can literally feel when my heavy heart opens and closes because of how heavy the latch is, and how many things whiffs of wounded wind rush out every time i open it.
i feel so good like a drug just to open my heart
and to lay open in the house of others
because i live nowhere
and my heart is the only home i know
i have 4 family members total home is
a
place
you dream
of becoming

real.

and you, a dream,
cycle back and forth
staring at clouds like children in the sunshine on concrete in the backyard waiting for mom to bring strawberries or
maybe you are a cat
and your parent figure is waiting for your return to pet you


your fur is upturned
and your claws, fins that help you swim
in this ebb and flow economy colony
 i call out
one arm to the folds of skin called wind

and screech banshee banshee--

i forgot nothing!
i carry one sword
and when my heart is bare i hold it inbetween my teeth

please God, I wait for you to pick up yer mess

in this catatonic state i wonder are you catatonic too?

the point is

being outward even when it hurts, sharing information that can't be used
wearing uncomfortable clothing
unfinished words
unfinished body

to show that even in an unfinished state
one can still breathe