A poem, posted after playing too much Oregon Trail

Disclaimer: the f-word and unpleasant subject matter are lurking.


"Alannah"

Once, I swore
to myself and my mother
that I would never end up
like you.
No repeats of three years ago,
the blasts that very nearly
brought blood-bonds to
shards, sharp glass slicing
the metaphorical hands that fed.
Community college drop out,
no ziplock bags of cloy-smelling weed
for prying younger cousins to find.
I wonder now how much you paid,
gone in an instant when we
threw it away.
I blame you for my fear of sex.
Beautiful, unwanted child carried to full-term,
swollen belly sequined and white.

No. I wouldn't. Couldn't.

But last month I ran away,
only for the night,
to get the fuck out--
and I thought of you,
realized that my decisions
were well on their way
to echoing yours.

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A trail of thoughts, like breadcrumbs

A confession: On Wednesday I did something really stupid.

Today I realize that living life is just a matter of staying standing even when you want to curl up into a tiny ball and cry and wait til everything goes away. But it won't. And sometimes you indulge in getting into that fetal position, wishing things back to how they were, but it eventually passes and you stand up, brush yourself off, and go on. Because that's what humans do. And maybe we're stupid and stubborn, but you kind of have to admire it.

I also realize that I want to help anyone in anyway I can. But that I can't most of the time, and it frustrates and saddens me.

I'm also quite addicted to this song, so you should listen to it because it is pretty:

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Brag brag brag. :D

Yesterday I was feeling pretty crappy, just sitting in the library that is a giant concrete box of echoes. So I blogged about it. And then I had a meeting with my poetry professor to go over my poetry portfolio, and it was awesome because of this:

In 20 years of teaching this class, I must say you are one of the best (easily in the top 5%). Let me know if you want a letter of rec. for a teaching assistantship. That is the poetry professor in me speaking. The lit professor in me says your brutal honesty will take you to some deep areas of compassion for self and others if you refuse to look away when the intensity gets too bright.

And this:

In some of your poems, like this one, there is an amazing haunting voice. I encourage you to send your best out for publication if you want.

Awwwwww, yeah. 'Kay, done bragging. ^_^

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I know I said "pretty well" but this is what I meant

I find myself feeling despondent, nostalgic, and otherwise unmotivated recently. As you can imagine, it sucks. I can't afford to feel like this right now, and I shouldn't, but... meh. Even my writing's suffering. I haven't written in earnest in a while. It feels like I'm atrophying, creatively, socially, intellectually. It's not a good feeling. Especially with an application and a creative portfolio due soon to the school I'm hoping to transfer to. I don't even know if I am going to. Then where does that leave me? Still here. I don't want to be here. There's just too much here, both amazing and awful. Too many memories and habits. Too many familiarities. I'm all for familiarity, but I'm getting bored and complacent and so, so tired. I want out.

I'm not about to delude myself into over-romaticizing leaving San Diego. I know whatever problems I have to deal with, whatever internal processes I have, those come with me. It's not a miraculous tabula rasa; those are over-rated anyway. But a change of scenery, a change of pace, new people... I don't know. Maybe I am over-romanticizing.

I feel stuck.

But change is scary. Yeah, I know that. It really, really is. Why affect the status quo when you're nicely settled, especially if you don't have to? Why, indeed. That's something else I'm struggling with right now, and sometimes it scares me to death. I have a hard time falling asleep because my brain keeps tossing around solutions and loopholes and caveats to a deceptively simple problem. Guh. I hate relationships, romantic and otherwise. At least, I do right now. People are so complicated. So much hangs on the line.

Ugh. Sorry about the ranty. I just needed to get that out somewhere. Here is a pretty picture for your trouble. :)

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I miss this.

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Letters I'll Never Send - #2

(I'm not sure how I feel about this being my 200th post, but there you have it. This is the edited version of an actual hand-written letter I wrote earlier today.)

Dear T.,

I'm pretty sure you don't read this thing, so here I am posting it. Just like I'm pretty sure the first copy won't find its way into your mailbox. I've forgotten your address for the time being, anyway, though I'm sure I have it somewhere.

I suppose I could be writing to the people behind the card and letter I've received over the past week, but this is more important to me right now.

I miss you.

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. It disappoints me that we don't talk as much as we once did, or even could. To be entirely honest with you, which is my aim, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that something will slip out in conversation, and then it will be too late to erase, or go back, or even to think things through one last time. I could say to forget about it, but that doesn't mean you will. I know I wouldn't.

I'm also afraid of the ramifications. I know we're not as close as we used to be, but our friendship is still important to me. The memory of it all... well, I wouldn't be able to handle it if everything fell apart because of me.

So I'm writing this letter. I thought about going back and writing it in the notebooks, but that didn't seem like such a good idea after all. No sense in disturbing the past with the burdens of the present.

Though I suspect, in hindsight, that what I'm mulling over in my head is tied into the past just as much as it belongs to the now. I remember things we said, did, things we wrote. I told you everything, or very nearly. You were mine.

And then you weren't.

Back then, I never figured myself a jealous person. It's almost amusing, how wrong I was at the time.

But then again, what did I know about anything, prepossessing high schooler that I was?

So we drifted, but I carried on. I had other things to worry about--that year was hell. I trust you remember. And then it was finally over, and we drifted apart even more, though this time due to circumstances beyond our control. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Then something changed, another link in a long chain of events. Funny how it works out that way.

I've changed. You've changed, I can tell when we talk. Not very much, but it's there all the same.

So I find myself in a bit of a predicament. Okay, a big predicament, though one I'm used to, so that's a good thing. Even if it doesn't make it any less annoying or pressing.

I'm not sure what it is that I want to do.

I'm not sure if I want to just leave things the way they were, or if I should press forward. Or if I should stay in this limbo, hoping it goes away. Though I've been reminded recently that it rarely goes away, whatever the problem happens to be. It rarely goes away if I pretend everything is fine. It only gets worse.

I'm over-thinking this, aren't I? Well, you know me... It's a bad habit.

Anyway, I better end this here before I start rambling again. I hope you're doing well.

Love always,
L.

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I Freaking Love This Poem So Much

My first exposure to this poem was hearing it performed by the poet herself while attending a spoken-word poetry event last month. Her performance was so incredible that I went and looked her up online when I got home that night. (Here's her MySpace, if you are so inclined.)

Anyway, I have far too many tabs open on my web browser, and the poem was one of them, so I wanted to post it someplace where I would not lose it, and also to share with all of you. :)


Wings by Megan Rickman

I used to wear wings
Painted feathers into existence
Silver tipped freedom
Stretched past fingertips

I used to know how to fly

Would wrap galaxies round my midsection
Leave footprints cross clouds
I whispered love songs to the wind
And taught stars how to shine

I used to sleep next to God

He'd match his breathing to my magic
Steal dreams from my slumber

He'll tell you I inspired the oceans
That tides mimic the rise and fall of my chest
River's currents chase paths through my veins and back
Hurricane's rain is the direct result of heart racing
Cicadas copied their cadence from my rhythm

My Rhythm,
Taught trees how to sway

And when I'd speak

When I'd speak you could hear the silence of atoms splitting
Because the Universe knew when it should be listening
I was always listening to the world
But one day Silent Screams drew me too close to the surface
And Life, Plucked me right out of the sky

The scrapes and burns I earned upon collision with surface
Barely scratched the surface of the pain intended for me

Life, Never let me leave the ground after that

And Wings,
Wings are far too heavy when not in flight
Plus burdens flocked to my shoulders
My shoulders developed a distinct hunch
Which forced my head to hang forward

They'll tell you that's the first day a willow wept

And that flowers grew taller
Hoping to catch my new line of vision
But my vision reflected skin much paler than I remembered
And I could not remember what it felt like to be beautiful

Before life Mona Lisa'd my smile
And chiseled all the laughter from my face

I can not face the mirror
Because I always tumble through
And there are demons waiting on the other side that will devour me
If I still believed in God I'd pray for mortality
But my divinity was stripped from me
Decades Ago

I distinctly remember the first feather falling

Blood Red on its tip
Tattooed Victim in my white skin
Circled my feet and painted me Target

Wind whistled through emaciated wings
Whispering "Baby Girl it will only get harder.
No one will ever love you,
Not then
And Not now"

Doubt spread through me like malignant cancer
The permanent lump in throat should of served as warning
But it had been there so long I forgot it wasn't normal

That morning feathers encircled my head like a halo

Taunting "Fallen Down Angel,
Just give up,
No one will blame you"

I realized I'd grown too weary of cumulonimbus dreams
So, I amputated wings
Stretched out impotent flesh and bone
And bled more than Miscarried children

Children Please,

Take better care of your wings
Paint feathers into existence
Silver tipped freedom
Lies at your fingertips

But don't ask me for lessons

Cause I do not remember how to fly

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I love San Diego

Some pictures from my afternoon. :)

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Baptism, Take Two

(oh, hey, and read this poem, it's fantastic. go on... what are you waiting for?)

Today, I stood in the cold Spring rain; barefoot, glasses off, hair down in a tangled mess of not-caring. I breathed deeply as each stinging drop touched me, soaked my sagging jeans and old white t-shirt, my hair, my skin. I had no purpose except to be wet, to be outside, to watch the swirling grey mass of the clouds as they blurred in my imperfect vision. I had no purpose, but the longer I stood there pummeled by the rain I was swept away. Now, I have something, transient perhaps, gone in a hour, or several. But I remember the taste of it as the water brushed my lifted face, washed it away.

I can't remember the last time I've ever felt this pure.

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Letters I'll Never Send - #1 (gmail chat edition)

Hi.

Long time no talk.

I don't even remember what you look like. Not really. Just the idealized version my brain cooked up years ago.

I think it's interesting that in my boredom, I decided to say hello; even more interesting that, though I've been over you for a while, my heart still hammered as I contemplated typing those two letters and pressing 'Enter', even more so as I did exactly that.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I've grown accustomed to seeing your name in the sidebar, though sometimes, it still shocks me.

I hear nothing but my music. I don't expect you to respond.

I'm wondering about your life. How college is treating you. If you're still majoring in music. If it's true that you've joined the Marines.

Pacifist though I am, I'm a sucker for uniform.

I think about the dream I had at the end of last year, the one with the fire, and the long car ride. How you were there, but intangible. I could sense you; you'd appear, fleeting. I think about the first, two Decembers before.

After a while, the dreams bleed into each other. A while more, and they start to fade.

It's funny that so much of my personal happiness, my very sanity hinged on you when I don't even know if you really acknowledged my existence. It's funny that I even considered you for an option.

I wonder if I'm doomed to keep to this pattern, like so many times before you.

I pause in my writing and wondering to check; you're gone.

Silence. I knew you wouldn't respond.

I'm pretty sure I never wanted you to.

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I'm a bit of a fangirl

But don't be too alarmed.

Anyway, this is from one of the most epic episodes of television I've ever seen:

Buffy: One of these days, I'm just gonna put you two in a room and let you rassle it out.
Spike: No problem at this end.
Buffy (warming up to it): There could maybe be oil of some kind involved...

I like the way you think, Buffy. I really, really do. ;)

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