She don't live here no more

 We are no longer your pretty little things. 

Our time has passed All  has turned to ash 

falling though our fingers,soiling our fair skin. Exposing who we really are.

She has left us with blue veins and pink scars and a dark dreams of needing her forever. 

Bart Train Blues

Bart Train Blues

Where am I in this? Where do I fit in? I have my forehead pressed to the glass again, leaving a greasy skin mark on other peoples perfectly planned lives. Lives that are always flowing and light. I am feeling very envious and the struggles I have endured feel achy deep in my bones. My chest hurts, like my heart is struggling to keep beating because it wonders, what is the point?


I walked alone through the crowds of strangers. Past the hustlers and toothless addicts running from their own thin shadows. Past the homeless men sleeping so soundly beneath their filthy blankets. Well dressed men walk quickly beside me, and then pass me in shoes shinning so brightly, their minds miles away. And the women...the goddamned women. Cherokee cheekbones and haircuts that cost more that my entire outfit. They take long strides; they ease by with long graceful necks like gazelles. Their hair always fluid behind them.


Night was falling too fast but my heart was falling much faster. Made my way down fleets of out of order escalators. Down into the churning belly of the train station, I was one of the only ones there. A man pushed a wheeled cleaning cart past slowly, his brown gravely face, those black aching eyes trying to drink in my youth. His cart thudding over brick after brick and over filthy tiles that have felt lifetimes of shoe soles.


It has been such an overwhelming day a lot to take in. My eyes start to sting. I feel as if I could easily sob out loud but I don't. Hearing the echo of my own tiny voice drowned out only by the trains sweeping by would be too common a scene in this cities underbelly. I don't want to fit in too well down here with the forsaken. Instead I keep my eyes drifting from one graffiti littered advertisements to the next as more people shuffle in and out.


The ride home seems an eternal sentence as I sit on the threadbare upholstery that is stinking and stained. All of the faces of the people around me look a little more grim tonight, a little more hopeless than usual. These bodies on the train with me look like they have been commuting for hundreds of years. Dead eyes mouths sealed tightly. Eyes blinded to absolutely anything that happens on the train. Commuter robots programmed to switch off when they sit down on the train. There are however some people like me who are curious about everyone, we take turns eyeing each other’s faces, clothes, shoes, and reading material ... careful to not make eye contact.


At the Oakland stop one of those "real" vampires’ walks in. His long shoe polish black hair slicked back. Draped in crushed velvet robes, pointy polished dress shoes and skin powdered unnaturally white, He would like to think that he never walked through those train doors; he just appeared next to me. I'm sure he and his vampire friends drink blood and pretend they need it and then suffer through tarry black bowel movements later. Then cry because they are alive like everyone else. There is always at least one person who is strange and I enjoy watching as people edge further and further away from him. I enjoy watching people stare with disgust. People roll their eyes. 

The Edge of Seventeen

When I first fell in love I felt hypnotized.
It was so beautiful . I remember the first time I saw him.
I am forever scarred by that first love.
A scar I welcome a scar I soothe

An Interesting Night

He asked me if he come over. It was nearly midnight.
I asked "what for"
He said because ...he likes me.... as a friend ...and a little sister
I said " no i think its pretty late I'm tired"

He gave me some long drawn out story about how he almost got mugged today and didn't to want to be alone.
I  said "OK but no funny business"

He lives 5 minutes away but it took him hour to arrive. At one point I doubted that he was even coming. He walked in with his hair wet and perfectly disheveled. He was wearing a red and white flannel coat that on his build made him look like a sexy lumberjack.

That night we baked cupcakes, drank something dark and poisonous and talked and laughed into the night.We tried to outsmart each other with our knowledge of old film and books. We tried to out wit each other as drunkards tend to do. I had met my match.
We played a little rummicub but he was no good at numbers. We went on to look at  my movie collection. I was embarrassed by secret collection of romantic comedies that I like to fall asleep to. Finally settling on nirvana unplugged. We both sat Indian style on the floor two inches from the screen, nostalgically singing along, claiming each song was our favorite. W were having a nice time.

I got up to get another drink and he followed. That is when I realized that men always have motives. We were in my tiny kitchen as he slowly backed me up against the chipping tiles. He told me how pretty I was , how sexy I was how smart and clever I was. "You cant ignore this attraction" he said
He was all hands and breath at that point. Lurking closer and closer. Towering over me. I felt like a child.

"Don't you dare touch me". I let out a little laugh at this predicament.
He told me he used to be like me, unable to love, unable to have real intimacy. That I should just let go. Needless to say I wasn't going to fall into his arms over such a cheesy attempt.
It was nearly 6am and he lingered around for a while. He gave me some story about  getting a DUI  would be the nail in his coffin.  I told him he could sleep here but he had to keep his spoon in his own bowl.

He went cautiously into my bedroom like it was a forbidden place. Like he was sneaking into the ladies bathroom. He took off his shirt and I swear I saw buttons pop off. I had no idea he had such a perfect body. His skin was so tan and smooth. He then tried to get in my bed but then said that he had forgotten to wear underwear " is that okay" he asked
I burst out "hell no i don't want you junk on my sheets" He climbed into bed with me.Felt like a giant in my small bed. His feet brushed against mine under the covers and I moved them away quickly "What I cant even touch your feet!" he said in protest. Oh OK i responded.

I woke up to the sunshine and his finger tracing my ear. His muscular arms wrapped tightly around my small waist It was pleasantly soothing and comfortable.I got up quickly and ate some cereal, We watched Breakfast at Tiffanie's for awhile, we were both wondering what to do now

He began trying to explain the part of the movie where the girl had spent all night partying with a rich man and he expected to come in  afterwards. He burst into a fit of rage when she slammed the door in his face.  The man in my bed said "This is exactly what is happening right now."
I glared at him.

So he got up , dressed awkwardly in last nights stale and hopeful clothing. He said "I know I'm not your boyfriend or anything but I would really like to do this again" I walked him to the door and as he was walking down the stairs he yelled up "I'll Facebook you sometime" We both laughed

Hope in Hidden Places

Hope in a hidden places

My little oily heart
small as a birds; red and purple

I have been traveling through beds
and searching hearts from glimpses

I want to live in the dark, our faces
so close together, illuminated bodies
trying to consume each other but not knowing how


I was never truly naked until the first time you touched me
the heat of our bodies  electric

The whole world dissolves in your eyes when your hands run the length of my body
The universe is empty now, nothing matters

I could write forever about how much I loved you. 
You would read it in bed late at night, in waiting rooms, at the train station.
mouthing the words of each sentence and if your heart was speaking to you

totally saturated in one another but nothing is ever the same the second time around
Strip me down to the bones this time, to the agitated nerves underneath my flesh
Lets not stop this time. I mean it.

Time Heals All Things

I forgive you. 

I love you.

With a love that would burn you alive.

If you ever felt a spark of it. 

If you ever let yourself

Forgive me for not being what you wanted.

Forgive me 

You stubborn old man. 

Don't take this to your grave.

What  happened to us? 

Why couldn't you love me

I tried so hard

Daddy

  

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten then when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die.
And get back, back, back to you.
I though even the bones would do.


excerpt from the poem "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath

“…Time held me green and dying 
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.”
― Dylan Thomas

Pablo Neruda

“ I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. Pablo Neruda

ruin our lives because we can

It is okay to miss things that have wounded you.
Crave fresh scars where flesh was once smooth.
Desire all that is forbidden everywhere
  in your gluttonous heart.


I imagine a place full of things that people search for.
memories caught between glances, that linger through lost trails of thought
The two of us , we would burn it all down if we had the chance.
Choose fire instead of ice. Choose touch instead of distance.


It is true that the world will crumple beneath our heels
and that promises tend to dissolve with the dawn
In the summer time it's okay to sometimes miss the rain.