But death

When I think about this I’m never truly sure.
I have extended my motives,
And done nothing.

I have fallen in love with a poison apple.
I’m bathed in my papers where I breathe my
Thoughts, and burn my secrets.

But death is the only dialect I dream to speak.
It screams,
Like an addiction it’s both crazy and lustful.

I might have, in life,
Dreamed this intruder,
Ingested this intruder,
Given it it’s life and meaning.

Just like this, scheming and scary,
Steamier than hells caves,
I have thought to myself, burning at the earlobes

Could dying be the answer to unwed problems,
Burned souls,
And scorched egos?

It is there that “it” waits,
Burning under my tongue,
Begging to be spoken.

But death is the only digestible substance,
Unearthed by all means,
Declared in a thousand languages.

Here in this, I am bound,
broken, and bridged.
Torn between tolerance and torment.

But death is the only audible sound.
It stands unmasked, unbroken,
Undressed, and screams, beckoning me.

It is here, among the paper,
Black and burned,
I hate everything, but death.

everyone knew

I finally got what I deserved today, apparently. I guess I thought my heart couldn’t break anymore. But it is. And I am. I am all those things Jen said. I am absolutely pathetic. Awful. Fake. Rude. Disgusting. Why do I keep punishing people this way? I feel like a coward – or maybe a burden. You cannot love someone like me. Not after what Jen said. I can’t receive love. I do not deserve love. I don’t think so anyway. I feel ruined. Like ill be isolated for days, weeks, months. She made me feel ashamed to be depressed. It makes wanting to die a lot easier to imagine. Thinking of myself in a box, buried, so I can never hurt anyone again – it frightens and soothes me. I think this is where I stand – now, and most likely, forever.

He told me to make sure and tell you: the name is an anagram.

Roman Polanski’s film ‘Rosemarys Baby’ (made in 1968) remains the single most indepth interrogation of motherhood and reproduction. Rosemary and her Husband Guy Woodhouse move into a beautifl new apartment in new york. Guy , a struggling actor, spends most of the film concerned about his career and the impending birth of his first child. Coincidentally, Rosemary is not a concern of his ; her womb however is.

The more you talk the more you irkin us - the more you're gonna need memorial services

What people seem to not realize is that i am my greatest enemy. There is no way anyone is more angry with me then i am. So all the sly comments are not needed, and anyway aren’t you supposed to be “truth”? Sounds like bullshit to me.I am so grateful for Olivia. The only level headed person to come out the mess that was my fake college friendships. Well fake is being fair - these people were vipers, I’ve never known such evil and hatred - more importantly i hope i never do again. Anyways - Olivia & i have an understanding. We’re matched in our fears and hopes. We both suffer from similar backgrounds - but allow each other some complexity. She is amazing. She sees through every ones bullshit just as much as i do. & plus she’s not so stupid as to take sides with someone based on a one sided story - and still try to call themselves righteous, “truth”, and most of all feminist?!?!? That’s a joke. More like white supremacists who happen to have vaginas.I spent a lot of the afternoon with James. It was nice. We were able to shift through the rise in guilt I’ve been feeling lately and he too had words that soothed me. He told me that it’s obvious i don’t need people who have no respect, manners, self reflection, or dignity. He told me that he watched me go through the initial phases and that i was not malicious. He told me he knew i was just trying to take care of myself and that only someone who was actually selfish would be against that. Good stuff. He also mentioned that he appreciated me.While patriarchy is the root of all evil and i cannot stress enough my investment in the status of women in this country - women are vipers. It is the feminist (like the ones I’ve had the displeasure to know) who give the movement a bad name. They are the ones who drive women who are “different” - straight, liberal, black, Latina, Asian, chubby, self reflexive, etc.- to the margins. It is women like them who set the standards for everyone else, but are always breaking them. They say sisterhood is real - what they really mean it is survival is dependent on your compliance with their mission and their mission only. No deviation from the path. Eternal submission. It’s sick. Glad I’m out of it and into reality where real people have real expectations - and not expectations spawned in the mind of a feminist militant who’s less than sane. In the end the men in my life are proving to be more accountable, responsible, respectful, and humbled than the women I’ve known.So: dinner with Susie tonight, then to olives, then i get to see Miranda. Today was tough, but i made it through. And what got me through were the friends that love me. & everyday will get a little easier…

The Drought

Last night i wrote a 6 page paper in two hours - impressive. I was surrounded by noise - but it only helped, it didnt hurt. I also looked at my school transcript today and turns out i have an extra couple credits. So im right on scheduel. I will graduate in may, i will go to disney world, and then i will begin a life that has nothing to do with UNH - i think i have the courage to move on.



Last night i head some beautiful music - got to listen to some lil wayne, fall out boy, amy winehouse, and Armin van Burin. Lil Wayne’s “I feel like dying” is classic. When i listen to hip hop and rap i feel connected. White feminist are predominatly avidly against rap/hip hop music (while claiming to be racially ‘awake’ in ways i consider rare) without challenging how their “dislike” is just an extension of their white supremecist politics - just because you fight for the advancement of women’s rights doesn’t make you exempt from acts of racism. Me though, i feel connected, understood, and alive. It just hit my soul at the right angle - - “I am sittin on the clouds I got smoke coming from my seat I can play basketball with the moon I got the whole world at my feet…”

Two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it.!

I'm writing you a letter today - it makes me nervous and wracks my bones. But i feel good about it too. I'm finally going to release the ghost. You will proably read it and feel nothing - but i hope i am underestimating you. I hope that you are better than i give you credit for. & i hope i am better too.

We sit

We sit facing
With nothing to say.
Your eyes burn holes in
Me. I think of eyes.
Your stares are embers.
They burn in the fire.
But when they look at
Me, they die a bit.
We sit staring,
Wondering what the
Other is thinking.
In between us the
Table dips.
Making us pillars
That are blue with envy.
We sit talking,
But not with a voice.
You talk by licking
You lips.
I talk by stroking
My ear lobes. You ask
Is it important
To me? I scream yes!
You
and I are so tense.
We know not any
Of each others
Moves.
We sit moving.
I twiddle my thumbs
Why are we sitting
When we want to dance?
You speak so often.
We always want to
Touch. You stop talking
And look up. Why should
I believe you when
You reach for me?
You always ignore
Me. You start to move.
Your hand raised and long.
Your finger tips flame
At the sight of me.
Just before you reach me.
Before your flame burns
The slow curve of my
Lips I pull away.
We sit facing
With nothing to say.