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Coming UpAs we speak,
a ukulele is being played several floors below,
gets me excited.
you just spent ten minutes taking off your jacket.
I am coming up.
What does that mean?
Cheerleader, I fly into Seattle Sunday.
(I have your ticket. They spelled your name wrong.)
A Stitch in Time Saves NineTuesday. The barista asks your name and how old you were on your last birthday. The second question is not entirely out of place; he likes the broach youre wearing and you tell him it was a birthday gift. He asks if your birthday is soon.
Yes. You tell him it was yesterday.
Well, happy belated birthday.
On your most recent birthday, you were 9teen. Some synesthetes* associate numbers with personality (You have never liked the number 4. She isnt trust worthy). 9 is slouching and self-conscious. You write it down and it either hunches or leans backward awkwardly. It is either toppling over or falling into itself. 9 always looks uncomfortable. Over sixty types of synesthesia have been recorded but the neuroscientists cannot tell you why 9 is so very awkward. 9s eyes are cast downward; he is not telling you something.
You think of the time when you went the first week or so of knowing a person before he asked your age. You were 18, which is twice 9 and perhaps twice the a
Semantic SusurrusWalking around downtown, there are so many pious youth with their heads covered in reverence to an unresponsive deity. Hipsters wearing knit hats, cruising from one temple to another, following musicians. Pipers. With all that wool covering their ears, one would think they would be safe.
These ones, the painfully hip adult children, have no idea about the kind of poetry they're participating in.
As an avid reader, I am never alone. And, though warmth and morning render me useless as a linguist, I was sitting with Milan and Antoine over breakfast and we talked about semantics and the symbolism surrounding hats.
Kundera and Exupery are the voices I heard in the not quite sleeping hours of the early mornings in my adolescence. A professor told me I had a good literary background when we were discussing Milan Kundera and metafiction, but she didn't understand that I wasn't going out of my way at all. It would have been impossible to avoid those whisperings, that semantic su
I am walking through my ninth floor window across the city, down to Elliot Bay. I have not become particularly large but the skyscrapers become stepping-stones. I have acknowledged that reality is subjective and I can defy physics.
When I finally make it down to the pier, I look back and the city has flooded. The tide came in so, so far today. The hills of Seattle are islands and people are using boats. The crew team at my university has begun to run a taxi service in the off-season so they can stay in shape while earning a little coin. Where to maam? A customer tells them someplace. Alright team, now row!
Scuba gear has increased in popularity because some things, places in the city, are no longer accessible without it. There used to be an imported spice store bellow Pikes Place that is now flooded. Teams of merchant divers go down to bring back the glass jars and I am floating somewhere nearby, watching them. The tight seal of the mason jars has saved
The CyclopsI have been looking for so long through my expensive new eye. My cyclops sees in wide angle, in vivid color, and it is sometimes too lazy to use manual focus.
And I love looking at the world, but I have been looking for what feels like so long. My eyes are tired, my camera battery is at 30% power.
I will photograph this view, a friend said on Saturday, and remember it forever: the night we laid in the grass. There were cherry blossoms suspended above us and none of us had been inhabitants of this town long enough to know if they were late or not. It was (and continues to be) the beginning of May.
The shutter snap was a hollow sound, but not near as hollow as her sigh; it immediately confirmed that the image did no justice to the actual. That is my constant battle in both photography and writing. I have an incessant need to show people the actual through reproductions.
This was Saturdays view: The blossoms were just barely tinted pink on the slender tree in
New Message! A tif
summarized. Aggressor describes in
160 characters > less
Holidays have always
been for children and banks. Me:
Adult child, low funds.
(money spent in multiples of $20)
well, I have always
liked sad boys: bitter gaping mouth
makes me laugh. Indecent.
and depression gone too far.
Four hours exploring whats interesting.
On Coming Home AgainExpecting to return
somehow aged. Adult daughter.
instead I offer a tea stained smile, tighter jeans.
Mother's crossword puzzle blanks:
waiting for me.
Twice DesertedYou can remember
between dessert and desert
with mnemonic devices about Ss.
Dessert: I always want
Lets go once.
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
WomanA story behind her eyes
A dream on her lips
Waiting to be said,
Waiting to be true.
A voice from heart.
A lovely sound.
You're so tender,
So simple and complicated.
Spontaneous and shy.
Silent and talkative.
Serious and funny.
Always in love.
Tears rolling down for an illusion.
Eyes looking up missing somebody.
Letters never sent.
A heart that never sleeps.
You are so beautiful
Even when you feel you're the ugliest one.
You are a princess
Even when you feel nobody cares of you.
You are a goddess
Even when years painted lines on your face.
A sweet strength
A reason to love.
StoryA man on a corner with a dirty look
Telling a story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
But never to the one he loved the most
A woman on a corner with a gloomy look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
Didn’t know the woman she was loved the most
A cat on a corner with a cunning look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
It was the time of the day it loved the most
A stone on a corner with a cold look
Waiting for the man to finish his book
A thousand years passed and no one cared
For the rock on the corner or the story of the man
How To LoveNext time you're laying in bed trying to fall asleep, call your girl and tell her you love her. Say it over and over and talk to her until she falls asleep with the phone in her hand. Tell her you love her before you hang up, even though you know she can't hear you. When you see her next, whether it be at school, at work, or even at her house, kiss her with meaning. Don't be afraid to kiss your girl in front of your friends and family. Show her that you aren't above that and you're not ashamed. Offer your jacket to her when it's cold and insist she take it, no matter how cold you really are. Send her flowers when she's sick and you can't be there, and cuddle with her when you can without caring if you catch what she has. Call her after work or school just to make sure she got home safely, even though you watched her walk in the front door. Lay down your jacket in a puddle so her $100 shoes don't get wrecked, even if your jacket costs $300. Send her flowers even if she isn't sick becaus
Tears of GlassI wish I had someone to comfort now
like the girl staring back from the mirror-
I would whisper my love and hold her hand-
I would soak up her tears and find her smile.
But I can’t dry tears that are made of glass-
I can’t hear lovers’ words that are my own.
There is no one here who will hold me close,
and no companion I can charm to smile.
The only girl with whom I share sorrow
stares back from the mirror with tears of glass.
A Bisexual Poem.A Bisexual poem
Some people like men
Some people like women
Some may like the same genders of themselves
Some also like both
Liking both genders is being bisexual
I'm bisexual myself
No, i'm not ashamed of it
I'm proud of it
All bisexuals should proud of it
It's just who we are
Some people may accept us
And some people may not
If they don't like bisexuals, just forget about them
If they do like bisexuals, be their friend
I'm proud to be bisexual
You should be too.
disenchanted superheroyou are my kryptonite
even though i’m no superman;
i’m just riddled with weakness,
but i must be strong enough
to keep you.
(you are a drug
i can’t put down.
i don’t want to.)
we are standing on a precipice,
and i’m realizing i can’t fly.
(will you jump
on the way down.)
your hand is warm in mine
and i’m not strong enough to let go.
(stay by me.
be my strength,
because i’m not a super hero
and i can’t save you.
Leaving TulsaGuitar strings marked your palms,
tattooing lyrics onto your skin
and making it glow like italic rust.
Garrett, would you have called me
over to your favorite spot
in the mountains
if you'd known that I was just as
lost as those scared rabbits,
running away from a dust storm?
Boy, I didn't expect to fall
prey to your September eyes
but that's exactly what happened.
And I never thought
we'd have anything in common,
let alone a strange
fire burning a hole in our sides;
our protective shells like Lego houses.
The thrill of wanderlust
rushed through our veins
as we sat, sipping cokes with rum
at a little soiled dove
bar in Tulsa on the weekends.
We talked about the places
we'd see if we ever
were to leave home,
sharing made-up fantasies
about running down gypsy roads
with backpacks strapped
to our bodies and wildflowers
melting in our cheeks
as we blushed under
a bourgeois European sun.
Boy, you smiled like you
couldn't wait to defy gravity
and I felt sorry that
your family didn't see
If...If these boundaries and borders didn't exist,
my thoughts would be less fogy and without any mist.
If we didn't belong to different cultures and religions,
it wouldn't be difficult for me to take these decisions.
If these differences and distances could disappear,
I would be diagnosed with happiness and no sign of fear.
If these restrictions and limitations could vanish,
all my stress and tensions would suddenly diminish.
If we hadn't confessed our love for each other,
would you still care for me, would you still bother ?
If we hadn't met at all,
I wouldn't be so confident and stand so tall.
If I was as mature as you and you as immature as me,
we both could let go of these feelings and set each other free.
If you were as tangled as me and me as untangled as you,
I'll accept that this is not an illusion and your love for me is true.
If I didn't smile whenever I missed you,
and look in the mirror to capture the astonishing view.
If all this was just a sweet dream or may be a bluff,
Assembling North AmericaThis body wants to be a temple. So,
religious conflict is to say,
"Do not deify California."
But church women want gods
my $9.50 an hour salary on Sunday mornings.
I want a warm body.
(the poet, she
wants California to be
the right hip-bone of North America. This is
a more intimate place than the curling feet of Central America;
there lies yeyo like road dust.
Wash your feet before you come to bed.)
North America has a broad chest
and the loggers have been shaving man-land-scaping
all the ancient chest hairs away.
In the great Pacific bathtub,
while extracting black from the depths
of human earth, your oily pores,
you discover your resources are finite.
So, you will use all of them.
And I want a piece too,
the sinewy hib-bone valleys of California,
but (so does everyone else)
I am asking myself if I can
spend a life on a single continent.
(Where are we going, NA?)
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More