Tuesday, February 25, 2014

See Me

I want you to see me.
No one ever sees me.
I mean me.
That's right, they see someone, but it's usually not me.

Sometimes I leave the room.
When I'm still in it.
Someone else is me, which is me.
Me, that's me I think.

And maybe I'm writing in a notebook.
About the past.
But I see myself from an eagle's nest.
And I see how I look to you.

That isn't me.
I think I would like for it to be.
But it's not.
So, who cares.

I'm just going in circles.
At least there are some new circles.
And I am trying to pretend to be the me you see.
But I am still failing to see me.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Did you hear about her?

There's a story going around.
Did you hear about her?
Hit the ground!
There's a story going around.

Something about death and great loves lost and won.
There's an unpublished article spun.
And contacts with the press.
Did you hear?

The phones are ringing.
The gossips are singing.
There's a story going around.
There's a lawsuit pending.

People are talking behind closed doors.
On cell phones, landlines, facetime.
People are talking about her.
That they couldn't bear to live without her.

There's a story going around she frowned.
There's a story.
Version after version, but the facts are mostly the same.
In case you missed it, there's a story!

Saturday, February 22, 2014

What If I Don't Like The Storyline?

Sometimes I find myself in a story where I don't like the storyline.
Then, whether I am tired or sedate I find the energy to do something to change it.
Now I say something inspirational about how we can all do this, etc...
Is it uncool to use emoticons in poems? So, do you think someone will publish me with a winky face following a sentence?

I am not really looking for an answer there.
Although please join in, this is a party of one here.
In snowy, relentless Colorado.
Where it seems like everyone is sick all winter.
And the gym is filled with guys who eye.

So, yes, I don't like this storyline and so I'm changing it right now.
By saying I don't like it.
Ha! It's as simple as that.
Now you, whoever you are who thinks of plots, can just sit tight.
I write the plots, or rather Van Gogh does.

Anyway, this is not my story now, so I'm happy.
Thank God.
It's time to release the hounds and the policemen.
Run the streets.
And I'll be here where I'm safe.

Nothing too descriptive, the perfect amount of generality.
With a dash of salt and a touch of smoke.
Up in smoke.
And we're all wandering around again and wondering how we got here.
Jesus what were we thinking?

But tomorrow, tomorrow, well tomorrow, the damage is already done.
Despite my best objections there was nothing I could do.
Except be "there" in those moments when no one else was or could be, could fill that position.
And in the end it's my heart that calls me back.
To the reminder that I love people, but I can't love them all.

Friday, February 21, 2014

The Blue Orchid

As I sit staring at the blue orchid I know it, the flowers will die and be replaced by pink and white blossoms.
And I think about too early and too late.
I feel sad, because the people who read this and think it might help them understand always come away more confused.
My journals are slightly more private, slightly.
But how could I be any more provocative?

In my mind people I've known want me to explain things to them.
My lovers, friends, family, psychiatrists, therapists, co-workers and now I just shake my head and sigh.
I would rather be doing something else.
I feel like people want to excavate me and I'm not even dead!
I feel more prepared for death now, but certainly not ready.

If I'm not supposed to change, then what's the point?
God given rights make me go faster.
I'm my master.
It's a disaster.
An amazing disaster.

And the bear kept me company all night. I woke up next to him.
His brown hair reminds me of you.
I slept really well beside him, holding him.
And just because he plays a maraca tune you want to return him for a better version.
There was something funny and unsettling about it, but it's nothing.

Since I have commitments and things I need to do other than provide material for you...
I'm going, but I won't be gone long.
Until the next installment.
The next round.
And I'll be thinking about 11:11...in my mind the ultimate number ONE.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Carried by American Intelligence to French Intelligence: A Dream

I had an intricate dream last night. I had a ticket with a layover in America going to France. I carefully packed the gifts I had been given, and the focus was on the jewelry: purple chevron earrings stood out. Many different colors and styles handmade. And I picked out my clothes carefully. When I went to check my bag they said I could have their special service where they cleaned the clothes during the flight and I took it. When I arrived at the next airport and went to retrieve my bag at the carousel it was filled with loose clothes in a mountain and I couldn't find my bag. I was weeding through the clothes and I started picking out clothes I just liked and put them in a pile. Then something happened and I couldn't have them.

Next I was in a fight with a dark haired woman who wanted to pull me over a ledge, but other people came and helped me, two other women, and we saved each other. I felt I couldn't catch my flight until I had my bag. I told an airport employee that my bag was filled with bugs (not insects, tracking devices and listening devices) and just when I despaired a woman came over and said, "I saw you check this before, I thought you might want it" and she handed me my bag.I looked at her and cried with gratitude. I went somewhere in the airport and sat on the floor untangling and organizing my jewelry in front of some airport guys. Then time kind of shifted and one of them seemed worried I wouldn't make my flight to France and I said I would be done in twenty minutes. Then I looked out a window and saw the word l'aƩroport and that's when I realized I was already in France. Somehow I got the information that the American government had been changing my medication, altering my reality.

Then I was in France and I had a bundle of necklaces in my hands. I walked to a bench and sat down, after I left and walked up the street I realized I left them on the bench, but it was to late because someone took off with them. As I walked back toward the bench I saw some kind of mythical animal I named a "snow ball head" It was all white and furry with a round snow ball head. I was definitely in a different land. As I walked back over to the bench a man came out of a shop with his arms filled with handmade French necklaces and he tried to give them to me to replace the ones that had just been taken, but I hesitated. He worked for the French government. A girl was with him and she told me to look sadly into his eyes, which I did and we spoke in French. Then he gestured at two tangerines hanging in front of me...and I woke up.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Forgiven Heroes

We forgive our heroes, because they are our heroes.
And I forgive you for your complexities both good and bad.
And I'm standing tall now.
Have you forgotten who you are?

I know who I am and always have.
But despite my lack of pride I am hopefully in mind.
Getting back to the center of things.
We all fall down and rise again.

Today I said my team got hit.
By who, they asked.
Another team.
Did they get hurt? No they hit us.

Are we playing capture the flag.
Only if it's me and you.
Otherwise view my disdain.
Who are you? I ask again.

Happy and hopeful suddenly suits me.
Sullen and sinister get the boot.
And I'm playing cards in crazy eights.
Bother us and we're suddenly gone, before you could start in.

Got me a kite?
And I flew it to the moon.
You wanted to go to, but you're wrong I am not the kite.
I've been playing stunt kites from the ground up.

I read a poem I wrote when I was 12 today and I realized I've been doing this for a long time.
The unsung heroes of our generation don't inspire me.
Because they are silent among us.
Trial and error and we're back on the road.

I can see myself writing in the mirror and I look content and even smile.
I once thought I hated being alone.
But more and more I cherish it just as much as being with other people.
And I find myself wondering if someone somewhere is jealous of me, alone with me?

That sounds conceited to me.
But I thought it and since this is where I SAY the unsaid I own it.
And well I find myself having thoughts I adore.
And some I hate, for sure.

I want to quote a poem I wrote in fifth grade: Rose
The rose when felt is so silky.
It's pink is the color of satin.
But sweet though the rose can be, its thorns can really sting.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

No Matter What

No matter what I say or do you all feel insecure about me.
And when you make me feel insecure I take it as a challenge.
Remind me not to call you.
Reminding myself of the fallible, I conjecture on the terms.
I love you more than I want to too fast and get treated like a prize.

Forget anything for the star.
This is not an insinuation.
I am no star although when you possess me you think you are.
Or perhaps the sweet potato in the oven is what we're all looking for.
And you smiled, making me the charm again.

Finally I get the point.
I may write from time to time, but my mouth should stay shut.
And the longer my silences the more desperate you become.
Peers think of things to say in the meantime.
And I am finally caught like a kite in the wind.

Lana del Rey tell me more tales in your heroin and alcohol laced voice.
I'll never tire of your drug addled fame.
Nor will I point the finger.
I remember sitting in an L.A. apartment smoking crack.
Or several and I don't regret it.

Just so everyone is one the same page...my mother is reading this.
And I wouldn't say anything here that my own mother couldn't see and read.
Why? Because I am too honest.
That doesn't mean I don't like.
I'm just a girl.

Don't cry or lie about it.
This is what makes us girls.
Forget where you are from.
Forget your past.
And remember the world.

The world is fabulous.
The people who have experienced it are fabulous.
And fabulous does not only mean gay.
But if you are a transgender reading this.
Remember you are the world, you are standing for something that changed us all.

Down the silent, dark streets I ran and twirled.
And you loved me.
I am still her.
Do not forget me.
Because, maybe, you might just realize how close I am to gone now...don't worry mother...it's just an analogy to part of me leaving and perhaps never returning.

Brooding in the Aftermath

I sit and brood in the aftermath.
I feel like I've been hit by a missile.
But I don't think poor me.
I think of how I can avoid this feeling in the future.
So I close my eyes and I disappear.

Energy pulses and fluctuates in front of my eyelids.
And I wonder why the desperation.
I already cried at the heavy moments.
Displeasure somehow becomes pleasure.
And I walk into a valley.

In the valley there are amazing mixtures of flowers and beautiful trees.
The birds are all blue.
And I'm always myself in awe.
Of the nature of things.
And the powerful moments I might not remember.

And there's a warm breeze and a brook here.
And my friends are all gone.
I am alone and complete without any external needs.
And I am amazed at the oxen in the field.
The hard hooves are sinking into the soil.

And in the valley I am dreaming.
And I slowly let go of what was and what could be.
And I'm silent finally with no expostulations.
When the sun flashes across my face like a strobe my eyes look turquoise and amber.
Because the night never came I was given light.

When I said the Wrong Thing

When I said the wrong thing you looked at me like I punched you in the stomach.
I could say I'm sorry all day, but what if I'm just being me?
This is who I am, apologies.
I'm a lover though, not a hater.
You want me to love only you.
I can do that in a specific way, but I won't stop loving everyone else too.
I love the people who read what I write, alone or in crowded spaces, either way.
I don't even hate the government like so many people unabashedly do.
I love the government, the police, the homeless, the normal ones living respectfully, and perhaps most of all the rebels.
Rebels in disguise.
And I like to think they love me and that maybe a stranger in the street sees me in a special way that no one before ever has, even if for only a moment and then I am forgotten...forever.
I strain to understand how I can better make people forget me and when I least expect it maybe they do.
And I can be alone without the city streets watching me with rolling eyes, every step I take.
And I think if only I can be a great writer someday, then I will know all the illusions and allusions which are so elusive.
But really I don't want to know what I know now.
Can you give me a pill that will erase something inside of me dear doctor?
He says no and hands me another prescription for an anti-depressant.
Ativan, give me Ativan, give me the drug that induces short term memory loss so I don't have to compile so much data effectively and I do it effectively.
I am human, not machine.
But there are qualities reminiscent of a lawnmower, leaving tracks everywhere, and creating order out of chaos.
Did she really just draw a comparison between herself and a lawnmower.
Yes I did and you might just think about that line sometime later and wonder why it was the one that stuck with you.
I'm not telling you what to do, I just know what you'll do.
The audacity of me. Forget about hope. I have little room left in this bunker or cargo bay or whatever vessel is hiding me and bringing me home.
Well, just another home, because I am always at home.
Hey baby, take me out!
We'll go carousing and without a doubt you'll feel special.
Even though the sad truth is I don't make it that way.
You're all special to me.
And you all want favors, ugh that makes you feel ill, right?
Because I think I know what you're thinking.
It's not for me to spell everything out or to remember what your favorite color is.
It's not for me to be exactly who you want me to be.
What is for me is to be myself 110%of the time, even if that means I'm wrong.
Punish me for saying the wrong thing and next time I'll keep my secrets silent.
I can play little miss perfect, I just don't want to.
And you say you've fallen in love with me in a big way and you don't want something temporary.
And I have nothing to say, because that would be lame.
If I don't have the sureness you do, then don't punish me.
My life isn't what yours is and maybe I'll admit that I may have punished you too.
So, we both punished each other for being different and not understanding truths so important and fundamental to us that we've been living with for our whole lives practically.
Someone used to make me apologize. Yes you. And I learned that I would be punished (there's that word again) if I didn't do what the man wanted.
But I am not a man, I am a woman.
And men are from mars and women are from venus.
So what does that tell you?
Being different is okay, we don't have to meld into one person to have love.
And wedding rings don't bring people closer, they just provide proof of something we can never prove.
And when we die we don't go and meet up with our lover or lovers and bond in heaven.
We walk into this life alone and we leave alone.
And if we compromise ourselves for other people we are only selling ourselves short.
So, while I sit and proselytize on one of the only platforms sacred to me.
You might come along for the ride just in case.
In case you're afraid YOU might miss out on some...fun?
You're thinking that perhaps this is not fun.
What's the point of life if you don't have fun living it.
No question mark.
Case in point.
And I point my finger at YOU.
Stop following me around (am I talking to you? Who am I talking to?)
That's for me to know and you not to find out.
When I said the wrong thing I always learned from it.
And my stepfather used to say that mistakes were the best things he did, because he learned something.
And then he killed himself.
I'm wondering if he learned from that mistake.
Maybe he's back here again, sent to the purgatory we call life.
Despite my obstreperous ways I feel like I am in heaven already.
I have felt more pain than a lot of people and less than others.
But none of that is what makes me me, it only adds bright, bold strokes of color across (I refuse to say the canvas of my life, because please) the margins of my soul.
Not the choice we were all hoping for in syntax, but clearly I'm not what you're hoping for.
And my therapist mentioned that maybe I should not use this word "you" with so much regularity, but then I started to see my paralysis and the loss of myself made by critical adjustments.
And then I thought, "You know what? I don't care. I have something no one else here has and why would I surrender the one truly valuable asset someone up in the sky gave me.
Welcome to the world.
A brave new world (yes Alduous).
And sometimes people come and back me up.
They tell me the truth and I hope I embrace it with everything I have.
And next time we say, "Don't worry, be happy."
People will look worried.
Let us as all grow suspicious of happiness.
Let us all hope that we don't need hope.
And when I said something wrong I wasn't there.
This isn't me, I'm not here.
Words woven into me in such an ecstatic heap of treasures that I am constantly waiting for them to call me and they always do and they always give me happiness.
You don't have to worry, I am not in love with another man.
I am in love with something you'll never understand.
And you, I wouldn't presume to guess.
Since that's the ultimate insult to something that deserves to be sanctified in all of us.
Remind me to be myself and I will remind you.
Then again if we need post its for that or cue cards or index cards, we might not have a chance.
I'm going now, but I'll be back again, maybe when you least expect it.
And I'll reserve a table for two in heaven and we can breath there, together.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

I was Torn

Do you know what it feels like to be torn?
Ripped in half with no recourse?
I was torn.
I am torn, right now.
I am in the throes of it.
I don't care who is watching, in fact I want them to watch.
Ripped apart.
Now the mothers will worry, now the brothers will fear, but it is not life or death.
It is fear.
I was torn, ripped apart, made to bleed.
I did it myself, I needed to feel.
"We're afraid" they said.
I needed to heal.
The only way to get the disease out was to rip me apart from the inside out.
I am happy, my scars show.
Because we remember what we wanted to know.
Is it possible to kill something so tender and small.
You better believe, we could have killed it all.
Remember me they cried, and I shrugged and gave an aside.
Read a blog? Who cares, that word is intolerable.
But remark once that you didn't care about an innocent life and you're the intolerable one.
Twice you've answered me on dark nights when you didn't have to, maybe more.
And every time I showed up at your door.
Remind me sometime that you are alone and exist.
And I'll come and put you on my list.
My interminable list.
Stay silent and we all wonder about him and her.
Stay calm and approachable and we'll fool you for sure.
I am not alone and I warned you out loud.
Don't you think that might've drawn a large crowd?
Shut up! Be kind and blind.
But never, never, please never remind.
Me of the things that you and I do.
When capable me, is capable you.
I forgot what I came for and I'm not even late.
But you are, and you are in a terrible state.
Maybe tomorrow you'll forget what I've done.
Maybe and perhaps you'll find reason to shun.
But never, no never, never forget the one with the doe eyes, the one that you pet.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

This is How I Die

This is How I Die

Despite my best attempts to kill myself or get other people to do it for me I'm not going to die until I'm 103 years old. I will die in a European country where equality and no disturbances reign, because we tire of our separate sufferings. I actually do not like living in that realm, although I will always have the memories both written and in my mind, and so I have my love. People may try and die. Death becomes increasingly outlawed since we have to serve our terms here on earth. This is my last term, the finale of all my lives, that's why I don't die earlier. Once I am finished here with this final gift I go up to the next level and become a beginner again. Yes, I know you are there, hearing me, and by this connection I also know you know I am ready. 

My body is held as a sacred treasure since I never really age and I am put in a glass case for people to come and look at. As the crowds overwhelm my spirit which hasn't disconnected yet I feel my last pang of suffering and indignation when a young woman says, "She's here! I feel her here!" And with that she sends me flying away from my body into the great beyond. Before I disconnect I feel disturbed over what my life was, what it turned into, I became a novelty people wanted to examine. It happened slowly at first, but with each person the numbers increased. So that is how I die in the future world that already exists somewhere waiting for us.