Saturday, May 31, 2014

The Poet Confesses Forgiveness

What if a poet existed
Who was a martyr?
She defied all tyrants with her soliloquies
And she pardoned the ladies with noses that matched

Matching noses?
How could this be?
No one knows
The secrets of the noses

She elected herself over and over
To death she marched
But there was not a single time she succeeded
After her final attempt to offer herself she was allowed to cross over to the other side

But she was hastily rejected and returned
She finally agreed with the majority
Death was not suited to her
Then came the lady with a duplicate nose

The lady announced the poet should die
To make way for everyone else
The poet took offense
Since she was no longer seeking death

And to have someone else offer her up
Made the whole experience displeasing
Also displeasurable now: the topic of tyrants who order and fuss
So, instead of dwelling on unsavory details

She marched aside
While the trouble went down
And finally found out the truth
It was right there all along

The truth is whatever you make it
And wherever you place it
So she decided to place it somewhere where the deletions were less frequent
And she made an attempt to be less scathing

There will always be someone out there hurting much more or much less
It took her a long time to learn to show some respect
And what should have been simple was actually quite hard
Love is always alive, it's how we survive

The poet sat silent in soft repose
Forgiveness was such a hard lesson for her
Because to forgive is not necessarily to forget
She decided, "I forgive everyone past, present, and future."

But I do not forget, I do not forget
And she prayed for God to remind her every day
By bringing her low, by bringing her down
Life is a gift it's not always around

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Say, "I Choose Life."

Before I was born I knew you.
I was afraid to come out into the world.
I didn't know if I could walk beside you.
But I am here, waiting.

I see you in other people.
A man bent over a picnic table with long gray hair reminds me of you.
And although I want to give up and stop myself from climbing.
I see how he looks like he is focusing on creating something.

And who am I to fault a creator?
I tread closer and I think maybe you did me a small favor today, a kindness.
And I will never know, but should I let you down?
Or attack you with my unhelpful thoughts?

No, I have the notion I can do much better.
So I let it go.
Suddenly, I'm in a different place.
And a helpful goddess comes and pardons me from the past life I lived.

And she challenges me to open myself up.
And say, "I choose life."
Tears run down my face-stinging
I know it is the best way, she is right.

My next project is being born.
It is being born with me every day.
So I think of another woman with gray curly hair.
She said, "You have to be willing to try another way."

And how many ways there are!
I see paths winding everywhere throughout the world.
I can follow one, which leads to another, and another.
Endless paths for me to choose and walk down, forever.

Until on the last day I reach the end.
And there I will stop.
And you may or may not be beside me holding my hand.
I choose to live with you and without you.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014


At the ripe age of thirty I finally learn something
When I make a mistake and feel the heat
It is best to make a simple correction
Instead of drinking a cup of rocket fuel and exploding into flames
It is not necessary

And I am being done a favor
I should thank the anxiety gods
For informing me when I go wrong
I am really happy about this
I don't know why it took me so long to understand

The essence of what I do
Is to distill what I am given
It almost sounds refined
But it isn't
It's a big mess

I wish I could blame someone else
Or maybe be someone else
When I'm enjoying myself I really don't mind
Being myself
When it's unpleasant I'd like to pass

That's What I Thought

How was I suppose to know what you were doing?
I didn't realize I foiled all your plans.
Because I didn't know about them.
No wonder you have no friends.
Even your most loyal friend was susceptible to me.

And what I did wasn't wrong, because I was ignorant.
Hah! I'm still ignorant.
I'm just beginning to get an idea of how much you went out of your way for me.
If going out of your way means hatching a scheme.
You might be smarter than me, but you don't have what I have.

And you don't even communicate with me.
But you get angry when I talk to someone else?
You are ridiculous.
Who are you?
I can't even be angry at you, because you don't understand anything.

The only way I find out I've done something wrong is by the waves of anxiety that sweep over me.
Ahhh, at least once a week I feel so insecure and unstable I don't know what to do.
On the surface I may still appear fine.
But there is a fiasco going on somewhere at any given time.
And everyone decided I should be a writer?!?

A fiasco.
"Write the truth," they say.
Unless it offends someone you know.
Then don't write it.
Keep it to yourself.

Sometimes I forget when or when not to write the truth.
Write the truth, just leave some of the truth out.
Don't write the whole truth.
But what truth you write should be the truth.
Isn't that the truth?

And pretty soon even the word "truth" looks like some foreign term.
I wonder if there are people somewhere saying, "Write only lies."
And I'm thinking, maybe if I take like twelve more herbal anxiety pills I'll feel better?
Nah, take all the pills you want, but when you cross the wrong person you'll know.
I must be in trouble for something no one could possibly know about.

I'm in trouble for sitting alone in my room writing?
Writing something no one else should be able to see?
I truly believe that's what I did wrong.
And if I'm not in trouble, then why am I so scared?
I'm scared of eating an omelet?

I'm not scared of eating an omelet.
People be like, "Call me when you are having a hard time."
I be like, "That solved nothing."
Well, head petting worked.
But it's hard to find someone who's available at the drop of a hat to pet your head for hours.

No, no, there is no solution.
I have "interesting" taste in men?
Currently I have no taste in anyone.
And anyone who has a taste for me is suspect.
From now on I vow to trust only people who avoid me.

The more I write the harder it is to understand a single thing I say.
A poem about omelets and irrational fear?
This must be "modern" poetry.
Who cares?
I wrote a long poem about rainbows yesterday.

I wonder if somewhere out there in the ether someone is amused.
I can see him now, a young man I don't know.
And he's smiling to himself while I berate myself.
Maybe he thinks I'm funny.
That's the person I like right now, the remote one.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Stay in your Designated Area

If you stay in your area
I'll stay in mine
Pretend to be interested in something...else
Or whatever you do

I'm not bored
All alone here
I like being alone
Just like you

Together we never have more fun
Than from a distance
Forget about me
I don't even know you

Stay in your designated area
Do not attempt to climb out
No digging
Accept the four walls

Hungry for More?

Are you hungry for more?
I'm not
I don't want a second helping
I don't want another round
Cheapened over time, I'm earning it back

Earning it back means--
Not engaging in popularity contests
Only stalking people occasionally on social media
Not capitalizing on what could be sexy
And never under any circumstances selling out

People repeat patterns and I watch from a distance
A safe distance
I don't seek validation
If it comes from hard work I embrace it
I don't want male attention

I know I don't need as many treats
To get me through
I may be down for the count technically
But I am stronger than you
I don't know who is "you"

Maybe it's boring to some
Seriousness--how boring
Conjecture...but no evidence
Welcome to the dungeon
My treasures are keys and pen

Couples surround themselves in hearts
Protected by love
I see them conjoined, walking by
Ah, the safety of codependency
I can't believe it, but I'm not jealous

And what I have now is new to me
I have nature outside my window
I have animals around me
I have simplicity

Where in the past something was so complicated
I have clarity
Preservation of the arts
A candle
To my soul

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

In Response to a Suggestion

I am confronted by my frailty
My abused body is failing me
I look at myself in the mirror
I do not want to see this face
I do not want anyone else to see it either

I get up from one fall
And I fall again
I cannot breathe
I cannot run
I lost my wings

When I walk among the young, beautiful people here
They look at me
Because I am so ugly
People tell me: you are still beautiful
I know the truth

I dream of recovering from my life
Recovering from my life?
How do I recover from life?
And the more I do right
The more consequences I face

I know it's true
If I run from the consequences
I can keep them at bay
Until they overtake me
But I don't think I waited too long

Some people don't make it
If we continue to rot from the inside
Eventually it comes out
And then everyone can see what you've been up to
Right there on the outside

Sometimes being brave is wearing your disability on your sleeve
Like a badge of honor
Or you can hide
Where only a few trusted people see the downfall
I fly high and when I fall I fall for days

And I can fall even when I've done everything right
Because there are people shooting me down
People wonder why I never feel safe
But I've seen the infiltration
And when one dies another replaces him

And my friends are also my competition
And when I am up
They are down
I keep my friends at a distance
That's how I was mostly as a child

It seems like I have an infinite amount of time
But the more I accomplish
The more I reap
The more I store
The more prepared I will be

And perhaps some day I will look in the mirror again
And see a face I can live with
For now I cloak myself in words
The only safe place for me
And my heart is expanding, like a ball of rose quartz

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Human Ends

How do I stumble so close
And find nothing
Where is my dexterity
No, where is my youth

Like my insides
Soon I realize
I am not meant to do much

Inside I consume
Onyx like polished coal
And what I think
Is the least of my worries

Like a live wire
Thrilling with electricity
I speak to few
And yourself

With jailers I call my night
Before a bent peg
How amazing it is to be buffered
When I feel fear in every cell

Bent, red-speckled, labored, time
History does not repeat
Font like mysterium
And it will end

History comes and goes
And your omniscience
Glows and friezes
Betwixt tight rope walkers discs

Your silver medal
Should be platinum
Before hemming her in with dew
As well ask freedom

Be the rule
Dissent houses you
And remember
When I came to you, he came too

Wednesday, May 14, 2014


What do you do when your flawed belief system is shattered?
Well, first you sit in silence, filled with an empty feeling.
Then you realize it has finally happened.
Despite the fact that everyone told you you were wrong no one could convince you.
Then one day like a puff of smoke it vanishes.

There isn't even a gradual progression of letting go of it, or if there was, you didn't notice it.
You wonder if this is the spiritual death other writers talk about.
You feel like you can't go on, because you have nothing to grip onto.
You feel like you have wasted ten years of your life.
You feel like you lost ten years of your life.

Is it true that as long as you don't detach from something you cannot accurately write about it?
I had a lot of theories and stories.
I was inside of them and they were inside of me.
Now I have one story to write and I no longer care about it, because it's a story.
It isn't real in the sense I wanted it to be.

I wanted to prove something to people.
And I wanted to be right.
They put up with me.
Most of them tried to help me.
But I had to come to the conclusion myself.

I am wrong.
I am sorry.
I am sorry I wasted everyone's time including my own.
I am at fault.
And I have to move on with my life, alone.

I am not going to become an overnight success at anything.
And until I find a healthier belief system to latch onto I am like a blank slate.
Gone with my belief system is the feeling I was in love with someone.
I paid a high price for what I believed in, but there were some benefits.
I was told I created some poems that affected people.

I don't expect to write about the person I called "you" anymore.
Because he was a part of a grand delusion and he doesn't really exist.
And I think that is the part I am missing the most.
I may be here for a very long time.
Rebuilding from scratch.

And I don't feel the flames of passion.
Or the turmoil.
Or the fierce belief.
Mostly I just wish I was asleep.
Or that I could escape from reality.

My reality now is devoid of friends.
Of hope.
Of fantasy.
I hope you realize what has happened.
Maybe someday I will learn to have fun again, fun without expense.

Maybe someday I will be capable of loving a real person.
But wasn't it priceless at times?
Even now I hold out a small hope for my future.
That one day I can make something of myself.
The flame is very small and I will have to protect it vigilantly.

It's guttering in the wind.
Strangely I think it almost wants to go out.
What then?
Well, I'll be left alone in the darkness.
A strange place to be alone with a burnt out candle.

And I only have one candle which is mine.
I can't go and sit by someone else's candle.
It's not mine.
Ben Harper said, "there will always be a light.'
Yes, there will always be, until there is no more.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

May 13th Remember Today

This is a note to myself.
Today is the day I no longer believe in what I believed in for so long.
I expected to feel relieved.
Instead I feel empty.
Perhaps it's because a blank slate can be kind of boring.
Especially since I'm used to everything being flooded.
Even if it is with bad things and negativity.
It's like I sat down at whatever it's called-local coffee shop-and a chapter closed.
I've been waiting for it to close and everyone's been waiting for me to turn over a new leaf.
The leaf is turned, the chapter's closed.
Maybe I'm bored because I have to work.
Maybe I'm bored because I'm boring.
Did your grandmother or whatever ever say that to you?
Someone told me, "If you're bored, maybe you're the boring one."
I was boring until I started expending all my energy being "fucked up."
I put a lot into it and a lot of people tried to fix the situation.
In the end I realize being bored or boring is infinitely safer and better for everyone.
And in this boring state of mind I am a much better worker.
I don't promise anything, but even I notice how much headway I can make when I am working instead of being interesting.
And what I thought was "being interesting" was actually really only interesting to myself, since everyone else pretty much thought "she's an idiot."
And I was, probably still am, but since I'm so busy being productive it will most likely show less.
I certainly care what my impression on other people is a lot less.
I'm not so busy trying to get anyone's attention since I have an enormous amount of work to do to get to the place I want to be.
And when I get there, I will stay there for as long as I can.
So in case I forget, I'm writing this as a note to myself, May 13th is the day you forgot what you believed in and people were relieved.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Pelea Anisata

From the slopes of Mount Waialelae
Pelea Anisata you are
I see fragments of you
I see great beauty, strength, and love
Not just your love
But a great love between you and another
Your ancestry is alive in you
And I remember the intensity with which we got to know each other
As though we should take all the time and fill it with our stories
And we saw ghosts of the past and things only we could understand or outright did not understand at all
But we tried to figure it out, quickly, and fiercely
Before long I saw into you and you saw into me
You remind me we are still sisters
Time can pass and years go by
But I know you are there
Here words fail me as I am humbled by you
Perhaps I don't know how to say it very well
The Pelea Anisata I only know from afar
Where angels seek refuge
And you are the star