Musings

Maybe if I start again on the talents that come naturally to me, my self esteem might be able to stand up and brush itself off.

Maybe I’ll try that.

“And if I’ve learned anything at all
In this short life of mine it’s this…
If you hear that joy has come to town
Track it down, take a picture and tape it to your eyes.”

Your chest is as big as the biggest brick wall and oh,

your heart is even bigger. Impossibly bigger.

I’m knee high to a grasshopper and I certainly

couldn’t hit the side of a barn, do you know what I mean?

I mean that I’m inadequate. Entirely inadequate.

The place between your neck and your shoulders is where

your smell is born and I would bury myself there

like an ostrich if you weren’t so goddamn solid.

I love how that Journey song gives you goose bumps and

that other song by that other guy brings tears to your eyes.

And speaking of crying, do you remember when you

cried, I mean cried in my arms on your bed?

Because I showed you that poem that reminded you of

your sweetly deceased grandmother.

And I swear I felt our souls touching a little.

Or maybe that was your erection pressing against my thigh.

Lying next to me always seems to give you a boner

no matter what mood you’re in.

I’m always wearing your boxers and you’re always wearing my

mind on your sleeve, how is it that you know what I’m thinking

or feeling or mulling over or dreading so often?

Are you my brother? I think you’re my brother.

But I know you know that incest turns me on. Yeah,

I think you know it and I think

I’m way way too fucked up for you but who cares, right?

Best friends means best friends means, right?

Forever is forever, after all.

Right?

Xanga keeps sending me reminder emails about how they miss me and want me back, etc. Well I checked both of the old Xangas I used to have and found a VERY old poem that brought me back to little bitty me. This is years old. It’s such a shock for me to read something that I’d forgotten I’d ever written.  

homicide

or suicide

i can’t decide

which to commit

and since you died

i’ve been all

sighs and lullabies

and late-night cries

and now i just

can’t seem to

commit

We were watching a PowerPoint about Ireland and it said something like “blah blah each half of Ireland has its own blah blah” and I raised my hand and said “Wait, half? They’re not nearly equal” and he rolled his eyes, this man, he rolled his eyes and said “Fine then. Let me just fix that for you then, Ms. Literal.” I was wrong. He had wrinkles on the back of his shirt, the same wrinkles all the time, didn’t even matter which shirt he wore and they always looked like tiger claws. Like a great big tiger scraped it’s claws diagonally across his back. Neither his wife nor him knew how to iron, I suppose. If the tiger claws had been mine I would have left them too but he wasn’t me, he was a teacherbot who paid no mind to things like that. He always gelled his hair in the exact same fashion, the front bit would turn to the left like a tidal wave and it was always the left and never the right and it was always the same and never different. Until today when he came in with no gel in his hair and an ironed shirt and I wept a little for him because he was entirely gone and I knew my cute, demanding, insistent, tigerclawshirt, tidalwavehair, teacherbot would never return.

I slipped a flower under his door with a Post It that said RIP.

Hey, sunshine. I have stories that would make Satan blush. Maybe we can get together sometime, just the three of us.

I feel pretty when I spell words out loud.

 Rives makes me scream!

I was lying in the backseat, reading my book
and I fell asleep to the sound of
the air conditioner on full blast and the
rain slapping the windshield.
The colors in my dreams were 
faded and old.

     Fire drill. We quickly reported to the dumpsters. Everyone stood in clusters while I faced away, wishing it were winter. In front of me: tall, tall grass in the distance. A naked sky, blushing blue. A telephone pole closer to me, I was focusing on its long shadow and thinking about how to measure the earth with two sticks when I noticed movement on the aforementioned shadow. As if the telephone pole had suddenly grown a hand just to wave at me, briefly. I pulled my eyes away from its dark, gray soul to glance at the very real, solid, wooden structure in front of me. And it was there that my exploring eyes found a bird. Fluttering and looking annoyed as can be. Maybe from the stench, maybe from the noisy kids below. Gray and white bird. I saw a golden flash at the corner of my eyes. Not the sun, not a camera, not lightning but a cat. A collared, yellow striped cat leaping in and out of a ditch. Friends? Conspiracy theory.