Michelle

She laughed at me as I said it,
my dramatics were ridiculous, my ferocity at something
fictional deserved a chuckle,
but what must it have been like for her?
"Right before a person dies they show you who they really are."
In the end his brilliance opened the bottle
and left him naked on the floor.
But brilliance will not choke and sputter as you strangle it to death,
it will not weep for you,
it will not comfort you.
I pretend to understand human suffering
acoss every face
to convince myself
of what I am not capable of.
But I'm only one hard shove away
from Harvey Dent--
Scarred and Broken
and talking to myself on a street corner
with a bullet I'm saving for Russiann Roulette
resting safely in my dirty cotton pocket.

seventeen days!!!!!!!

Not Pretty or Polite

a broken egg spills down my girl uterus
making its way into the bath
amongst gold flecks,
tension, and salt.
and I think, why not this?
why not a sun-burned thigh stopped
halfway at the knee
like a cup of brown sugar
tamped down and ready for baking?
East of Eden lies on the white tile floor
--poetry amid dirt and water--
reminding me of a man
who seemed to ward off all things excess and untrue
like a firewalker untouched by the flame.
life is poetry,
he seemed to say with every simple phrase.
He scorched the truth out of the wilderness
with grace.

under a banyon tree airbending

There is a difference between letting life take you where it will and laying down in the hot summer sun so it can ravage you. there is a difference between lying helplessly on the ground and standing solidly on your own two 18 year old female, writer actor feet. The commas do not sit in their own places anymore-a hummingbird flies swiftly out my window among lavender and the last of the bees. I amthinking, thinking, thinking, let ting it all simmer in my mind--like a metaphor at 2 am. so here is a poem to Ani. I picked up my brother's guitar and strummed hoping to hear her voice in the hum, hoping to reconcile her eyes with her words. the guitar like her heart--the glue that holds her small frame together. It isn't a good poem and it isn't what I meant, but it's something. Try again. Fail again. Fail Better. resides in my shoe. here's to all those who've failed, all those who've tried. all those who stand in the summer sun and make choices about their lives. what shalll I do today? sit at home aimlessly watch tv until its time to go to work...so no no non 0nononononononononononnonononononononononooononononononononononnonononn here's to saving the world one inarticulate, heartfelt word at a time. If I cut a hole in the air with a jacknife would I see it's soul there, or would there be a black hole there?