MY FISTS ARE CLENCHED TIGHT
WHENEVER I WALK INTO A ROOM
I SUSPECT EVERYONE IS OUT TO GET ME
THEY'RE ALL LOOKING FOR A FLAW
LOOKING FOR MY DEEP SECRETS
MY HIDDEN PAIN
MY DEEPEST FEARS
MY EYES ARE WIDE
WHEN I WALK INTO A ROOM
LOOKING OUT FOR WOLVES
SEEKING OUT SERPENTS
HUNTING FOR THE SILVER TONGUES
AND HOLLOW GOLD SOULS
WITH LIPSTICKS AND SUITS
DRINKS AND DRUGS IN HAND
PULLING THEIR PERSONALITIES
OUT OF THEIR ASSES
MAKING IT UP AS THEY GO ALONG
FAKING IT FOR PEOPLE
WHO WONT REMEMBER THEM
IN THE MORNING
MY BODY IS TENSE
WHEN I WALK INTO A ROOM
AWARE OF THESE DEVILS AND ANGELS
EMPTY HUMAN CARCASSES
HIGH OFF THEIR ASSES
SIPPING OUT OF GLASSES
FULL OF SPIRIT
FULL OF SPIT
FULL OF SPITE
FULL OF SHIT
WHEN I WALK INTO A ROOM
I AM AWAKE
I AM ON POINT
BECAUSE I KNOW
HOW VULNERABLE I AM
PAST THE FIRST
LAYER OF FLESH
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Honors Lounge 2010
They've come back from picking up their lunches from their respective eateries.
Three of the five have come back quicker.
The plop down in their chairs and unwrap cellophane from sandwiches. Chip bags pop open, sodas hiss unscrewed, paper is torn off and discarded.
Their mouths open wide to accept the bounty of pre-packaged glory.
Saliva produces quickly, dissolving the hunks of bred and animal flesh macerated by straight white teeth.
The lounge fills with the sounds of actual lip smacking. The air smells like mustard and diet coke.
The second set comes in.
"You guys got back fast."
"Couldn't wait for us?"
They sit and unwrap their packages. Plastic bags rustle in rhythm. Neatly wrapped tin foil housed in plastic domes. A Styrofoam shell is cracked open. The smell of rice, beans and steak floods my head.
"Ugh! I forgot to ask for no beans. I hate black beans! YUCK!"
She closes the lid in disgust.
After a second of reflection she opens the shell and scrapes the beans onto a discarded paper bag.
"Are you... not going to eat those?" My voice rises meekly from within my empty stomach.
Three of the five have come back quicker.
The plop down in their chairs and unwrap cellophane from sandwiches. Chip bags pop open, sodas hiss unscrewed, paper is torn off and discarded.
Their mouths open wide to accept the bounty of pre-packaged glory.
Saliva produces quickly, dissolving the hunks of bred and animal flesh macerated by straight white teeth.
The lounge fills with the sounds of actual lip smacking. The air smells like mustard and diet coke.
The second set comes in.
"You guys got back fast."
"Couldn't wait for us?"
They sit and unwrap their packages. Plastic bags rustle in rhythm. Neatly wrapped tin foil housed in plastic domes. A Styrofoam shell is cracked open. The smell of rice, beans and steak floods my head.
"Ugh! I forgot to ask for no beans. I hate black beans! YUCK!"
She closes the lid in disgust.
After a second of reflection she opens the shell and scrapes the beans onto a discarded paper bag.
"Are you... not going to eat those?" My voice rises meekly from within my empty stomach.
from 2010
Subway cars
Sea of people
Screaming children begging
Tired elders weighed down with plastic bags
Middle aged couples speaking quickly to explain themselves
Skateboard wheels clatter on the floor
All nationalities represented
All states of conciousness
Reading, writing, sleeping, ignoring, going home, going out, going back, leaving for good
Tattoos of every size and tradition
Head phones and head sets
Worried looks
Hopeful eyes
Tension
Exhaustion
Where are they going
What are they waiting for
Sea of people
Screaming children begging
Tired elders weighed down with plastic bags
Middle aged couples speaking quickly to explain themselves
Skateboard wheels clatter on the floor
All nationalities represented
All states of conciousness
Reading, writing, sleeping, ignoring, going home, going out, going back, leaving for good
Tattoos of every size and tradition
Head phones and head sets
Worried looks
Hopeful eyes
Tension
Exhaustion
Where are they going
What are they waiting for
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Sorry Y'all
I have been neglecting this little corner of my life and for that I am sorry two fold.
Sorry for you and for me.
I have been working very hard on my zines (which is great!) but because I want these stories to be appear in print format I hesitate to put them up online.
Also... I am not writing much poetry. Which is also sad. I am writing stories. Which is good. But poetry is how this anxiety ridden too tense brain is able to spill out her guts with out needing to arrange them.
If you are interested in my zines please check out PrettyDirtyPress.etsy.com or message me and I am happy to send you one/trade.
Living in my old room the memories and stories flow through me.
Living in the city all that flowed was rage and depression.
Both fuel me. Neither is worse. But neither is enough.
Sorry for you and for me.
I have been working very hard on my zines (which is great!) but because I want these stories to be appear in print format I hesitate to put them up online.
Also... I am not writing much poetry. Which is also sad. I am writing stories. Which is good. But poetry is how this anxiety ridden too tense brain is able to spill out her guts with out needing to arrange them.
If you are interested in my zines please check out PrettyDirtyPress.etsy.com or message me and I am happy to send you one/trade.
Living in my old room the memories and stories flow through me.
Living in the city all that flowed was rage and depression.
Both fuel me. Neither is worse. But neither is enough.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Better?
I want to be better.
But what does that mean?
What does that include?
Better to whom?
Because isn't that what this conflict is about?
Am I getting better for them or for me?
Am I this way because I don't want to get better?
What is the problem?
I'm the problem.
That's for sure.
But not all of me.
I can't all be wrong.
I can't all be bad.
I can't be like this forever.
I want to fix myself.
But I am holding myself back.
Because, who will I be if I am not broken?
But what does that mean?
What does that include?
Better to whom?
Because isn't that what this conflict is about?
Am I getting better for them or for me?
Am I this way because I don't want to get better?
What is the problem?
I'm the problem.
That's for sure.
But not all of me.
I can't all be wrong.
I can't all be bad.
I can't be like this forever.
I want to fix myself.
But I am holding myself back.
Because, who will I be if I am not broken?
Early Morning on the S Train
I've got on a huge overstuffed backpack
A tote bag with an image of a woman slicing off her own nipple
A large triple shot espresso in one hand
And a bagel with peanut butter and
a half of a banana smushed inbetween
I've got peanut butter all over my hands
Snot is dripping from my face
And I just keep looking
for a woman in a fur coat.
MAKING FRIENDS WHEREVER I GO
:) :) :)
A tote bag with an image of a woman slicing off her own nipple
A large triple shot espresso in one hand
And a bagel with peanut butter and
a half of a banana smushed inbetween
I've got peanut butter all over my hands
Snot is dripping from my face
And I just keep looking
for a woman in a fur coat.
MAKING FRIENDS WHEREVER I GO
:) :) :)
Thursday, May 15, 2014
2012, The Buzzcocks and Me
In 2012 I did a thing.
The Buzzcocks have a song that goes, "WHAT DO I GET?" and then lists things to create a catchy chorus. It is a damn good song and part of the punk anthem pantheon.
I was going out drinking pretty much every night in 2012 and carted around a notebook and pen. At the peak of my self loathing I would make lists. I am a very good list maker. It started off with the above phrase from The Buzzcocks and then a list of things that were happening to me at that moment, had happened in moments past, or were remarks on general moments of life that reoccurred and created my current reality. Here are two I found, more to come:
WHAT DO I GET?
- I get drunk
- I get missed connections
- I get far away glances that lead to nowhere
- I get a feeling in my gut
- I get a sense of dread
- I get a sense I am too chicken shit to say anything
- I am too chicken shit not to order another drink
WHAT DO I GET?
- NERVOUS
- GIDDY
- OVERLY CONFIDENT (and then insecure)
- INTROVERTED (why do you think I've got this pad and pen wherever I go?)
- TONGUE TIED
- FIDGETY
- DRUNK (really really drunk)
The Buzzcocks have a song that goes, "WHAT DO I GET?" and then lists things to create a catchy chorus. It is a damn good song and part of the punk anthem pantheon.
I was going out drinking pretty much every night in 2012 and carted around a notebook and pen. At the peak of my self loathing I would make lists. I am a very good list maker. It started off with the above phrase from The Buzzcocks and then a list of things that were happening to me at that moment, had happened in moments past, or were remarks on general moments of life that reoccurred and created my current reality. Here are two I found, more to come:
WHAT DO I GET?
- I get drunk
- I get missed connections
- I get far away glances that lead to nowhere
- I get a feeling in my gut
- I get a sense of dread
- I get a sense I am too chicken shit to say anything
- I am too chicken shit not to order another drink
WHAT DO I GET?
- NERVOUS
- GIDDY
- OVERLY CONFIDENT (and then insecure)
- INTROVERTED (why do you think I've got this pad and pen wherever I go?)
- TONGUE TIED
- FIDGETY
- DRUNK (really really drunk)
Some stuff I wrote in a notebook two years ago
Sitting pretty? Really?
Feels more like- I am a curiosity.
Like I'm behind glass on a shelf.
On display for ticket holders.
WHO AM I REALLY DOING THIS FOR?
I might be enjoying this-
maybe, I THINK
maybe, I will just have another drink
and stop this analyzing
IT GETS ME NO WHERE.
Feels more like- I am a curiosity.
Like I'm behind glass on a shelf.
On display for ticket holders.
WHO AM I REALLY DOING THIS FOR?
I might be enjoying this-
maybe, I THINK
maybe, I will just have another drink
and stop this analyzing
IT GETS ME NO WHERE.
16 June 2012
The graffiti reads:
"We want our bodega back!"
"No more yuppies in NoLita!"
People snap pictures.
Buy more clothes.
Buy more desserts.
I remember the hub-bub of SoHo.
Going to Mom's studio to play under the desks.
Whispering my adventures to Peter, my bunny buddy.
Building houses out of discarded paper drafts and design refuse.
I remember walking with Daddy or Sage to go pick up lunch for the office.
Skipping over the cracks and hopskotching over the cobble stone streets.
Eating all the bread samples at Dean and Deluca.
Looking at the displays of thickly iced cookies and heavy sweets.
Hoping I deserved one.
I remember it being crowded.
Always people on the block.
Selling puppets, artwork, bangles and beads laid out on scraps of velvet.
I remember everyone in a hurry.
I remember my sandals.
I remember the sun in my eyes.
I remember the park on Mott street.
I remember...
I don't remember the garbage.
Or the rudeness.
I don't remember all the big stores with long lines.
I don't remember the fat tourists.
I don't remember the entitlement.
I don't remember...
It was there.
I am sure.
It has always been there.
That's New York for you.
No one lives her anymore.
They just buy here.
They buy into the idea of living here.
They like saying the words.
If they really lived here-
they would be just as broken as me.
They would be just as embarrassed as me.
If they really felt the heart beat in the concrete
like I did when I was young
as I do now
this would not be.
"We want our bodega back!"
"No more yuppies in NoLita!"
People snap pictures.
Buy more clothes.
Buy more desserts.
I remember the hub-bub of SoHo.
Going to Mom's studio to play under the desks.
Whispering my adventures to Peter, my bunny buddy.
Building houses out of discarded paper drafts and design refuse.
I remember walking with Daddy or Sage to go pick up lunch for the office.
Skipping over the cracks and hopskotching over the cobble stone streets.
Eating all the bread samples at Dean and Deluca.
Looking at the displays of thickly iced cookies and heavy sweets.
Hoping I deserved one.
I remember it being crowded.
Always people on the block.
Selling puppets, artwork, bangles and beads laid out on scraps of velvet.
I remember everyone in a hurry.
I remember my sandals.
I remember the sun in my eyes.
I remember the park on Mott street.
I remember...
I don't remember the garbage.
Or the rudeness.
I don't remember all the big stores with long lines.
I don't remember the fat tourists.
I don't remember the entitlement.
I don't remember...
It was there.
I am sure.
It has always been there.
That's New York for you.
No one lives her anymore.
They just buy here.
They buy into the idea of living here.
They like saying the words.
If they really lived here-
they would be just as broken as me.
They would be just as embarrassed as me.
If they really felt the heart beat in the concrete
like I did when I was young
as I do now
this would not be.
10:30 AM to New York City (2010)
All on board.
Packed in like eggs.
Each in our own styrafoam pocket.
Just a little too close to each other.
Mother and her child.
Loud sassy women, "Hoooeoo let me telll you!"
French couple with too much luggage.
Kid on his cell phone in a heated argument.
Old man mumbling to himself about raw meat and flesh.
Turned around in seats making conversation.
Snippets waft through the bus.
"Its the fif' amendment: I can say what I want."
"What do you mean we gotta stop in DC?"
"I paid to snore on this bus."
The drivers voice booms and crackles through the bus
"I WANNA WELCOME YALL TO THE GREY HOUND BUS FROM VIRGINA EXPRESS TO NEW YORK. WE WILL ARRIVE AT 5:30 AM AT PORT AUTHORITY."
I'm already nervously picking at my face
peeling off scabs
scratching my head
getting an inch of dandruff
under my nails
I'm so tired and dirty
I want to sleep in my own bed
clean my own house
hang out with my own crazy roomates
mine mine mine
selfish?
no
just exhausted
from being away so long
vacations are nice
but I need a reality check.
And a clean pair of underwear.
Packed in like eggs.
Each in our own styrafoam pocket.
Just a little too close to each other.
Mother and her child.
Loud sassy women, "Hoooeoo let me telll you!"
French couple with too much luggage.
Kid on his cell phone in a heated argument.
Old man mumbling to himself about raw meat and flesh.
Turned around in seats making conversation.
Snippets waft through the bus.
"Its the fif' amendment: I can say what I want."
"What do you mean we gotta stop in DC?"
"I paid to snore on this bus."
The drivers voice booms and crackles through the bus
"I WANNA WELCOME YALL TO THE GREY HOUND BUS FROM VIRGINA EXPRESS TO NEW YORK. WE WILL ARRIVE AT 5:30 AM AT PORT AUTHORITY."
I'm already nervously picking at my face
peeling off scabs
scratching my head
getting an inch of dandruff
under my nails
I'm so tired and dirty
I want to sleep in my own bed
clean my own house
hang out with my own crazy roomates
mine mine mine
selfish?
no
just exhausted
from being away so long
vacations are nice
but I need a reality check.
And a clean pair of underwear.
Just One More...
ANOTHER NIGHT
ANOTHER FUCK
ANOTHER DRUG
ANOTHER DRINK
ANOTHER WASTED FIFTY BUX
ANOTHER STORM
ANOTHER LIGHTENING STRIKE
ANOTHER POUND OF FLESH
ANOTHER CHOICE
ANOTHER CHANCE TO MAKE IT
ANOTHER WAVE
ANOTHER CRASH
ANOTHER BLAST
ANOTHER NIGHT FEELING
HELPLESS AND UNSURE
ANOTHER BAG
ANOTHER BEER
ANOTHER BODY TO WAKE UP TO
ANOTHER STORM TO RAGE
AGAINST
ANOTHER YOU.
ANOTHER FUCK
ANOTHER DRUG
ANOTHER DRINK
ANOTHER WASTED FIFTY BUX
ANOTHER STORM
ANOTHER LIGHTENING STRIKE
ANOTHER POUND OF FLESH
ANOTHER CHOICE
ANOTHER CHANCE TO MAKE IT
ANOTHER WAVE
ANOTHER CRASH
ANOTHER BLAST
ANOTHER NIGHT FEELING
HELPLESS AND UNSURE
ANOTHER BAG
ANOTHER BEER
ANOTHER BODY TO WAKE UP TO
ANOTHER STORM TO RAGE
AGAINST
ANOTHER YOU.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Friday, December 27, 2013
July 3rd waiting for the J train
Some asshat in the bar kept asking me what I was trying to say with my poetry.
I told him I wasn't trying to say anything except for what was on the page.
He did not like that.
He wanted me to have some bigger picture, some over arching theme to my work and wouldn't let it go the whole night.
I told him to get fucked.
I told him I wasn't trying to say anything except for what was on the page.
He did not like that.
He wanted me to have some bigger picture, some over arching theme to my work and wouldn't let it go the whole night.
I told him to get fucked.
June 10th 2013 1:21 AM at Croc Roc for lil joey's shift
I should not be drinking this much
I should not be thinking these thoughts
Keep your knees together
You know it won't happen ever
Keep on sipping and slurping
Keep on dreaming and thinking
Of how sweet it could be
But how bitter it would be
Would it be? Does it have to be?
Isn't there a chance it will be fine?
Not only fine- but delicious and divine?
Something you desire, can also be something you deserve.
Why does it have to be wrong?
The worst that could happen is you sleep alone.
And reminisce upon kisses you can savor like sugar cubes
The sweetness of a passion so young
Tender buds of may
Who fuck the night away
A fleeting fury that now resides in dreams
You are allowed to imagine,
Allowed to dream.
Allowed to remember,
allowed to surrender.
There are worse things in this world
Than opening your skin
to allow another in.
You could sit alone, pacing your mind
watching nothing unfold.
I should not be thinking these thoughts
Keep your knees together
You know it won't happen ever
Keep on sipping and slurping
Keep on dreaming and thinking
Of how sweet it could be
But how bitter it would be
Would it be? Does it have to be?
Isn't there a chance it will be fine?
Not only fine- but delicious and divine?
Something you desire, can also be something you deserve.
Why does it have to be wrong?
The worst that could happen is you sleep alone.
And reminisce upon kisses you can savor like sugar cubes
The sweetness of a passion so young
Tender buds of may
Who fuck the night away
A fleeting fury that now resides in dreams
You are allowed to imagine,
Allowed to dream.
Allowed to remember,
allowed to surrender.
There are worse things in this world
Than opening your skin
to allow another in.
You could sit alone, pacing your mind
watching nothing unfold.
It's not me, it's you
YOU, are not a nice person.
Especially in relation to me.
There is only so much a person can take,
And I've been taking it
With a grain of salt
And a spoon full of sugar.
Now
My blood pressure is through the roof
And I've got no feet from the diabetes.
Really,
It's not me- It's you.
I've done as much as I can
I've taken all I can carry
I am out of ideas and my back is broken
So it is time for me to tell you
To fuck off and die
And for me to find
Something else
Better or worse
Only time will tell
But as of right now
It's not you- of that I am sure as hell.
Especially in relation to me.
There is only so much a person can take,
And I've been taking it
With a grain of salt
And a spoon full of sugar.
Now
My blood pressure is through the roof
And I've got no feet from the diabetes.
Really,
It's not me- It's you.
I've done as much as I can
I've taken all I can carry
I am out of ideas and my back is broken
So it is time for me to tell you
To fuck off and die
And for me to find
Something else
Better or worse
Only time will tell
But as of right now
It's not you- of that I am sure as hell.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Dec 18 2010 ABC No Rio
"What is your passion?"Giuero from Jerusalem asked.
Could he read the despair on my face?
Right now my passions are few. I struggle to wake up in the morning. Knowing that futility awaits.
I used to find things interesting.
I used to see glory in the sunshine.
I used to count the stars.
My imagination fails me these days.
I am unable to find comfort in living.
"My passion ... is staying alive."
Could he read the despair on my face?
Right now my passions are few. I struggle to wake up in the morning. Knowing that futility awaits.
I used to find things interesting.
I used to see glory in the sunshine.
I used to count the stars.
My imagination fails me these days.
I am unable to find comfort in living.
"My passion ... is staying alive."
Wet paper
Breath like crumpled cellophane
Skin pale and wet
Joints stiff and tight
Itchy dry eyes
Tissue paper thin skinned lips
Crack and tear
with each
raspt breath
Slow death rattles
Shuttering and shivering- frozen
Blistering to the touch
Bathed in sweat
From hallucinogenic dreams
and too real realities
Every inch inflicted
Every cell infected
You will die here
Bone marrow boils
Brain matter burns
Each squishy pink organ
Hardens to grey concrete
You will die here
Skin pale and wet
Joints stiff and tight
Itchy dry eyes
Tissue paper thin skinned lips
Crack and tear
with each
raspt breath
Slow death rattles
Shuttering and shivering- frozen
Blistering to the touch
Bathed in sweat
From hallucinogenic dreams
and too real realities
Every inch inflicted
Every cell infected
You will die here
Bone marrow boils
Brain matter burns
Each squishy pink organ
Hardens to grey concrete
You will die here
M.K. Daydream
written sometime in 2010
Its been almost three years since I last saw him
His face remains the same in my mind
The same part in his messy golden wheat hair
The same sweetly sneering smile
The same green glass eyes
He still wears shirts from old jobs
Pants with frayed edges and tears from being worn in day after day
His shoes held together with miles of electrical tape
A faded bandana around his neck
His neck- which I've seen so many times before
It hangs in front of me
I reach out to touch the thin soft flesh of his jugular
My fingers run around the rim of his clavicle
My hand falls to his chest- a place I have only seen while drunk and socially naked
I had always dreamed of being held close to him
Breathing hard against his chest
Inhaling the scent of his sweat
Its been almost three years since I last saw him
His face remains the same in my mind
The same part in his messy golden wheat hair
The same sweetly sneering smile
The same green glass eyes
He still wears shirts from old jobs
Pants with frayed edges and tears from being worn in day after day
His shoes held together with miles of electrical tape
A faded bandana around his neck
His neck- which I've seen so many times before
It hangs in front of me
I reach out to touch the thin soft flesh of his jugular
My fingers run around the rim of his clavicle
My hand falls to his chest- a place I have only seen while drunk and socially naked
I had always dreamed of being held close to him
Breathing hard against his chest
Inhaling the scent of his sweat
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