12:57 a.m.

mangled thoughts
last night, cigarette kisses. alcohol tasted from someone else's tongue. no poison but that which I get from the mouths of others.
and from my heart.
I write letters without your name, just so I can think things through. I won't ever send them. you wouldn't want to read them.
this hurts, for the same reasons it always hurts. I am here, and there are these memories of you. did you know that I can't go by a dunkin' donuts without thinking of you? do you know how many fucking dunkin' donuts there are in rhode island?
a lot.
so there are these memories, and the thought that maybe I fucked up and jumped the gun. I can't take back those words. you will not fight for me. would you fight for anyone?
is it me? is it you? the eternal questions.
I mean, at this point, does it matter? what do I have to do to get over something that was never defined? forget?
I wish you would just write to me, so I could feel like I can write back. I hate these situations I put myself in.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

09:37 p.m.

the question
it ends up like some sort of game: how long can you go without crying? how long can you hold it in? it is minutes, chin quivering. then you steel yourself and it becomes days, then eventually one day you realise it has become your life.
and instead of crying, you are running words through your head and hurrying over to the computer so you can write in your online journal -- the one only you and your husband read.
so instead of crying at the sink, you have panic attacks in the shower. you think, "am I PMSing?" but it's two more weeks until your period. you ache and you can't explain why.
all you know is that you had a hold of something, and now you don't anymore. you're not sure when it slipped away, or what it was. all you know is that you don't have it anymore.
and you would do almost anything to get it back, if only you knew what it was ..

Monday, December 13, 2004

01:05 a.m.

a little spite, a little more
dozing in the car, I dream-thought of poetry. I finally got it right; figured out how to say it all without anything being too trite. got to the point, made it known, understood, perfect. beautiful.
then the car turned, I opened my eyes, and it was gone. like always.
just a tangled mess of words and half-completed phrases attempting to explain something that used to mean so much to me. more than words. more than explanations.
it was phone conversations while I was in the kitchen; trampoline-jumping; words and actions I'd thought were just for me. it was so many things I've already expressed and talked about, but for once it didn't sound trite or pained. in my head, it all made sense. it was beautiful. it was fine.
it would have helped people understand. who? I don't know. but maybe it would have made what I'm going through now a little easier. what I put myself through just to feel. to love.
it was something about honeyed words (and I had a lot of trouble with that phrase, because I'm vegan, and also because it's so overused -- but I made it work with this imagery, about being a fly stuck in those words, just getting more and more mired, about all my senses being overwhelmed by the words, until there was nothing I could do about it but let them overtake me).
I know I only think about it now because of the close ties I've been breaking. I ran away from my hometown to escape so much shit, but I found it followed me (because it is me). repeating my own mistakes.
I don't think I'll ever be free of them. just like, since I could even think about writing, I've always thought of the perfect way to describe something exactly when I wasn't able to write it down. or I dream of it, then clutch frantically at the wisps. but it's never the same. the words are always changed.
something tells me it would never turn out as perfect as it was in my head anyway. words have a way of cheapening sentiment.
I miss you so much sometimes. but at this point I can't even think of anything I could say. and I know I'd just be disappointed.
maybe it's better I couldn't write the poem. maybe it's better that this all turned out the way it did. someday maybe I'll thank you for it.
today, though, I can think of nothing I'd rather do less.
except remember.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

09:40 p.m.

echoes of memories
when I was single, my ex-eventual fiance and I went out to a diner one night. we sat in the smoking section, hoping to meet interesting people. in walked dash.
"look, a punk," my ex-eventual fiance said.
and he was. we bonded. dash smoked. we flirted.
out to the parking lot, me, dash, his friend, and my ex-eventual fiance. later, my ex said that I'd met my match in dash. and maybe I had.
he kissed me, leaning up against a car, all cigarette smokey breath and teasing. because of dash, cigarette-tainted breath has taken on a sexy quality. what was once repulsive is now alluring. not the smell, just the taste of it on someone else's mouth.
everyone from that night is gone now, at least to me. dash and I never managed to keep in touch past two conversations online. my ex removed himself totally from my life. I can't even remember dash's friend's name.
I don't know if I'd even remembered it by the time I got home that night.

Wednesday, December 8, 2004

10:07 p.m.

time again
I try to find solace in the love that I have, and the realisation that it is already better than I deserve. why do I continue to search for more?
I don't want to play the victim, or the obsesser, or anything that I don't feel is me. yet I can't help but note the emptiness, the loss. loss of what? my poor perception?
maybe the hollowness was there all along, just covered by a layer of desire. my needs began to hinge again on an external source. experience has taught me not to be so foolish, so why was I?
at least it was caught early on, before the massive attachment could adhere. I hope.
let the deadening begin.

Sunday, December 5, 2004

06:41 p.m.

old wishes
when I was 17, I told my boyfriend at the time that I wanted to be the kind of girl that leaves an impression. someone that walks into a room and becomes ingrained in a guy's memory. I wanted to be someone that a person would remember, someone they would desire secretly, painfully. eyes that haunted, a face that could not be erased. someone they would never forget nor possess.
he said, how do you know you aren't that already?
I don't.
but I have a pretty good idea.

Sunday, December 5, 2004

06:34 p.m.

from a conversation:
me: I've started thinking I should make it a personal goal to fall in love with an many inconvenient people as possible, rather than just letting it happen. because then at least it feels like I have some sort of control over things
him: that is maybe a good approach
me: I dunno, it's like being on a boat that's being drawn into a whirlpool, and thinking, "fuck, might as well just steer it in there since I'm going to end up there any way"
him: it is like being in a boat in a whirlpool and saying, fuck, i think my new goal is to get sucked into whirlpools

Sunday, December 5, 2004

08:03 p.m.

fragments just for you
something lost. melancholy the colour of blue. for a moment I understood just how little I know, how much there is yet to learn; then I lost it.
inexplicable loneliness -- inexplicable in that it's impossible to put into words, but also in that the origin is unknown. if not unknown, then unacknowledged.
an overwhelming desire to write, to create, to cry, to break down, to be held, to be elsewhere, to transcend. to find where I belong and stay there. accepted. useful. equal. amazing.
the need for clarity and uncluttered appearances? never met. never will be. get rid of everything and the clutter remains. it's internal and eternal and a constant struggle to arrange and contain.
can I pull myself together long enough to make things work? will I figure out what I need? do I really need anything more than what I have?
the ability to love others simultaneously. it seems both foreign and obvious at the same time. what is love? why is it so important to me? why does it get easier to fall into after each heart break? am I trying to heal myself with the same poison that hurt me?
how much sense does this make?
same as always, same as always.

Friday, December 3, 2004

10:29 p.m.

blah blah blah
it's that game again --
I woke with his cheek cupped in my hand, inches from my face. his eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. I moved, moving him, and he woke.
I left.
so scared to get too close, frightened I'll lose this blossom. just like always, I don't know what to do.
I stumble.
afraid of being too forward, worried I'll be too cautious-- neurosis sets in. I say the wrong things, act the wrong way, wrong wrong wrong.
wrong.
can my pessimism save me? what about cynicism? I've worked so hard to kill it, what if it's all that can get me out of this mostly unscathed?
what the fuck can I do but wait?

Monday, November 29, 2004

10:57 a.m.

take me out of that picture
time killed with photographs. disconnected by a flash. drawn by charcoal fingers. pencilled.
painted, put on the wall, then taken down again. end result completely deviated from the sketch. it's more beautiful now, but the love is lost.
as though it was ever really there at all..
forgiveness found fleetingly, clinged to, tattered. sometimes it is strained and the tears come. most of the time the past can be ignored. most of the time it's fine.
if only that could have happened, this would not have. if only that had been said, this would not have. so many endless hopes, possible "if only"s.
try not to regret. nothing can be done to change the past.
theoretically.
words can only effect perception on events, not actually change them. so well known, it aches.
now I can't even remember where I put all the photographs.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

01:32 p.m.

figgeting
stumbling.
irrelevant dreaming. it's ok. it is.
I will not let this overwhelm me. it isn't. it won't.
I can ignore things just as well as the next person. I can.
I am.
but I wonder what good it all does. what good does it do to write about it? maybe I should just make a clean break ..
after I get my comic books back, of course.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

10:53 p.m.

sometimes pretending makes things real.
I can pretend nothing happened this weekend.
I can pretend I am unaffected.
everything is fine.

Monday, November 8, 2004

01:00 p.m.

tell me
feel something, write about it. does this help or does it just propogate the feeling? am I hurting myself more by spewing out these words or does it help to bring me closure?
I become so obsessed by beauty and creation that I grasp any chance I can to express those ideals. what good does it do? any?
or am I just reminding myself of things I should forget, things about people that have left me, emotions I'd pushed from my forethought, drama I'd almost gotten over?
there have been so many questions lately. when will there be answers?

Monday, November 8, 2004

02:19 p.m.

zen and the art of ___
is this acceptance?
I have a bad habit of reading emails over after I've already sent them.
I miss people that were never mine.
I haven't changed as much as I thought I had -- I just go back and forth between two personas. they are gradually merging into one.
I never really believed in love at first sight. retrospect sometimes teaches otherwise.
there were people in my life that once were so important I couldn't imagine a day passing without them. they are gone from me now and I can't imagine a day when they will be back.
there are people that I never thought would be close to me that I feel lost without now.
there are people I thought would be bigger than the world to me who have just faded away.
my priorities shift. my desires die. I touched innocence again last night. it had been so long I'd forgotten how good it felt to kiss someone just to kiss them.
I've forgotten so many things. I take so much for granted. people. memories. possessions. places. relationships.
sometimes I miss being alone just so I can feel the relief of finding someone. that melancholy is not as insistent as it used to be. I feel so close to something, but I can't name it.
it's a face and a feeling and a chance that I have my fingertips on. I know it's slipping away but it feels so good for now.
I can forgive myself for these mistakes. I can forgive them for making them.
for now. how long does anything last?
how long is love?

Sunday, November 7, 2004

12:02 p.m.

introspective blah blah blah
we'd hung out twice but already I'd made long term plans. nothing serious, no time line, but more like a, "we should do this and this and this." it was mostly him mentioning things, but I took it all to heart.
now he says he quit his job because he was going to get fired anyway. he feels like a clock on the wall -- the hands keep moving but he's going nowhere. then he talks about how he's going to start dealing pot because it makes easy money. meanwhile my mind is screaming, "what the fuck are you doing?" but I just say, "oh."
I see so much potential in people as I watch them fall. these things used to bother me more, now I just feel sad and turn away. I can't help but feel that I've lost a part of myself every time I see someone else make a stupid mistake while I'm close to them, as though I'm somehow personally responsible.
but I'm not.
everyone is in charge of their own lives. everyone has power over their actions. there is always a way out, or in, or up, or down. I am so tired of people not realising that.
I am so sick of feeling powerless.

Saturday, October 30, 2004

08:49 p.m.

sum me up in one word.
I've been writing poetry again. infrequently, but there it is.
I'm obsessing over a new song, one that shows I acknowledge that there may be a problem with me and not with those that leave me. there is too much of a pattern for the problem to be external.
I don't know how to fix myself and I don't know how to trust people anymore. I am constantly questioning motives. I thought I could trust again but it was in vain.
I was going to buzz my head again because I wanted a change. but that change wouldn't do me any good, I need something internal.
I need to not be me anymore. it doesn't seem to be working out very well.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

01:51 p.m.

an idea
maybe it would be best to just forget all this.
I shouldn't want to remember.

Thursday, October 14, 2004