Wake up.*
Did you feel that just now? The quaking? I mean, I know I felt it. It came from inside of me.
There it is again.
I think that's my soul. It shakes when it's done wrong. It gets selfish sometimes, wants attention. It cries. I can't really control it. I've tried. Took medicine to keep it in check, keep it quiet.
See, it feels the need to be in control especially when it's out of control.
My soul suffers from guilt and remorse often. It's then when it quakes, I think. Like right now.
She's upset that she cried. She's upset that she hurt you.
*Inspired by a friend's tattoo.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
A kiss.
Take me in. Let me dance upon your pink tongue and white teeth.
Enjoy me. Let yourself loose and love me.
Swallow me. Let us be the same being even if it's only for a moment.
Enjoy me. Let yourself loose and love me.
Swallow me. Let us be the same being even if it's only for a moment.
Friday, June 11, 2010
You said I must eat so many lemmons because I am so bitter.
The title is simply due to my Kate Nash kick; thank you, Pandora radio.
I'm going to try and free associate some paragraphs, just for fun.
I want to write again; I want to feel lady creativity beat through my veins, cloud my vision, fill my lungs, and rock my stomach again. I miss her. Sure, the bitch punches like Tyson, breaks bones like a car accident, aches like a heartbreak, but she's alive. She forces one to notice the world around her, breathe in the happiness and sadness and indifference of the world by way of covering your mouth with her cold but soft hand.
I close my eyes and wait for her to step into my body, take over my insides and abuse my motor skills. When she's in control, one can taste sunshine. One can smell inspiration. One can shiver in the heat and sweat in the cold.
Something unsnaps. I hear it. The back of my head opens like the red door of a townhouse, easily but with a creak which quietly indicates how old the home is. She slips inside, simultaneously filling me with worry and relief. Her delicate, cold fingers carefully run against the gray walls, and she kisses the backs of my green eyes with her warm lips.
I detect her whispers and feel my arms begin to relax as she begins to take over. My stomach tightens and shoulders roll back; I stand slightly taller and breathe in a sweet scent I could only label as "love."
My hips shift, and I take in a shallow breath. Creativity likes to abuse her powers; she tugs all sorts of strings so one doesn't know whether she's coming or going. A moment of euphoria shakes my body, and I notice Creativity's lips and fingers slowly making their way down the inside of my body, heading for the location where love and wanting confusingly become interchangeable.
I shiver loudly and pull a breath into my throat when her fingers graze my most intimate point. She continues to explore the walls of my stone body until she reaches my feet and tickles them.
I laugh. I open my eyes. I put down my pen.
The first three pages of a love story sit upon my desk, waiting to be reread.
I'm going to try and free associate some paragraphs, just for fun.
I want to write again; I want to feel lady creativity beat through my veins, cloud my vision, fill my lungs, and rock my stomach again. I miss her. Sure, the bitch punches like Tyson, breaks bones like a car accident, aches like a heartbreak, but she's alive. She forces one to notice the world around her, breathe in the happiness and sadness and indifference of the world by way of covering your mouth with her cold but soft hand.
I close my eyes and wait for her to step into my body, take over my insides and abuse my motor skills. When she's in control, one can taste sunshine. One can smell inspiration. One can shiver in the heat and sweat in the cold.
Something unsnaps. I hear it. The back of my head opens like the red door of a townhouse, easily but with a creak which quietly indicates how old the home is. She slips inside, simultaneously filling me with worry and relief. Her delicate, cold fingers carefully run against the gray walls, and she kisses the backs of my green eyes with her warm lips.
I detect her whispers and feel my arms begin to relax as she begins to take over. My stomach tightens and shoulders roll back; I stand slightly taller and breathe in a sweet scent I could only label as "love."
My hips shift, and I take in a shallow breath. Creativity likes to abuse her powers; she tugs all sorts of strings so one doesn't know whether she's coming or going. A moment of euphoria shakes my body, and I notice Creativity's lips and fingers slowly making their way down the inside of my body, heading for the location where love and wanting confusingly become interchangeable.
I shiver loudly and pull a breath into my throat when her fingers graze my most intimate point. She continues to explore the walls of my stone body until she reaches my feet and tickles them.
I laugh. I open my eyes. I put down my pen.
The first three pages of a love story sit upon my desk, waiting to be reread.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Phoenix
Rebirth.
Isn't that the metaphor for spring? Then what is the metaphor for summer? Besides hot and sticky? No. Not metaphors. Adjectives.
I'm sitting at work, completing the meaningless tasks part-time employees finish when there is nothing else to do. So, whenever the page that I'm updating loads, I quickly type a line here.
My mind has been drifting away with thoughts of metaphors, absolutes, love, family, and summer.
Brooklyn is an absolute for me. I belong here like I have never belonged anywhere. I feel it in my bones, in the salt of my sweat, in my dyed and damaged hair follicles. But with that absolute comes other absolutes. My right contact will always dry quickly; it's done this since the July day in 2009 I moved here, probably due to the pollution. I will always crave Mexican food. I will always try my best to keep my utilities at a low cost.
But in this transition and assimilation to New York, I've also begun to realize how we react to those souls who come in contact with us and the purpose they serve in our lives.
My roommate. I don't think there are words invented for an unbreakable soul such as hers. She's been the best roommate I've had, and she's been there for me when I needed her most. I've gotten stronger and have learned a lot about myself and about life because of her. I know this seems vague and perhaps a bit cliche, but it's true.
My first love. He was there for the transition, the original move. He was there to break my heart. One day, I should thank him for doing so; I learned that I can survive heartbreak. Unfortunately, my damned Scorpio attitude might never allow me to speak to him again. And that's fine by me.
My new friend. The Russian Jew. She's this wonderful, brightly glowing beauty who managed to sneak into my life and into my heart. Although she has a bit of a cynical side, she is my positive energy. She keeps me in balance, and together we learned how to let go of the past, of the men who no longer wanted us. I'm so lucky.
My new boy. He came out of nowhere like a loud, crazy, blue-eyed, confident cartoon character in an old Looney Tunes airing on The WB. He takes the train 40 min to visit me after he's finished with work at 9:45 PM, even if for only a few hours. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me feel loved again in that way only a man can. He makes sure to take me from Manhattan to Brooklyn in a cab late at night, even though he can't afford it. I see beauty inside of him. And I think I may love him.
I have to work, and I have much more to say, but I know that this is a new beginning. I know that although we make our own destinies, everything happens for a reason. God only wants to make us stronger. I know it.
<3
Isn't that the metaphor for spring? Then what is the metaphor for summer? Besides hot and sticky? No. Not metaphors. Adjectives.
I'm sitting at work, completing the meaningless tasks part-time employees finish when there is nothing else to do. So, whenever the page that I'm updating loads, I quickly type a line here.
My mind has been drifting away with thoughts of metaphors, absolutes, love, family, and summer.
Brooklyn is an absolute for me. I belong here like I have never belonged anywhere. I feel it in my bones, in the salt of my sweat, in my dyed and damaged hair follicles. But with that absolute comes other absolutes. My right contact will always dry quickly; it's done this since the July day in 2009 I moved here, probably due to the pollution. I will always crave Mexican food. I will always try my best to keep my utilities at a low cost.
But in this transition and assimilation to New York, I've also begun to realize how we react to those souls who come in contact with us and the purpose they serve in our lives.
My roommate. I don't think there are words invented for an unbreakable soul such as hers. She's been the best roommate I've had, and she's been there for me when I needed her most. I've gotten stronger and have learned a lot about myself and about life because of her. I know this seems vague and perhaps a bit cliche, but it's true.
My first love. He was there for the transition, the original move. He was there to break my heart. One day, I should thank him for doing so; I learned that I can survive heartbreak. Unfortunately, my damned Scorpio attitude might never allow me to speak to him again. And that's fine by me.
My new friend. The Russian Jew. She's this wonderful, brightly glowing beauty who managed to sneak into my life and into my heart. Although she has a bit of a cynical side, she is my positive energy. She keeps me in balance, and together we learned how to let go of the past, of the men who no longer wanted us. I'm so lucky.
My new boy. He came out of nowhere like a loud, crazy, blue-eyed, confident cartoon character in an old Looney Tunes airing on The WB. He takes the train 40 min to visit me after he's finished with work at 9:45 PM, even if for only a few hours. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me feel loved again in that way only a man can. He makes sure to take me from Manhattan to Brooklyn in a cab late at night, even though he can't afford it. I see beauty inside of him. And I think I may love him.
I have to work, and I have much more to say, but I know that this is a new beginning. I know that although we make our own destinies, everything happens for a reason. God only wants to make us stronger. I know it.
<3
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
