I remember May '12 and April '13

I skipped last year in a white hot heat of illusion

***

I'm taking about the Peruvian, the rockstar, the addict

and wondering how I find the same people in different places, faces

falling down the same rabbit holes.

It's like a goddamn nervous tick, this need to give up my heart to something that can never, ever be.

***

I tell myself, this morning when I wake up, that I will not, not, not answer the calls that (most likely) will never come

and put on my headphones and get deep into my books.

***

At least, this time, I know what to expect, I know what I feel and why. I dream in multiples and the layers of reality that just tip the edge of my forgotten self. I forge dreams out of silk.

***

Solitude, you worthy companion, ease my soul.

Bump in the Night

It's warm here. An early, false spring that causes the trees to bud in February. My focus is waning as I count down the weeks left in the term: three, then finals. I am chewing gum and drinking cold brew coffee as I study statistics. I am surprisingly good at stats, especially as I haven't done math in years.

I've been sober now for almost two months. Sober off of booze that is. My brain is still forcibly full of addictive thoughts. What I know is that I tend to fall for people who are borderline manic, full of vitality and dreams. I know this: I fall in love in a moment, with a smell, with the sliver of a dream. I wish: I understood how people work into my heart; I could turn the feels from the intransigent slip of the mind into a concrete structure of daily life.

The space around me impenetrable, I am such a bitch these days. Yet chinks in the chimera allow glimpses of me to be captured, briefly at the top of an inhale.

I see an elevator

I pull the boots
Up by their straps
Of tobacco colored leather

*

My feet fit neatly into the soles

*

All the gods I never knew
see me for who I am
a quiet solitary creature


*

I have moved into the realm of forgotten dreams and work by rote, routine, focus and the patchwork shreds of dignity that I scraped off the sole of your boot. I taste the bitter anguish on your tongue and spit the residue, dirty soap, onto the saturated ground. Watching it roll over and away, forgotten not useful, we're at flood stage and the last thing we need, here, is more moisture.

*

Why, suddenly, am I full of vitriol? Perhaps it is all of the times I've heard someone say, smile; or that I've bitten my tongue until I taste copper and blood; perhaps it is the pain of self-reflection and no longer making excuses for myself, which makes the excuses as a whole thin, paper thin, snowflake fragile, and not at all important.

*

I have no responsibilities to anyone; I have no one to answer to. With no god to answer to, how is morality even relevant?

Pressure Control System

I am about to explode
Time does not heal all wounds

I am not backing down
This goes way the fuck back

I don't give a fuck if you notice my nails and their condition
I don't give a fuck if you have an opinion about my socks

I notice everything twice

I bite my lip 'til I taste blood

The lecturing professor speaks quickly
her vocabulary and hands to punctuate her rapid fire debate

The old fuck man behind me couldn't stop sniggering
when she spoke

Not when the other three male panelists
spoke saying nothing

It takes effort to follow her
Because, you see, some people are capable of entertaining multiple and seemingly contradictory thoughts at the same time

Truly intelligent people are capable of explaining that contradiction

Stupid people, when faced with a challenge, belittle their minds by forcibly, unwillingly admitting that they're out of their depth.

I almost said something about the old fuck
but left him to his wife's sshing and whispers of, stop you're being rude

I wonder if it's okay for me to be rude back
instead, I bit my lip until the flesh gave way to the copper taste of blood tinged saliva

Light Comes In, We Waken

Stirring in the hours before dawn

The building creaks and groans

The arterial pipes pushing heat

I am curled into a ball on the couch

Resting on the edge of sleep

My skin becomes eyes and I feel the sun crest the horizon

Drive home

Sleep

Wake again

under the wire, across the goal

I woke up after having slept fitfully
I turned my bed 180* to sleep in the unslept edge and pulled the clean sheets tight over the corners and the blankets up over the pillows

I played football with some friends and the running around breathing fresh air,
it made me clear in the head

I threw two touchdowns and had four tackles
I may be a girl, but I can through and am quick on my toes

I may be light in my loafers as well