They Won’t Love You Less If You Don’t Make A Mess

all the skeletons
sitting quietly in my closet
piled one atop the other
neat and organized
collecting dust in storage

are others
as orderly as mine

or
are they a haphazard mess
femurs and fubulas
tumbling tibias
scattered scapulas
avalanching out in a chaotic cacaophony
whenever someone
merely
jiggles
the knob

not sure
but the idea
bothers me

no

its best to keep
these things
trim and tidy

should a stranger
peek in

They’ll see
only
winter coats
rain boots
and stacks of
nothing
important

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4/16/16

I have too many things going on in my head sometimes. Serious things, ridiculous things – all manner of subjects running around like sugar soaked toddlers, haphazardly and clumsily bumping into each other, making a high holy mess of all I have worked so hard to compartmentalize. And I am powerless to stop what has already begun.

When it’s over (it does eventually wear itself out) there goes everything. All my ideas, opinions, notions, deep introspections, flights of whimsical meandering musings – just trashed and laid out. Passed out amid the broken boxes of what I had once tucked away, never to be bothered with again.

But that happens. It happens all the time. And I am once again set to task with the cleanup of my mind. And this makes me moody. It is not something I can easily explain to my significant other. To my friends. Hell, to myself. I have tried… but the best I’ve come up with is, “My head is messy today.”

Today is not Messy. It is the Day After Messy. I assess, recalibrate the gears of my inner mechanics, and attempt to move forward again. The Day After, I am in a much better state of being. Happy, even. Or as close to happy as I can get. Maybe this makes sense, maybe it doesn’t.

Eh. Just trying to maintain a semblance of sanity. *wink wink*

3/17/16

The other night I danced
No music necessary

My melody instead was
laughter
Chords of my former
younger self
vibrated
around
Me

the person I am
today

And it was beautiful
sweet songs of
charm and charismatic
grace
friendly smiles everywhere
others
creating their own
ballads of the evening.

I couldn’t help but
Dance
To twirl
and
sway
To shimmy
and
shake
To enjoy
the combined symphony of living

It had been so long
I thought I had forgotten
how

The New Year New Diet

20151016_113750-1

I really wanted chocolate.
Maybe even some jolly ranchers.
Candy.
I wanted some fucking candy.

But all I had were apples.
Healthy, crunchy apples.

As I stood in my kitchen,
taking unenthusiastic bites
chewing with resignation
I realized

What a poor substitute.

Like going home drunk and alone.
But still horny.
Having to fight through inebriation
for an unsatisfactory climax.

My apple was a sloppy masturbatory attempt at satiation.

*sigh*

Happy New Year.

Driving South 2011

 

I found this saved in an old folder – I decided to move to San Antonio, Texas in March of 2011. I made the ridiculously long drive from Chicago, Illinois. Sharing is caring – don’t stay at the Ranch Motel i.e. plan ahead. Always make sure there’s gas in your car. Stay away from late night Waffle Houses.

The Drive…In short.

Every state is the longest state when driving alone southward and the only radio stations being picked up by the scan button are either A. Country B. Christ related or C. Classic Rock. You might get lucky and hit that ONE station that combines two of the three, but let’s not get your hopes up. MAYBE if you’re going through Arkansas.

Hitting a Waffle House at 11:30 at night in a po dunk(sp?) town of Oklahoma is a wonderful idea for women traveling alone who happen to be height/weight proportionate and possess all of their teeth… if they desire to be potentially followed by swarthy, unshowered trucker type men who look like the ONLY place they’ve ever eaten at their entire lives has been The Waffle House.

But know what? Oklahoma ain’t too bad. One billboard simply read “thinkimpregant.com”. H’m… okay. A mile later another billboard stated “Need to talk?” and held below that a suicide hotline number. Awesome. Yet, not nearly as brilliant as the giant sign reading “Going to Hell?” Um. Not sure – haven’t checked my mail lately and I very rarely ever check my voicemails. And if the notification went directly to Spam in my junk email account – well, I just don’t know! However, I’m not pregnant and have no suicidal intentions, so I think I might be in the clear. Let me get back to you on that.

Lastly, after becoming slightly confused, I tried to take the US-69 route only to find that it was a looooong stretch of unlit country road. After checking my gas gauge and seeing that I only had a quarter tank left, I began to panic. There were NO gas stations in sight and I began to fear being stranded on the side of the road with an Ed Geins kind of person waiting in the shadows to rape me/kill me/skin me and use my dehydrated flesh as his new kitchen curtains. While I think I’d make a lovely set, not really how I wanted to end up.

Obviously, I found my way. (yaaay…)

The Arrival.

Due to obscene traffic in Waco and Fort Worth, I arrived late. That’s okay… the boyfriend was supposed to have rented a room and I could use a shower and a comfortable bed.

Wrong.

Spring break/Musical festivals/Conventions – every decent affordable place was booked. The place we ended up deciding on out of sheer exhaustion and exasperation was called the Ranch Motel. I’d like to skip past this part. Still traumatized. Think the movie “Vacancy”. Only dirtier. With worse lighting. Minus impending torture and death… for that night. But on the bright side, there was a nice hole next to the bottom of the door in case rats or snakes wanted to get in or out. How considerate.

Current Status.

I’m here. I’m alive. Going through job lists… and I’m not freaked out. I thought I’d be more of a wreck. Normally, I’d be in a situation like this and be mortified, beside myself with anxiety and planning my escape posthaste. Yet, I am strangely at ease in this new environment and have met with little to no nervousness when evaluating my future prospects. After voicing my concern over my lack of unease to my cousin Venus, she said, “That’s just a sign that you did the right thing. It means you’re supposed to be here.”

I can live with that.

Everything turned out okay – 4 1/2 years later, the drive back home North was MUCH better. Next time, I’m flying.

Smeared

how wretched this predicament and how stinging the pain wrenching deep down into the place where i would run to be happy – to find an escape from the seduction of agony and her silky wiles of indigo blue dank

she follows it follows
and i might finally be done

not yet

i convalesce

how gorgeous this spot becomes – i just never before noticed the velvet of the violet hues – so vibrant – and how strange that this isn’t really my place anymore…. it has transformed into something completely different

in the corner a crumpled mass of sorts – what a marring sight to the dark beguiling magnificence of my secret grotto – beige and malformed it taunts me with its ugliness but i am too distracted to approach

besides
i don’t want to know

how completely in awe i am that i begin to spin and spin and spin until the blues and purples become nothing but a hazy canvas and i am the center or maybe the circle on the right – perhaps the ? on the bottom left

i am everywhere and anywhere – nowhere – and i collapse into a pool of crimson that i soon realize is nothing but a river of my past’s tears that has collected into a quicksand pit around my feet and i begin to sink and sink and

the beige mass – crumpled deformity raises what i think might be its head but i can’t see past the thick of the deep maroon

all i hear is silence and my breath as it rasps swallowing my gargled delirious sobs

i am
home