there's a rejection slip
from a boy
hanging on my wall
in my room, by my bed
where we made love
one night, i poured wine on him and laughed
trying to be sexy but being too drunk to pull it off
the rejection slip is still there but
the boy isnt
he doesnt call or come over and i know it shouldnt
matter
but rejection is like getting wine poured on you
by a drunk girl who is laughing

fucking crybaby

and you told me once "i'm only mean like that to you",
and i didnt know how to take it and i still dont
ive never told someone i loved them only for them to be mean to me,
afterwards and forever.
but i guess,
i guess this is how it happens sometimes
youre getting older but its all still there so
you hold your breathe when he's close,
or you watch his hair grow back, slowly--
wondering if maybe he cut you out of his way before you did
the same to him...
or the fact that maybe its all bullshit, that you dreamed it all up..its all one big fucking
daydream.
you never kissed, he never held your hand, he never tried to make you laugh, you never danced together, nothing good ever happened
he's always been a jerk to you--
this is what you tell yourself everytime the wind blows by you, there was always something
about him and the wind.

i havent seen him look that way in a while and he hasnt seen me smile like that ever. i let my heart run away sometimes and get overwhelmed and wonder what youre doing. what song you just listened to or what kind of beer youre drinking tonight. if you ever think of me as i do of you. and these always seem like mini love letters to you but always, never, without, replies///i always hoped you would fall in love with me, i always hoped that there was something you could love about me. like my long hair, or my blue eyes, that mole by my right breast or the one right underneath my eye, the way i would sometimes look at you while we danced, or maybe the fact that i always remember when your birthday is without being reminded. you told me once to never have chipped nail polish, and just because you broke my heart i cut my long hair and always, always wait till my nail color fades///

not every living creature has to die alone

i imagined how this would be. me hurting you for the last time and you leaving. never talking to me again except maybe a phone call on christmas, your favorite holiday, not mine. we would eventually get over one another and move on, you would buy antony and the johnsons on vinyl for a new girl and i would buy another grown man his first tea kettle, hoping that he would let me smoke cigarettes inside his house during the winter while i drank the tea he made. she would take over my tradition of buying you a new christmas ornament for your tree each year but they would never mean as much to you, there would never be as much thought put into it. she would always trust you and never go through your notebooks or your phone. but you would lie to her when she asked if you ever thought of me, if you ever missed me. and you did both of those things and you always would. i would find someone who wanted to marry me and i would eventually call you up and tell you the good news, asking you for advice, "do you think i can actually love the same man.. forever?"  you'd be in your late forties, trying to hold on to what youth you still had. she'd actually be your age though this time. You would hear the excitement in my voice, the smile. you would never put a ring on anyone's finger. The closest I got to that was a ring with a moon stone that you gave me on some holiday or birthday. I would still wear it, switching it from finger to finger, making room for the ones he would buy me. You both would sit in the same apartment, you finally giving in and letting her move in with you. You at your desk writing, her bored and wondering what her old friends were up to or reading marie claire or some other trash magazine wondering when the next touch would come. and i wish i could tell her that it won't ever show up, that things dont change with people. they stay the same they just get older and more set in their ways. and when i invite the both of you to the wedding she silently cries in the shower because she knows that she is stuck unless she leaves, unless she breaks your heart, unless she becomes brave. she doesnt know what being brave is so she breaks your heart instead, the only way she knows how to get out, the only way anyone knows how to get out. this is what i imagine, sitting with you, watching some horrible television show that we've both already seen. this is what i think about while i fall asleep on the couch and you crawl off to my bed not waking me, not putting an arm around me at night, not kissing me or touching me. and i always imagined this is how it would be.

sometimes it is just about having them there. about letting them see what your room looks like. or that arm on your chest or your back, your thigh. sometimes i just want someone breathing in my ear. or someone else's cell phone alarm to go off in the morning. i wanna know what beer and cigarette breathe smells like. i wanna have to get up to find that sock that you cant seem to find. sometimes i actually do want to know what you wanna do with your life, what you imagined you would do when you were little. i wanna hear what your voice sounds like when youre not around your friends, what your laugh sounds like. its not always about fucking.

childhood secrets

his eyelashes were like golden foils placed delicately above and below his eyes. He had a boyish lust and after i had gotten over him, or the idea of him, he wasnt as handsome as he use to be. His crooked teeth no longer seemed cute. His dirty nails were just that and i had no time for his hands anymore. no longer wished them on my body. He had returned finally to that place in time where he was just another boy that i continued to overlook, bypass. He no longer made my heart flutter like a million monarch butterflies, no longer made me replay silly, simple sentences over in my head in fear they would come out all jumbled and stuttered through a body full of nerves. My friends always wondered and questioned what it was that i saw in him and i would gush and words would come spilling out of my mouth too quickly, proclaiming how beautiful he was, and always ending it with "you really dont think so?!" and i guess now i understand why they had said it. They knew he had my heart, I had given it to him too easily on a silver platter, including silverware to destroy it, eat it, and spit it out at me. i only miss his eyelashes though. and maybe his laugh and the way he would ask me if i was sleepy, and take my hand and lead me to his room. It always made me feel special. That hand in mine, it made me feel like i was right on the cusp of being a child and also an adult, but with a secret. It was like whispering a secret into a childhood friends ear and knowing they would keep it forever. That hand. and those eyelashes. those are really the only things i miss.

Je n'avais aucun homme en juillet

i once was told, that the most beautiful thing
a man saw
was a cat sun bathing outside on the
pavement.

i just wanted to be a rebel, baby
wanted to be the other women for once
but once i had the opportunity for this,
i ran and hid, avoided phone calls and emails
im not much of a rebel and clearly perhaps a pacifist-
but only when it comes to love.
and there are those moments
when time stops
but i've only expeirenced the ones involving death and sex
hospitals and beds
and it all seems trivial now
when you try to picture those memories in your head but you
cant see his face but you know that she still pictures yours.

summer of love

i've got sunglasses lying around my apartment

red ones and black ones,

yellow and white- 

five or six pairs.

and

you would think that i was trying

to hide from the sun or something.

the point is..

and there comes a point in your life when you stop being selfish for one minute and think about someone else for a change because regardless of how much they have hurt you, how many times they have made you cry, how many times they have smiled at you and then turned around and walked out the door with another one, you still care, you still love, and you still want them to know that someone has their back.

i wake up through out the morning
changing the alarm clock on my phone
pushing back the time i need to wake up
three, four, five times because
even five more minutes with my head on your chest is
worth the dirty looks i'll get
walking into work late.

chitter chatter and gossip in italtian

salt dries on the skin after morning swims
my hair is long again, and i feel beautiful once more-
the men stare as i walk through the streets because they can't quite decide if i am american or not,
they have thoughts of me being european in their minds.
lovely porcelain european girl.
the women snarl as their men's eyes follow me down those alleys
and its the romance and the freedom that i've longed for
their voices and language that i've craved
and it only takes money to get there
money that i've rather spend on booze for now, to drown worthless sorrow
and i laugh at myself crying about how trapped i feel
as i take another sip of sierra nevada.

frustrated ramblings of a twenty five year old in love.

you were just a fuck, get over it.

and it's 7:15

and my life has become nothing more than
candy and heart shaped mood rings
and aches in my chest.
i only wish you knew who richard brautigan was.
maybe that poem on my chest you always read would mean more---

I stopped taking the meds because I couldn't write about anything worthwhile, everyone wants to see me smile but all I wanna do is write. I've made my life complicated to see how I will deal, handle, get out, of certain situations. At least this is what pops in my head when I ask myself what the fuck i'm doing with my life...when I have that other drink, or make eyes at so and so, or take a hit of this and that, say things I shouldnt say. I'm testing myself, you, her, and him, this fucking universe. And none of this makes sense to anyone anymore. Introspective mind. I think about why my left foot hits the ground harder, or why my brain focuses on negative thoughts and comments more than the positive ones. I wanna know how I work. These are the things I think about. My brain is occupied with myself the majority of the time, and you think all I do is think about you. Crooked teeth. and that walk. You may occupy the mind but my heart is doing fine. And they have nicknamed me red..ruby or cherry. And it makes me feel like a little girl with the nicknames these men call me, and sometimes I dont want the nickname but the lollipop that comes with it. Back in the old days, back in the old days I wasn't around, mind in the clouds I didnt have all this stuff to worry about, why my viens in my arms are so small, why my heart beats faster when you walk by me. They say you only fall in love six times in your life. I havent used up any of mine. and i prayed that i didnt hit that cat who ran out in front of my car, it was black, and my life didnt need anymore bad luck. imagine the gods laughing at me because not only did it cross my path but i killed the poor thing. And he likes to ask how I came to certain thoughts, what lead me there, to this nonsense in my head, and sometimes i think he's just trying to fool me into telling him more so i always reply with, "no reason." I dont like sharing everything. And I had to watch them bury my friend amd i had to make myself remember the route to the cemetery so i could go visit, drop flowers off, poems, secrets, lovers. i promise i'll come have picnics with you, in the sun, with my lolita glasses on. and you see how quickly my mind jumps.a hundred million things racing around inside my head and i cant focus on just one, and this is the way with the men in my life too. it all becomes to much to just focus on one. let me split my love up among them. and i know what outfits you like the best. i always thought the spell was placed upon you but maybe its the other way around. maybe this is the other way around!

twenty five
years of heartache
it seems the hole in my heart
just gets deeper and more hollow
and the number of men
keeps growing, declining.
no one has ever counted the freckles on my body,
have taken no pictures, or whispered in my ear the word love.
the poems written about me, have never been seen though
im sure they exist.
i am no ones muse.
and these are things that occupy my mind
while im showering or trying to fall asleep
on the couch because the bed is too big for one.

unfinished....

new beginnings by choice, no force. love is in the air, this spring breeze. gentle touches that give me chills down my spine, patience leaves my legs shaking and I dont wanna wake up, use to the feeling of falling but this is too good, dont want it to stop, dont let it. mind is right, for once things are feeling good. eye contact. stares. and i know you can see yourself in my future. minds eye. ready to give up my old ways.


But than again i'm lonely, and its a different lonely than i've felt before..before I felt really alone, now it's just a feeling of something missing, someone. I never wanted to have children or get married but I think the fact that I'll be turning twenty five soon has been running around in my head and my thoughts on some things have changed. I picture myself with a man I love dearly, devoted, finally devoted to him. Being proud of the dinner thats on the table, having hope and faith in him and being their biggest fan. Unable to stay mad at night while I lay beside him, waiting until their asleep to tell them im sorry and kiss them on the back of their shoulder. Doing creative things together, making love in the afternoon, smiling from ear to ear all from a look. And then children...I think this only changed after I had the abortion..seeing one year olds smile at their mothers, such peaceful eyes. choosing the perfect name..picking out clothes for them, singing them songs my father sung me, teaching them the importance and rules of life according to us, parents. As they grow older playing my old records for them, telling them stories of my childhood, taking tons of pictures due to the lack of mine in the baby books that sit in my parents trunk. unconditional love.

And I don't want this now but maybe sometime when i'm ready and I find someone who wants to spend their time with me without excuses. When I find that guy who when im with the world quiets and disappears and we're the only two running around acting like teenagers, drunk and high off of each other. I want that. I want someone who tries to make me laugh not one who ask why im not smiling. The one who kisses me on my forehead countless times.

The thought arises that maybe I can't handle any of this, that maybe this isnt what I am, or want to be, that i'll never be emotionally stable enough to deal with having another person in my life, sometimes im just way too selfish. This is a dream world that society keeps forcing on me and my thoughts of love affairs, traveling the world because I have no children and I can do that if I want to, that I wont be able to stay with one man for the rest of my life...this all scares me but I know myself and I wont ever stop falling in love with people, never. And people won't stop falling for me and I can't always say no, I can't always do this. My heart pounds when im by him, around him, feeling his touch on my arm and face, my thighs and breast. How the hair on my skin stands up when i feel his cool breathe on the back of my neck. I want this. More than I've wanted a lot of things, willing to fight, to move on and leave my past in the past. And im scared that maybe i wont be able to do this, that the thought of another relationship will just stress me out, that i'll worry too much about this and that and what will happen in the future and I wont be able to just be here now with him. That it'll be too much for him to deal with, the way my mind works will be too much..it's always been too much for one to handle.

poetic justiss

It was two thousand and eight. It had been a hard day at work, I was outside the building smoking a cigarette and for whatever reason- destiny, love from the universe, or maybe just because, Ghori drove by...saw the sadness in my eyes and told me that he knew who would help me, that it was time I met his friend.

I had heard about this man before from the old Fuel days, but up until that night had never came across him, I remember being nervous and excited. The seventeenth floor. My first encounter with him was intense. When I first got there I went and used the restroom, with the door slightly ajar, I heard him tell Ghori that I was one of the classy ones, a real woman. Our conversation was a brutally honest one, I cried, I poured my heart out to him, he gave me advice on me wanting to be a writer and I cried more. I felt like I had just gone to a therapy session. I'm pretty sure we were all stoned and that probably had a lot to do with this yogi like feeling I felt. Ghori and I kissed the entire way down. Seventeen floors. I had found a muse, two of them.

I kept going back to see him, his view of the river was incredible, hearing him speak of his past, the secrets that he kept only for those he knew wouldn't judge, we would sit up there and drink beer, me taking mental note of the great things he was saying and telling him about all my love affairs, and who I trully loved, and him asking me why it wasn't him. When I met a boy I really especially liked, I would take him with me, just like Ghori had taken me, to meet this great man, and he always made sure to let me know if he dug the guy or not. Matthew had been his favorite.

He encouraged me to write how I felt comfortable writing, which was putting myself into my writing, getting personal, to hell with everyone else, he'd tell me. To feel free to curse or talk about sex or about my depression. He was at the first open mic poetry reading I did, and my piece, indeed, were full of lines about him. Lines about great writers with crowded calendars that hung on the walls. About his typewriter clacking away all night. About how he was one of the last romantics, a writer.

He'd always call at two or three in the morning..usually intoxicated  in the middle of a poem and he'd recite me lines and tell me how much he wished he was younger so I would consider being with him, a dirty old man for sure. For the zine collection downtown, there was a gala event..I asked him if he would be my date and I came dressed to the nines and didn't mind at all that he was wearing jeans, I was proud to be there with him, and when he asked me to fill up his empty coffee mug with shrimp from the party so he could eat them later, I didn't hesitate. The nights I would venture out to the bar on the corner from where he stayed, I'd make sure to call him as I stood on the corner and tell him to look down and blow him a kiss. When I got off my anti-depressant  medications he smiled the biggest smile I've seen and told me he knew I could do it, I was stronger than that.

These past few weeks I would run errands for him, grocery shopping, getting his mail, little things like that. For whatever reason it was, I felt the need to tell him I loved him whenever we talked and before I left I would always hug him and kiss him on the cheek. He told me one night before I left that I didn't realize how much one missed being touched until you were where he was in his life, I hugged him and kissed his cheek more often after that.


Yes, my heart is heavy. Yes, I went out Monday night and got plastered to the point where I don't know how I ended up where I did. Yes, he had just gotten out of the hospital but he was doing so well, walking around with a cane for once.. I took it as a blow to the stomach, seeing him just a few days prior. Yes, i know how death works, his energy all around us, him free of pain, but I can't help but be pissed off at the world for taking away someone so dear to me. I can't help but cry when I know how many people are missing him, how many people woke up this morning with heavy hearts like my own.

Alan Justiss, you were my patron saint, my writer muse, but most of all one of my best friends. With every line I write you'll be forever in my mind and heart.

you sneak away to dark corners
mouths spill over with words
tongues dive and bomb into other tongues
hands grab hands
they creep in and under clothes looking for
warmth, wetness
the kisses are slow, lips pound-
you want to skip down the street, yell at the top of your lungs,
"FINALLY!"
have one of those stupid scenes from the movies where the song
comes on out of nowhere with horns and whistles and
people give you high fives, but you just put your face down and smile
a sly smile because thats all you know how to do in situations like
these, where he knows and you know and things are okay.

dirty hands

i mistake my fast beating pulse for his
my palms sweat and i wipe them on my jeans
i haven't worn jeans in years
i try to convince him, high, that that sound
is his heart beating
but it's mine.
this will probably be the
last poem i write about you.