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.

zing

the year is almost over
what do you have to
show for it besides some more
knotches on your belt?

you think "i love you" is overrated

i ask him why he never left me when he had a chance to get out-
to run and hide
and he replies with "when?"
and i thought i made them all so dramatic that way, that way he would remember them
and i wouldnt have to remind him or myself, "oh, you know when i overdosed and was in the hospital" or
"when i was sleeping with so and so and told you about it" or "all those times i left and slammed your door".
am i so fucked up that i cant see that this is it?
who is giving who chances to leave?
and who is really telling the other person- "i love you"??