anathema

anathema

beautiful bane

abiding, bewitching, agonizing

surrender my mindless sentiment

beloved

~ode to mon montreur~

please do not cut my strings, I want to forever be a marionette in your play

without you, the days are long when forced to never make a single sound

mouth may be made of wood and glue, but there are still beautiful words to say

eyes are as empty and dead as a corpse 6 feet below the ground

come back, you control the many complicated cords that animate me so

do not forget about the power that even still, you could have in your very hand

please do not cut my strings since you are now aware of my pathetic plight

it is you that makes me real as you move my bonds to and fro

drab and pale painted legs are hollow, without you they will not stand

but if you hold me in your capable arms I promise to live with all of my might

Watch where you are going...(a feeble attempt at a villanelle)

Maybe I slipped on a banana peel;

all of my missteps I must retrace.

But when I fell, I learned how to feel.

My heart was no longer made of steel;

rather a thick liquid in a shiny, new vase.

Maybe I slipped on a banana peel.

Shattered now, unsure of what's real;

picking up the pieces to put in their place.

But when I fell, I learned how to feel.

Time hasn't done much to help me heal;

which fragments should I forever encase?

Maybe I stepped on a banana peel.

On the ground there was no chance to reveal;

the idea of love made me forget to brace.

Maybe I stepped on a banana peel.

But when I fell, I learned how to feel.

brooding boy: a triolet

Don't fret little one, go run and play

I promise you won't fall down

The world's worries can wait another day

Don't fret little one, go run and play

There's plenty of time to find your way

Open your eyes and put away the frown

Don't fret little one, go run and play

I promise you won't fall down

~Roller Girl~

the aroma of cotton candy filled the air

the disco lights were in full force

floor waxed shiny and smooth to perfection
I was so happy


I looked down and the skates on my feet
were the new ones that I got for my birthday
they were bright white
the neon pink laces were tied tightly


we were not supposed to chew gum
but coming around the corners
I blew giant purple bubbles again and again
popping them with the palm of my hand


the nostalgic music echoed in my ears
so loudly at times that the bass
could be felt, pounding in my chest
I was so happy


suddenly the door swung open
bringing with it massive amounts of sunlight
and a silhouette of someone so strong
that I had to hold my breath


the music was no longer heard
the smell of the concessions disappeared
the sparkles on the floor faded
and I was not 12 years old anymore


so I skated at full speed with all of my might
across the distance of the rink
eventually braking as he took one step down
meeting me on the sleek surface


the sun's splendor parted, giving way
to a clear view of his beautiful face
I felt 12 all over again
when I caught a glimpse of his glorious grin


so I did what any girl true of heart would do
I leapt into his arms without fear or reservation,
showering him with playful kisses
until he could not help but laugh


I was so happy.
I woke up.
I am almost 30 years old,
but damn I want to be that silly girl again.

Fool

I am a fool.
Perhaps I always will be.

I cannot help but be consumed
by the fire that burns within me.

The idea of a real connection with another
makes me turn myself inside-out and upside-down.

It is the potential fleeting moment
of someone really seeing me
that keeps me on the edge of my seat,
unable to sit still.

Sometime, somewhere along the line
this person is going to see
past all of my bullshit and acknowledge
that I have to constantly tip-toe on the verge just to feel alive.

He will not see this as a fault,
but will instead have enough strength to pull me back down.

On the ground,
I cannot be but who I am;
I will not even hide.

It is not that I need to be saved,
nor do you.

We just need to meet each other halfway
in complete preposterous abandon.

Regina Spektor protects me.

What a pleasant, cool Saturday afternoon,

driving down Lovers Lane.
Not feeling much like a paramour or a brawler
but a born-again cynic finding irony in the street name.


Regina Spektor starts to sing to me,
"Suppose I never ever saw you"
"Suppose we never ever called"
"Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall"
"Just to break my fall"
"Just to break my fall"
"Break my fall"
"Break my fall"


Just as my voice grew louder, unable to not sing along,
I belt out "All of my friends say of course it's gonna get better."
"Gonna get better..."

Somewhere in my second or third trailing "better",

I see a vehicle like yours.
It passes by slowly and the mystery man within waves at me.
For a moment I thought it was you.


Then I remembered that...


I am here.
You are there.
I don't know you,
but you know me.


So I did the only thing that I could do.


I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall.

move on (written 02/09)

there's no more time for painted toes
rather feet always in motion
no slowing down
must reach my destination
even bleeding, aching
I will climb mountains bare-footed
swim icy oceans naked
for shivers will not find my bones
frost-bite afraid of fingertip's wrath
I must move on...

in tree tops, savage screams escape my sun-burned lips
animals cower, nomadic people flee in fear
at the repetition of my cries
over and over I call out your name
as I swing from branch to branch
I must move on...

in the darkness, only guided by moonlight
I suddenly find myself in the company of others
so I smoke with the natives
and see your face in the fresh new fire
in the bottom of a primitive cup
in the metal of the best warrior's spearhead
cannot help but dance around the flapping flames
howling and pounding my chest rapidly
afraid to open my eyes and see yours
in everything around me
I must move on...

desert sands cover me
stuck to the moisture of my body
trying to stay cool
in the scorching blaze of the sun
dunes seem to go on forever
yet I don't care and occasionally run
crashing into the mounds violently
mirages come and go of memories, places, you
I am all alone, but determined
I must move on...

splatters on my face
rain comes down
waking me from my slumber
I sit up and find myself on a park bench
in the middle of a bustling unknown city
clothes are clean, but soaked
hair is polished, but dripping wet
faces are unfamiliar, disregarding me
as they pass by under black umbrellas
I call out your name again and again
until deja-vu takes control
pausing, I scan the crowd
then turn around again and there you are
You are real, right in front of me
you wipe the water from my face
and lips with the tip of your finger
and huddle me under your red umbrella
sliding your hand under mine
you look into my eyes
as I gaze down to notice my nicely painted toes
standing so very still, I don't want to look away

yet when I do I am sitting in a hospital bed
so sterile, the smell sickens me
causing me to lean up and release
my nausea on the floor
a doctor says something about a reaction
to anesthesia and pulls my covers back to inspect me
I look down to see that my painted toes are no longer there
or the feet and legs they were once attached to
in a panic I frantically say your name so loudly
that nurses rush in and stick a needle in my arm
eyes feel heavy
I ask the doctor for you
he shrugs and says he doesn't know who you are
I tell him I must go
must reach my destination
he laughs and shakes his head
and the room fades away...

there is nothing at all
I cannot move
I forget your name

proverbial paradox (written 01/09)

often I am

moving when standing still

silently speaking

listening with my eyes

and aware of my surroundings

when I am elsewhere

sound reverberates down the throat of my mind

I get caught up

running in place

saying nothing loudly

with a gaze that heeds all

my mind opens its mouth and screams from within

to run to you with cement feet

hold you with paper arms

and love you with all the holes in my heart

forever

and

never

or maybe I am just a liar

honey (written 04/09)

You used to constantly watch my lips as I spoke, focused on the curve, color and sometimes you didn’t even hear my words. You never noticed you were doing it or that I loved it so. Now you haven’t gazed upon me or my mouth in ages nor have I yours. Yet I remember that yours was quite petite for a man, bottom lip much fuller than the top, so intimate and inviting that I just couldn’t help myself. I touched them with my fingertips, slowly running them across the small lines as you exhaled with closed eyes. Moving in closer, I nibbled at your neck just to feel your breathe on mine. Raspy whimpers escaped from your beautiful mouth and that was all it took. Suddenly, I found my lips on yours without warning or reservation. Quietly, I spilled every feeling I felt for you like honey from a clasped jar that was dropped on its side, oozing ever so slowly, thick and warm.

7 (written 02/09)

if fathers have sons
and mothers have daughters
what is for those that take a different path?

I see a little girl in a white faux fur coat and brown mary-janes
in front of a three-way mirror
on her knees
she gazes at her many reflections
and makes funny faces
hands, turned upward
fingers on face, making a pig nose as she oinks
in a flash, she jumps up
posing for her dopplegangers
again and again
talking to all the versions of herself
whispering in a language unbeknownst to me
coat comes off in a flash
a stomp, a pouty face
then a punch
her mother tells me that she has liked mirrors since she was small
she tells me herself that it has been since she was 3
I stand behind her and she informs me that there are 7 of me
I tell her that 7 of me could take over the world if I wished
with wide eyes, she nods and agrees
I express that she is better-suited though
she giggles

I am my mother's daughter
about to leave the world as I know it
staring at myself in the same mirror
barely recognizing the child that I once was
the person I am
the woman I could be

as the little girl leaves, she turns to wave good-bye
I put my hand up and hestitate
to say farewell to the familiar, comforts of life

yet I swallow my fear
run up to the glass door and wave
with eyes wise beyond her years
she looks at me and grins as if she knew
I was to be born again

now is the time
for me
and my 6 other selves
to come together
and
take a bite out of the whole world
or at least
pose, stomp, pout, whisper
and punch it
until I find what it is
that I am looking for

hell (written 06/07)

I tiptoed up the stairs and found a woman sweeping
blood slowly ran down her fingertips
mumbling to herself and weeping
she was so familiar, someone I had seen before

when asked if she was alright, she cackled at me manically
the broom hit the floor as she spit in my face
bloody footprints left behind as she ran away frantically
somehow I knew she would be back

I opened a door and crept into the belly of a dim room
words written on walls with human waste
1000 old books in the bed of a library’s tomb
ripped pages defecated on and burned to death all over the floor

in the corner there was a strange little man standing on a chair
eyes closed, hands clasped, chanting words unfamiliar to me
there was a monkey swinging back and forth from his hair
suddenly, he opened his eyes and they were as black as the night sky

he jumped off the table and kicked me in the shin
the monkey jumped on my back and pounded me with little fists
I tried to throw him off, but dirty teeth found their way to my skin
he bit me again and again before he scampered off out of sight

the midget man smacked me across the face
he yelled obscenities and stared at me with nothing but empty sockets
tugging at my coattail he finally asked how I found this place
I shrugged and expressed that I had lost my way

he shoved book after book at me and told me to open them
dropping them into the human waste filled floor
I tried to read the pages but the room was too dim
huffing and puffing he finally grabbed a torch off the wall

nearly catching my pants on fire he gave me light
but page after page was blank, nothing but scorched paper
stubby fingers slammed a book shut, putting the author’s name in sight
confused because the named etched deep in leather was my own

all of them, each and every one had my name on the cover
not understanding why, I asked him what all of this meant
was it because I had a passion for literature, because I was a book-lover?
with an eerie grin he shook his head no


he asked me to think about it again and then again
and rubbed his rough finger against my wrist
open empty gashes diagonal across my skin
I cried out full of fear, full of confusion

tears tried to find a place in my empty eyes
but I could not cry
heart no longer beating, lungs no longer breathing
is this what happens when you die?

my new friend winked and I saw him disappear
doors in every direction, but every single one was locked
a cold chill ran up my back and then nothing but fear
there was no way out, I was trapped

surrounded by the books that I never wrote
walls full of thoughts never put to paper
I look up to see bloody fingers on my throat
and realize that the woman from outside was me

hopes and dreams burned away
locked inside with myself in my own personal cell
a million words but nothing to say
lost inside my mind in my own personal hell

poet (written 06/06)

I am a poet

I have nothing but ink-stained fingers
calloused from the perpetual agony
of deciphering the transposed words in my head

wads of paper litter my well-kept desk
hopes and dreams collected and pushed aside
only to be tomorrow's trash

therapy (written 01/09)

my mind grows weary of life

head aching with an excess of everything

maybe I am crazy

how else do you explain the detachment that prevails all too often

crashing so hard I seem hollow

in the surrounding circle of my unexplained despair

tears do not come

only numb eyes,

empty bothersome vessels

unaware of the world outside

yet I would not have it any other way

in the midst of my isolation

I am not duplicated

or a replica

I am just me

faults and all

mind truly...

awake,

aware

of the beauty in demise

the real me (written 06/06)

a million places, a million faces
yet I only want to be near you
a thousand miles, a thousand smiles
yet distance is no boundary and no-one compares to you
a hundred days, a hundred ways
yet time is not my friend and in this maze I cannot grasp you
a single glance, a single chance
yet all I need is one more moment to show you...

the real me

~beatitude~ (written 05/09)

I want to be a Beat

go back in time and run the streets

with Allen and Neal

take bennies with Joan and talk all night with Bill

listen to jazz and sleep with Jack

because what's better than conferring about the Dharma

naked with the elusive Mr. Kerouac

we would take the bus out west

then months later hitch back east

the destination would never be as important as the journey

so frivolous until there is no more money

I would write, discuss, and write some more

conversations would never be a bore

there would be so many great minds to meet

if I could only reset clocks

and be a Beat

reality (written 04/09)

letters, words, verbs, nouns

if I put them together, will I ever have something to say

to you, to me, to the world

verbally lacking in the skill of expression

give me a pen and I will show you the depths of my soul

socially retarded and disinterested in the mundane

give me keys and I will type til my fingers bleed

the holes of my heart fill with big bold face font

I close my eyes, to heed the clicking of keys

imagine ink filling the emptiness, spilling out and over my insides

afraid, lost, alone

these are not felt in between the spaces of consonants and vowels

hiding in the sentences,

blanketing myself with phrases never said aloud

staying warm in the comfort of knowing love

in the arms of every line

curled up in every missed declaration

sleeping soundly in every silent utterance of truth

only to wake to the reality of ...

reality

I am. I am. I am. (written 03/09)

I am I am I am.
permanently, personally branded
but am I really?
or better yet what am I?
the obvious could be pointed out quickly
human, female, alive
all certain
yet let's look at the latter in a bit more depth
the original Plath phrase is "I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart.
I am. I am. I am."
the repetition is the beating of my heart reminding me of my ultimate fate....death
Why three times?
past, present, future
white, grey, black
for me, it is the number of times I will reinvent myself
I am broken
I am scarred
but I am still here...

and I'm not going anywhere
unlike Plath, my will to live is unbreakable
I love her like a mother, sister, friend
but she gave up
I don't back down that easily
no matter what this strange trip called life throws at me
maybe I'm just as stubborn as my mother
so yes....I am I am I am.
nothing
anything
&
everything
you don't want me to be
;)

Who are you? (written 03/09)

this is something I would never do for very long...

stand in front of a full length mirror

afraid of what I'll see

but a stranger told me today

that I am beautiful even if

I clearly don't think that I am

she said I should enjoy my youth

and hugged me like a grandmother I never knew

so here I stand

frowning at my reflection

when I dream I appear to be 10 years younger

so most days I barely recognize myself

yet some things remain the same

scars from childhood falls and car crashes

on my eyelid, chin, above my mouth

lips, plump, full of color, even a bit pouty

without trying to be

but in my eyes I see everything

a hopeful past, transitional present, fated future

they tell my story even if I wish to keep the book closed

to the few who can see

beyond the make-up make-believe

past the calm, ever-changing color

to dive in the depths below

is to know me

in deep waters

my beauty is alive and free

I blink

back to reality

standing here all alone

with an expression of complacency

eyes glance back at me

a voice in my head says...

Who are you?

soft (written 05/09)

soft /sɔft, sɒft / [sawft, soft] adjective, -er, -est, noun, adverb, interjection
1. yielding readily to touch or pressure; easily penetrated, divided, or changed into shape; not hard or stiff: a soft pillow
2. relatively deficient in hardness, as metal or wood.
______________________________________________________

memories of being openly soft
flutter into my conscience
quickly fleeting, only to remind
that I am no more

an adamantine exterior formed long ago
surrounding every inch of flesh
it's easier to push away with brute force
than allow a peak into my world without walls

naked, dangling out on a limb
liberated and full of life without fear

I ache to be soft again
to touch
to feel
to never doubt

but it comes with a price
that I'm not sure I am prepared to pay
because the process of exposure could in fact
break me entirely causing cracks in my core
eventually shaking my very foundation
the only constant thing I've ever known

to be soft, is to be dangerous

fuck it
I'd rather crash and burn
than never allow the wheels to start rolling....

Of course what the hell do I know. It's like the Tin-Man ranting and raving before he got his precious heart.

~pieces~ (written 06/09)

in the beginning, I believed it was no-one's fault

it was because I was in pieces

held together with nothing more than mere determination

lacking in color or defintion

I looked back at the time

and realized I was as incomplete

and as fragmented as his narcissistic delusions about love

yet time marched on and the pieces became clearer

not crumbling in my hand but rather

thick and jagged like mosaicked glass

in somber shades of grey, black and blue

yet one sliver was untouched, whole

with shiny swirls of silver and white

never noticed it before because it was not there

until the very last moment

only in his final goodbye did he give me

what I so desperately needed all along

in the end, he gave me a piece of peace

almost whole again

I am beauty and art

a survivor of another wasted heart

now colors run together

so wild and free

new tones of red

glowing so brightly

burning for you

to see the masterpiece in me

untitled (written 07/09)

if you could see through my eyes
you would catch a glimpse
at the wonder and surprise
that I feel when I look at you

if there were ever a chance
you could give ears and grasp
the depth of your own glowing radiance
it would be when I listen to you

if I come closer ready and free
will you be aware of and appreciate
your splendor as it flows through me
when I finally find myself kissing you

standing still (written 07/09)

for once my feet are planted

firmly on the ground

green grass cool against my toes

because I no longer need

the support of shoes to help

me stay steady and balanced

the impulse to run away

blows away with dandelions

on the back of a breeze

so I stand very still

facing the beams of the sun

assenting to my heart

awake, aware, alive

HIbernation (written 08/09)

What if I shut my eyes

And make the world disappear,

Until many moons and tides

Pass so I can hold you near.

In my slumber I’ll be free

Of the longing to see your face.

In my dreams you're next to me,

In another time and place.

Not forty winks, but forty weeks I'll stay,

Under the covers so warm.

Safe from the lingering of each day,

I'll weather out the storm.

When the sun finally shines so bright

And you find me deep in sleep,

Kiss me until I see the light

And I’ll be yours to keep.

Desire (written 09/09)

I barely remember what life was like

before I was consumed by her,

back when blood did not flow.

It was as frozen as I was cold;

now my temperature constantly runs hot.

I’m always in motion, staying a step ahead

of the smoke of her hair.

She shrieks as it follows me,

ready to suffocate me

in a moment of weakness.

Like a shameless siren,

her seductive lullaby reverberates

again and again,

swallowing any rhyme or reason left in my mind.

Unable to peer directly into her eyes,

I am forced to look away.

The amber swirls know no boundary,

mesmerizing even the most stubborn of souls.

Like embers that never fade,

the depth of her gaze crackles on and on.

She knows my name now;

as I also know hers.

So aware and yet so afraid

of how I yearn for her to hold me in her arms

and whisper beautiful lies in my ear,

as she gently kisses my eyelids

to make me believe that I am safe,

sweet nothings to assure me

that she is mine forever.

I am nothing now,

a shadowy image of myself.

Desire holds on to me tight,

too selfish to let me go,

too strong to break free from.

Desire owns me.

I am her slave.

pens (written 09/09)

I've had pens

various shades of color

gently pressing their tips

so mesmerized by the ink

that bleeds to make

harsh thick lines

I've had men

various shades of character

gently pressing their lips

so enthralled by their breath

that thickens to make

a kindred communion with mine

But now you have me

hued with pristine reverence

gently pressing my tender sentiment

so subdued by your tranquility

that envelops to make

a weary soul believe again

Life in the fast lane...

It is only when I am sitting alone at my desk that I realize that most of my days are just a blur of working, eating, sleeping and repeating. There is no denying that I am getting older and the fact that I will be turning 29 next month seems to be weighing heavily on my mind today. The problem with slowing down and taking the time to think is that the reality of life as you know it may in fact be disappointing in ways that you take for granted when you are constantly moving. It is easier to keep moving than to think, much simpler to distract than to focus.

Yet here I am perfectly still, free of diversions and I can barely remember the person that I am anymore without the usual things that surround me. After all, there is always something to fret about whether it be money, relationships, work or just the quest to figure out what one wants in his or her lifetime. Sometimes the path seems so perfectly clear and other times it is like a tornado has distorted the road within my mind and I can't help but feel over-whelmed as I stumble over fallen power-lines and trees, trying to not get shocked or worse, fall and pierce any major organs, like my...heart.

The problem with free time spent alone is that I am given the chance to go roaming in my own head and while I love being alone, I also find myself questioning just about anything and everything. Going about life in a numbed down state of reality is actually easier than thinking about what the world is really like. Today I am not free of the pain, helpless to actually do anything, afraid to try.

Perhaps, I will just sit in the this chair forever, until the faint voice in my head is loud once again, telling me what to do and where to go next.