post-party depression

musical conversations
switch seats
and trade partners
on the couch
for mouths
and hearts
that yield
beads of sweat
and tears
of laughter
when words
are spoken
from two tongues
at the same time.

2010 is here.
i hugged strangers
and kissed
the scent
of indian
food from the face
of someone
i barely know.

there is joy
in all this newness.
but it all scares
me to death
when the record
ends, and the guests
go home
and out into the cold
of a good-
night.

i want love: yarned-
up and sweater-warm.
i have friends
who wrap
all their arms
about me. i have
so much i
did not see before.

it’s never enough
when there is so much
empty space
between the ribs.
i give and receive
but only to want
more.

Him and Her and Me

There is Karen and then
there is me: we sit low in the gold
couch; while the kitchen
has the breath of home-
made macaroni and cheese.

Allen is warming our bellies.
A kitten gives my shoe
a hug full of hair. There is
no homework. No worry. 2001
loops on the television. There is
every color and sound.

We are on the porch. Once
facing autumn tucked in
the hillside; once again
beside the music. There are
ghosts haunting these spaces.

Allen plays guitar and rewinds
the video. I have to hear
this. I have love in my gut
and throat and pocket. I don’t
have days and nights like this
anymore. So I soak in it
like a warm bath, a baptism.

This record makes Karen cry.
Karen makes me cry
when she tells me
she understands. These are words
I have never heard.

there is never enough

There is never
enough time to sit
in the same room

There is never
enough food
in our house

and now

There is never-
ending hurt
in my gut

There
is where you stood
when there was time

and you told me

There are all
these things you had time
to tell someone else

meh

i think i have now seen just about every shade of disappointment for one lifetime. i guess i cling to this hope for someone to love and to love me because that wasn’t something i had growing up. and now it is one failed relationship after another. typically, i would counteract a breakup by finding my way into someone’s bed. i don’t even have the energy anymore. my self-esteem has slowly going down the drain over the last couple of months. i hurt more than anyone seems to realize and despite pills, therapy, writing, immersing myself in school, working… i still just ache like crazy.

i should have never put myself “out there”. i knew full well the possibilities of things really hurting or someone falling out of love with me. but now i have to live with this person. every damn day really hurts and i guess i am supposed to act like i don’t give a shit. i feel worn out. i tried and tried to salvage the relationship. maybe i didn’t do it the right way, but he didn’t try either.

it just goes to show i am forever damaged goods. i hope a poem shows up here again someday. and i hope it isn’t about this crap. i just want to move on from my past, from this, from everything.

hello world

i wonder what it feels like to be loved unconditionally.

right now the spot on my forehead that itches when my allergies flare up is itching. i once loved someone who noticed the spot without me saying anything and would offer to scratch it for me. that was years ago.

today is one day of many wherein i miss my paternal grandmother. even though she and my grandfather smoked in the car with the windows shut, i knew her love for me was exponential. she is quite possibly the only person who i ever felt loved me without ultimatums and fine print. and that love was reciprocal. no matter what my teenage years and angst might have shown on the outside, i always had a big, plum heart for that lady.

today is a day where i cannot sit still at work, can’t think straight, and spend too much time crying in the bathroom. i hate days like this, but i suppose they are a necessary evil; a lesson in “getting by”.

not my words

Finally I don’t mind
Worthless tries at finding something else

Best not talk too loud
You’re not as smart as you require of them

Your body breaks
Your needs consume you forever

And with this lies the need
To be here together

Funny thing with blood
You try to stand but neither leg’s awake

Just this side of love
Is where you’ll find the confidence not to continue

Your body breaks
Your needs consume you forever

And with this lies the need
To be here together

– “else” by built to spill

i have writer’s block. i have heart block. i have acid reflux. write on.

Listening to Palace in my living room

Every song is a storm
full of wolves
and heart and I am
on the couch again; too
sober to feel much
less than worse

A throat swallows
a bird and the beak
brings another lyric
and there are lines
being breathed in
between beats

Revival comes
in the form of lips
pursing to sing
to me and the kiss
could have killed
me sometime later

But I am here
and my ears are clean
and I hear the hum
of a guitar as it coughs
the grey ash
of Kentucky

up

i love you, shaky
legs and all
those fingers
crawling
my knees
under the table
where i missed
my train
of thought

climb the stairs
and watch
the sun set
itself on fire
on the horizon
then hide
beside me, lie
down on blue
carpet: the sky
is upside-down

my aorta
is in my throat
and all those
ventricles
sputter words
of endearment
from the heart-
beat in my neck
and your sweaty
head, you make
my knees laugh
and buckle
my lips shut
as i adore
every bit of you

newness

somewhere
our dinner ends
and coffee begins:
i go to my job
and later, you don’t feel
like work

i’m not begging you
to touch the tips
of my fingers; we laugh
with our hands
and most certainly
mean it

this minute i miss
you, your lips
and the soft kiss
of your hair
against my cheek
as i smile

you left your sweater
behind and it nests
at the end
of my bed
where your feet
slept saturday

even one state
away, you manage
to find yourself
blue-eyed
and somehow
right beside me

Physically

Every morning
as I warm the engine,
a woman’s shadow
grows out of lamplight
and shades the street

She is in the middle
of the road, running
with panicked arms:
her body language is neither
aerobic nor cardiovascular

The first time I saw her
I thought she had
been raped; she veered
the pavement breathlessly
and neared my car

After her approach
she kept at a frantic
pace, and her sweat-
clothes shivered
as she passed

She does this every day
at 6:30am, as I am tuning
into public radio– she jogs
as though she has a flat
tire and no one can help her

Maybe this is her way
of exorcising excess flesh
from her hips or perhaps
she simply exercises
her demons