Fish Swim North

I find myself hovering between dreams and heartaches.

i find my feet walking into wet grass,
into wet sand,
into cold ocean waters
and my hands, feeling air, air, air


my eyes see the ocean below,
they see the seaweed moving with the currents,
they see the sand churning with the tides,
and the murky blues turn into deep greens
as depth becomes a factor;
which is measured also by pressure

thousands of pounds of water existing above me

similar to when you would lie on top of me
and
my feet would feel wet and clammy,
and
my lungs would feel less capable,
and
my heart would feel more open.

but my emotional connection between you
and the ocean

are very different.

Pretending to Pretend

telling lies and feeling good about them
is something i do often,

but not as often as before.

when i recall situations
i like to make believe they happened in my favor,
and even if they didn't
i can make it seem as if they did.

and it makes me feel better,
and it helps me sleep at night.
even if i have nightmares
or toss and turn and wake up sweating.

at least i can try to be happier

and that's something i'm good at,

or at least i like to pretend i am.

Toil and Trouble

i haven't been eating very much, recently
and i haven't been brushing my teeth very much, recently
and i haven't been able to think, recently;
only dream

flowers in my hair,
on my dress
in the grass


blurring together
the mush of existence
like mud between the bottom of your shoes and the carpet.

everything becomes a blanket,
a sheet,
a drop of rain.
the zipping of a zipper;

before i go to bed at night i take off my slippers,
and i take off my bra,
and i roll around in sheets,
until i become too tangled up
and dream i can't breathe.

this summer air is like wrapping paper
holding beads of sweat upon my skin;
i feel alive; i feel awake;
and i wasn't meant to document great lives, great events
as all the classics have;
i was meant to live life;
fully, freely,

alive; awake

Black Earrings

Hoarding books and scraps of paper

at this rate I'll be buried in a year.

The drone, through the walls, of my brother playing guitar, brings me comfort
and the yellow light of the fall scented candles brings me warmth

i keep thinking about a person in so many different ways
that i become disillusion,
drunk on the thought of their company
and memories we now own.

the books and magazines, maps and clippings
can never truely portray how i feel at any moment
no matter how many ways i position them into a single thought

and i can barely remember
what i felt 5 minutes ago.
but i know
right now,
i miss you dearly.

i feel as if everything i say to you is a lie until i tell you how i feel.

i think i've found the feeling that everyone's dying to know.

i'm letting it rip me up inside,
believing that it means keeping you
from heart breaks and confusion

Everyone was wearing leather jackets

My mind was entangling thoughts of you.


I want to apologize for being a liar,
but you wouldn't understand,
and i don't want to explain myself

unlike my mother's algebra teacher,
who looks like your brother
and wore a "Seattle Mariners" shirt,
which kept reminding me of Ben Gibbard
talking between songs on the John Byrd EP,
the day i met him.

he told me they could have been twin brothers,
separated at birth

and for a second,
i believed him.

and as i sat through my mom's
History of Rock and Roll class,
and had to listen to U2's With or Without you,
and Sonic Youth's Candle,
and some kid with a really bad 90's hair cut,
blond streaks and all, came in late, looking stoned,

I resigned in the corner of the room thinking
about the lake looking like deep, dark, stormy, body of ocean water

wondering about the thrill from
rowing out into the snow and mist,
over the freezing icy waters of the Northwest.

I saw my footprints, dried in place upon the recently mopped floor

with the windows open,
I hear the rats running circles,
playing games of seek and tag,
along the 12 foot ladders,
that sit beside my bedroom wall.

The dry, fluid air
lands on my carpet/settles on my arms.

I spent 3 hours cleaning today.
My finger tips were pruned and white
as i watched the floor dry,

leaving watermarks and the fake smell of citrus.


sometimes i envision wonderful trees,
silly creatures,
and growing grass in jars.

most evenings i find myself alone.
Nine times out of ten, i prefer it that way.

I Watched a Very Good Movie Today

i felt lonely,
and i missed someone

i talked for a half of an hour
and made inside jokes with myself.

sometimes i wonder how you really feel about me these days.

the ocean rolled over my eyelids though,
my feet sank into the grassy meadows,
so i'm a bit lost at the moment

swaying with tides and stalks,
in an ocean of my own accord

the seaweed is wrapping tightly around my torso

and if it were my last words to utter,
i'd tell you how i really feel.

depressed and insane

i miss feelings i used to know,
and love i used to have.
for thing that are gone forever.
and time, that leaves us alone.


the sheets were usually dirty,
of you and me,
The mechanical pencil tips were usually broken,
and somewhere in the creases of bedding.
the laptop sat as a foot warmer

right now,
i realize,
You were something i liked looking at,
for the aesthetic value,
but i lacked the ability to love you,
independent of my emotions.
and as i sit, looking through glass, i see you
in your brilliance,
and i wish i could look at your pupils again.
feel warm again.


but these are things of the past.
you told me not to revel in the past.
you told me not to worry of the past.
it was gone and it would not come back.
which is true and i wish i could forget it ever happened

because i cannot love.
i have lost the innocence of my first try,
my un-prejudiced stab at the sticky, blinding feeling- when beetles crawl down my throat and sing Roscoe Holcomb blues as they find my intestines and chew them apart.


and i keep your kisses. and i pretend you care, and i care,
and i can tell you things.
and you don't get upset or contradict me.
but i miss feeling like you stabbed me in the heart
or ripped out my hamstring.
because i felt important. something i lost with your trust.

but really,
because i loved you.

happily, no, i do not love you

your feet are in front of you,

i saw you walking with them.

i guess that's the only way though.


my pumpkin tells me things, and i find him funny.
we have a similar sense of humor, and appreciation of most things.
he is that to which i have resorted. mainly to cope.

sit down below the grass stained tree trunks, and forget about everyone else
and everything else.
stand above the small dirty creek,
before the rains stop, before the mud dries

and breathe. or cry.

that is what i usually always feel like doing today


The sea was roaring at me to let you go,
for
"....if he sinks or swims...."
"....i still won't love him."

in moderation at best

When the morning tip toes up the hill
and up to our thin faces, with our deep dark drooping eyes,
we'll just laugh about all the 5 AM commuters
and throw water balloons at each other in the middle of that super Wal~Mart
while we hand out pamphlets to all the workers
telling them to put in their two weeks

and you can play guitar and i can sing harmonies,
and the tourists will call us artsy and young
as they waste their savings on vacations
that they intended to take before they had kids.

i think you would like it if i join a club for acrobats
and wrote stories and screenplays and sent in ideas to ABC Family

i think i'm just trying to find a hobby i won't get bored with after two months

something exciting.
something like you.

there is something in this world that grabs me like no other

and for the strangest reason, i let it take hold.

sitting on my wooden stool,
playing games with my mind,
i think i will let this one slide.
if i win, i still lose, if i lose, i still win.
so where am i if i quit?
and where am i now?
the world spinning around me.
space out to find me.
track me down. suck me in.
'don't forget to breathe' as my cross faded father would say.
"just remember how to breathe"


sinking below the pillows of a fort never made,
i feel my life drifting far away.
why didn't i remember to tie myself to sea weed?

we may never see each other again. that may be ok.
for now.
but one day

i will miss you.
one day. i will care. today. tomorrow.
in 6 years.

tomorrow i will walk down to where we met and feel the grass between my toes. the grass in my mind. the grass as a representation of the freedom you gave to me. all of you. thank you for that.

don't remember me

in hindsight, i am wrong
and memories are the ones
leaving me broken and hot


with my brain telling me
" you cannot walk away
you are stuck, quiescent in the thick brown sludge of your memories."


i found myself engulfed in all that i hated and all that i loved;
all i wanted to happen, that never seemed to work out;

"remember those people who wanted to love you, but didn't make you happy?"

"that was a disappointment."

tonight, sucking the progress from me,
sadness carries me out to sea,
where i sink down to the ocean floor, forget everything, and don't start over again,


but thoughts are liquid,
movable.

they wrap around me
like the warmth of a grandmothers quilt,
comforting, telling:
"now,
everything is fine

everything is gone."

i sat down and stared at my eyelids till my mind shut down
and dreamed on about sweet lemon tea and the way sunshine feels like love.