sin titulo

in the end there is the word:
and the beginning of
such a word
spells grief.
in every way,
the ghosts of letters used to form the word
said death
what shadows left behind,
in unlined shifts on paper,
meant arise, walk again.

serendipity

This is an amazing resource for my studies. And they were nice enough to post some of my poems. Lovely blog, all around.

shop pimping

erik created an Etsy shop. go there. buy things. please?

resolutions

are silly. how about i just live?

let us count the stars and admire our scars. (from someone’s old Open Diary blog i used to love)

and keep fighting the good fight.

that is all.

real gone, we were
born violet
an army of anger
at our backs
with pens and
ink stained hands
we purged
the decades of
green hurt
bruised-black and wanting
rage like knives
in our backs

crash into me

i live for that slow spread of mischievous grin on his face after he’s said something strange or funny; that expectation of making me smile that makes his eyes glow. even if we’re married 100 years, that will be the first thing i will always remember and look forward to…

Dear Self:

feelings of extreme tired-ness and sleepiness are usually reserved for the evening time, which facilitates the sleep one needs during the NIGHT to function properly the next day. please try harder to have your tired/sleepy time at the proper time at NIGHT and not at 11:00 in the morning.

Thank you,

the mgmt

i dream all night and wake up feeling beat up

and last night the theme was death and dying. i dreamed my uncle Juan died and i dreamed about mom and i went to sleep thinking how much i like the word rupture …

sometimes i utterly hate my mind.

i am a stop sign …

and more tired than anything else these days. everything lately is burst of work here and there, and some unending weariness that won’t leave me no matter what i do. the sleeping pills just make the problem worse if i happen to wake up at some ungodly hour with the weight of a 9 pound dog suddenly feeling like a ton because he’s sleeping against my lower back. either way, i don’t go back to sleep, at least not the good kind. its like i can hear the silence talking to me and my mind is talking back and it won’t quit. it’s maddening, this insomnia.

some days the poems come a little easier. it helps to have a deadline. it doesn’t help that i don’t really think i have that much to say, especially when the subject is myself … still, academia suits me more and more everyday. i just wish there were more time, more time to read everything …

i am excited about the holidays, still, when most of my good mood and optimism has been beaten out of me. i hate my job more and more everyday but only because of who i have to work with. the worst mistake i ever made was becoming her friend and now that it’s all over, well, sighs of relief all around. i dodged a particularly evil and manipulative bullet, here, and i’ve reaffirmed my increasingly antisocial stance on people and friend-making in the workplace. it wouldn’t be this way if i had a co worker who possessed more than an inch worth of emotional (and general) maturity …but i won’t waver. i’ve done nothing wrong. she can shout to the skies all she wants, it’s her general mental stability that’s being questioned (and rightfully so). not mine, not mine …

the state of our finances is bugging me more and more … it’s been one thing after another since our vacation. stupid car rental company (don’t rent from Avis! Ever!), tax issue because the idiot accountant at my former place of employment screwed up, the truck keeps finding reasons to stop running. it’s all very “pour money money money down this hole and that” at a time when i’m at my most frustrated about living here and am desperately trying to claw my way out …

oh but i have lots of cooking and baking to do and if anything helps my emotional state it’s a hot plate of something and sugar … despite the cold and impending grayness of winter i very much like our quiet nights of fireplace sitting just me and him … crafty lady projects and the promise of some more quiet time are enough to keep me going …

i love my life, i love my life, i love my life. as if i needed to be reminded …

dropping off a ledge, suddenly

i wonder sometimes if my lack of poem-writing has to do with fear or if it’s just pure change of landscape and mindset that has done me in. my project for this semester is poems (and i’m either a genius for thinking of it, or a complete and utter fool) and each time more than two lines of a poem, any poem, are attempted, i start backing away slowly. it doesn’t help much that my subject matter is me and that lately all thoughts directed at myself make me nauseous. but the academic writing – well that’s burgeoning all over this place.

i’m crazy in the head, sometimes.