the coolest guys, around the town

I cannot handle this.  I can NOT handle this.  \
Angry beyond belief. In the worst frame of mind I’ve been in for a straight-up 3  months.   MY OWN FREAKING BROTHER. 

okay. enough of that.
hope you’re doing well.  I am being less dramatic than I seem.  It’s been a while since I got to rant on here. Besides, I deleted my whole blog almost a year ago, so those posts are gone forever.   well here ya go:

waltzing through the forest of juxtapositions

I alternate between writing these super happy nostalgic poems, and psychotic creepy ones.
this first one is going to make you sick but it was fun to write.  Also it is very inaccurate.  I was a tomboy when I was a kid. I got into fights with boys.

 example number 1

Elementary, My Dear

I am reduced
to grade-school levels of
puppy love

check yes or no
crayon hearts on the wall
no one around to
make me scrub them off

give me a dandelion and
I will write about it
in my diary,
hide the key under my mattress

let’s build a blanket fort

let’s climb a tree
while they chant the spelling
that makes us blush

let’s drink milkshakes
from the same glass,
then make our parents pay for them
when they tell us we’re
too young to date

compare that with this,
 example number two



she has a platter
and a glint in her eye
little miss fifties housewife
little miss fanged-doily
her voice is smooth
(try my patience!
try my patients!)
just what or who is she
offering you?
The slice is
pepto-bismol pink
you say to yourself,
“this looks ghastly,
but I mustn’t be impolite.”
she is ready
she is smiling
she hands you a fork
I had a good talk with my friend yesterday.  He’s in treatment for depression in Houston, shout-out to someone he met there who supposedly reads my blog: Emily A. L.   emily? emily? are you out there???? thanks for reading 🙂
I was talking to my brother last night and it’s kind of sad when you’re surprised to see someone happy.   I haven’t seen him happy since before I had my mental breakdown.
Sometimes I get these horrible flashbacks of the way his face looked when he was in absolute misery
because of me.
That’s actually the one reason I regret well… what happened last year.  All the hell it put him through.  And my parents, grandparents, and cousins.  I also regret how public, and facebook-documented it all was.




Madness is the
deformed cousin
of genius

I can be your deformed cousin
I can be your distasteful Halloween

(too much fake blood? Too many
dead crows?)

and oh heck darlin’
life won’t always be easy for us
but it sure won’t be boring

you complement my brand of lunacy
delightfully well
let’s go cook ourselves some unhinged

I will never never NEVER date someone as crazy as me. That would be a horrible disaster. It’d be fun though.


that night we were driving back to Fargo
not really saying much, until

“what if we just kept going?”

our bikes were already tied on the back,
our luggage in the trunk
(this could be so easy)

we stared at each-other
knowing this as true Kairos,
the opportune moment.

we could stay here, just here
or take the wild road (out)

we chose wrong, we chose easy
we chose safe and sorry

(should have taken an airplane,
turned “we probably shouldn’t”
“screw it, let’s go”)

I want I want I want

India for Holi
Rio for Carnival
Thailand for the
full-moon party
in Koh Phangan

I want to dance in Seoul
I want hostels filled with
drifters, the ones who
know eight different languages
the ones for whom life is a grand roaming
the ones so drunk on wanderlust

they can barely find their way home

So I run into my roommate’s room, “Hey, which countries have you been to? ” It’S LIKE SEVEN

Eight Hour Shifts

I know you don’t smile
for days,
when I’m not here
not here to sing you
Frank Sinatra songs
sugar sugar how ya
get so fly
not here to spin you around
(even in a wheelchair,
you dance beautifully
and I never won’t tell you this)
you ask me
when you can leave
I tell you
and leave the room
holding back tears

love is noise

suicideandcheese –

it’s the scent of fleshly
showered, fresh.
but mostly the pluck
my fruit of her hair.
it’s that good. we
pass on sidewalk
and I dawdle my step
just to refresh my
rotten self. maybe
she’s like me.
maybe she’s fleshy
too, just not mostly
core. I turn my head
and she speeds
up to likely be with
her favorite smell;
another human, or
have her dinner, or
what’s the difference?
it’s all a need.
I need little things.
I need little.
I am glad it’ll never
have to be more
from her orchard.
there was nothing
between us,
just the air.
but this is how
to smell in love
every day,
in silent passing.
this is how to
fall for a stranger.
I will shower when
I find home.
I will speed up if
I find home.

got me here, what you do now is up to you now.

I want to spin
but you keep pulling me closer
and I am powerless against your gravity
like the moon’s
this moment is endless
although I’m whisper-singing to you
in Spanish,
our bodies speak
a different language
and they’re staring at us
like they need a

I don’t think I have ever danced that way with anyone.  which is saying something.  so thank you.

“Will you have enough money for Korea if you go to California this Christmas?”
hit up my tumblr if ya like

I wrote this

Skinned Knees, Endless Summer
Peanut butter tastes like
grade school in autumn
my grandfather’s sweater smells
of cinnamon and is the exact shade
of a man staring down an ending
The sun’s amnesia made us
forget the existence of winter
and we only understood years
in terms of birthday cake
we laughed at your little brother
when he got stuck in the toddler swing
at the park
we tore off the huge plastic leaves
on my grandmother’s decorative tree
and pretended we were birds
funny how even though growing up
when you’re that young
is a movie on fast-forward,
we were the ones
least aware of time,
least aware of the
slow-march countdown
to the final sunset
summer’s rules:
if you swing high enough
you might fly
and if you run fast enough
you might live forever.
and this is one of my faaaaaave songs.  emphasis on the a’s.

Another Ode to Kitchen Appliances

oh!  I just realized something!  I no longer only write poems that are about boys!  *pats herself on back*  good job home-girl.

my blender does not understand
“Accept My Gift of Pineapple
Thy Foul Beast!”
this is a blood sacrifice
and she is sadly unreceptive
I begin the main course
I have cupboards full of words
quick brown foxes
I have half a mind (no, three-fourths of a mind)
to sauté them
the golden eggs
more difficult to crack
than I had thought they would be
(forge? My stove doesn’t get
hot enough,
I think)
I will spice the adjectives with
I will verb these nouns
throw in a voodoo doll or
tulips! Two! Lips!
Crack open a maraca
and sell you some rhythm
Oh you will love this
you will devour this
You will get up and dance to this
I think
I do not understand