Pieces / Scraps

here’s to the dirty-winged
angels
out on corners
praying for cigarettes 
———————
every muffled
“are you home yet?”
whispered to myself
begs a new set of limbs
to be my first and final confessional booth
———————
Sunsets always look so
violent, bleeding into
dark like a
crucifixion, like the cuts you sometimes still
flaunt
———————
I caught the fear making you thinner,
exposing your deepest bones, but I
was discovering how to fall in mad love with the
sky, and that’s where we
parted ways
—————–
I arrive, and you’re standing there
like an ostrich in a crowd of imaginary friends
brutally upright, hesitant, filled to the brim with
small talk
 ——————-
(I never like anything fully, so here are the good bits, chopped out for you, plus a few things on their own that I couldn’t quite find the thread to complete)   
random thought:  The thing about men is that I really don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to be excessive.  So I rarely get in touch first, and I know this makes me seem detached. I don’t know what to do about it though, or whether I should change it.  Ah better not.  An obsessive Amy is not a pretty sight.  You’ll know if I’m into you, I can give you that much, while I may not be excessive I am definitely obvious.  and then you will be left with an unspoken “let me know” because once I make myself clear, I make myself gone, and it’s up to you whether to cut or uh. um… glue. cut or glue.  
I am in Mott and essentially this post is only because I haven’t posted in a while.  So it was not born out of some need to throw myself into a wild fit of electronical expression.  anyways all the poetry was written at some point in December.  Goodnight.
also.  I like someone.  and I think I’m at the point where I can admit that.  Goodnight again.
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Megan Falley – IN MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT A GHAZAL I SAY THE ONE THING I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD

The last thing I expected to write was thank you.My fingers cocked for hate’s hot heat, and all I could do was thank you.

I will never have my bones licked clean again. I can
spot a predator from a jungle away. I am a lioness now. Thank you.

I know that Evil rarely looks homeless. I know it wears the sharpest
suit, spit-shines its own shoes, says thank you,

you’re welcome, and please when it meets your parents. Arrives
a foreign dinner guest, leaves a son-in-law. Mothers thank you

for the wine and the circus of laughter. But now I know how a man can turn
like a coin. How he can duct-tape your mouth and then thank you

for not disagreeing. But the fever of you
was so bad, I’d never kiss your brothers. Thank you.

I will never again let anyone make me small. I am bigger
than any lie you could decorate. I know who my friends are. Thank you

for throwing that severed foot into the middle of a crowd.
Naming it Crazy. Bruja. Most scattered like rodents, thanked you

for the warning. Pretended the foot was a ghost. But some carried the foot
until they found the leg it belonged to. Helped her stand. To them I say thank you

every chance I get. I thank them by never going back. By not forgiving.
Someday I will raise an army of daughters. Thank you,

they will not have your face. Your carnivorous heart.
Every night they will crawl into their father’s lap and say thank you

for loving our mother. For the lilacs in the kitchen, which are only
lilacs. Not reminders of your purpled fistprints. Not a thank you

for not calling the police. You taught me what love is
not—that’s how I learned what it is. Your absolute opposite. Thank you.

happy birthday

Welcome to the new world

And if I was to say that I really, really wanted to get to know you,
it would just be an understatement:
Me, I want to pour your thoughts into a wine glass
and sip them slow with a straw like I’m on vacation;
I want to light candles and bathe for hours in secrets that you’ve just never had the courage
to say out loud—
I’m ready.
I’m ready to grab onto your dreams and jump in a pool head first just to see if
hope still floats—I want to float next to you.
I’m talking like, ten feet above cumulus clouds
so no one can ever rain on our parade.

-Rudy Francisco

The Water Cycle

Falling in love with you was a kind of melting, and
falling out of love with you wasn’t at all like rebuilding
ice cubes out of fog, but rather
evaporation, condensation, and then the rain
once more.

My heartbeat keeps me awake at night
and I don’t understand what language it speaks in so
I put a stethoscope over my chest and plug
it into my laptop,
but Google Translate
still hasn’t found how to translate water into words,
or an ocean into a novel
about the back of a whale’s throat.

The heart
is never as simple as a one-liner.

The heart
is a burning shipwreck under four thousand layers of sea.

What I’ve come here to do tonight is this —
salvage what I can from the wreckage
so that I can rise again, like a phoenix, into my own
skin.

I touch you and my heart undergoes the water cycle.
Evaporation and condensation, and then
always,

this rain.

“The Water Cycle” – Shinji Moon

yellow

Discovered Miles Walser, and yes, our homegirl is in LOVE.

Perfectly Human

Your heart is a geyser and for that you will always feel strange.
Most people shut down when they get over saturated with feeling;
most people harden into hate
– into indifference –
because the biggest risk we ever take is to love without fear.

You are not afraid.
You are a cathedral waiting to be filled with hymns;
you are an infinite playground;
you are sky-bound and sprinting,
so cover your heart in goose-bump armor.
It will only beat stronger,
beat louder.

Keep hoping.
Stand up on subways and shout compliments to strangers,
dance, poorly, in public if it makes you feel better.
Love until it hurts.
Then love more—you know how.

There will be days when you’ll wish you were numb;
when you’ll want to rip your heart off your body
 and find something easier to take its place.
Collect those days like bricks
and marvel at the buildings you will make.
Stand on top, chest open, head up—
Nobody will ever see the world like you do.

Never try to be better than the best version of you.
You are not perfect.
You are perfectly human

Now, Now – Wolf

It’s been almost a year since I’ve been full-on obsessed with someone. I don’t think I’m capable of it anymore, perhaps once I turned 20 that was the cutoff point. I really dig this song though, and here’s the picture. that I made. BAM

 

APOLOGIES hashtag hashtag personal

I came home to find a blue screen of death on my computer, so I am in the process of putting all my files on my external drive.  I stumbled upon my old journal, from back in 2010 and couldn’t help but read through some of the entries.   It’s funny how I used to password protect anything.  Fast forward to now, where my writings reflect the fact that I really do not care who knows what about me.  Also, the poems I wrote back then were horrendously terrible.  but hilarious.

I really need to find my handwritten journals… They must be back in my hometown, in my old room. I think I started writing poetry in junior high, maybe freshman year of high school, I should check.

Excerpt!  This is from freshman year of college, the first time I ever went to the hub to dance:
“We were all dancing and getting super sweaty ( I shoulda worn flats instead of boots) and all of a sudden… ! Foam fell from the ceiling! Soap bubble foam with purple and pink and blue lights lighting it up! It was magical. And beautiful. I had this huge smile on my face and all we could do was throw our hands up in the air and look up and dance and dance and dance. It was like some fairy tale. Cinderella’s Ball or something.. gorgeous and magical and out of this world. I was so confident. That night was just awesome.  Argh. 🙂 and my brother came for a while, with Tyler and this 20 year old I never met before named Thomas who was SUPER hot I might add. But probably pretty unattainable.”

jhahah

That night was happiness of the first order. Easily makes it into my top 7 nights of Freshman year. I feel sorry for people who don’t like to dance. They must lead very mundane lives.

I am happy I have the night I met Thomas documented, although he only makes a cameo appearance.  He is the man who raised my standards.  He is the reason I don’t settle for less.  Amazing human being.  And not just because he looks like Heath Ledger, although that doesn’t hurt.

okay. sorry this is so personal and obviously not relevant

No Lies, Just Love – Bright Eyes

I haven’t cried in a long time.  This is the closest I’ve been, just reading these lyrics.  Kills me.

So please forgive what I have done
No you can’t stay mad at the setting sun
Cause we all get tired, I mean eventually
There is nothing left to do but sleep
But spring came bearing sunlight
Those persuasive rays
So I gave myself a few more days
My salvation it came, quite suddenly
When Justin spoke very plainly
He said “Of course it’s your decision,
But just so you know,
If you decide to leave,
Soon I will follow”

I wrote this for a baby
Who has yet to be born
My brother’s first child
I hope that womb’s not too warm
Cause it’s cold out here
And it’ll be quite a shock
To breathe this air
To discover loss
So I’d like to make some changes
Before you arive
So when your new eyes meet mine
They won’t see no lies
Just love.
Just love.

I will be pure
No, no, I know i will be pure
Like snow, like gold


so’s you know, the 20 seconds it took you to respond were just about earth shattering.  I worry.

in which I try to leave, but am not able to pull it off

you are
a cigarette in a drought-yellowed
forest,
to be gotten rid of quick
the way birds flee from
forest fires that
only you can prevent
but don’t
 —
Finals week.  wrote something interesting but it’s in my journal at home and tonight I live at the library.
also. .. ..
 huh. tonight there is no also.  I really just want to shake my fist at my laptop and not do my final paper.  apply some good old Ctrl-Alt-Delete to my life.  (I think that doesn’t make any sense).
peace.
there’s a fine line between surrealism and pure pointless drivel.  I ate that line and licked the plate clean.
peace again.
I dunno why the word drivel always reminds me of food.  Rice pudding maybe.  Something that shouldn’t be liquid but insists on being so anyways.
last piece AH peace. (p.s.)?  turns out there were a few alsos after all.  And that word is underlined in red and it looks terrible.  The only things that should be underlined in red are the noses of gingers with really nice mustaches.  Surprisingly enough, even in this enlightened age, google will not get you a decent picture of a real nice, natural, bright red mustache.  Perhaps they don’t exist?
food for thought.
afterthought peace/piece/p.s./peas
I’m out.

Island of Misfit Toys

Just watched “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”  with my brother.  The whole time he just kept saying, “I thought this movie was about fistfighting? When are they gonna fistfight??”  And then he got bored and skipped the last half hour.

what I’ve been trying to say is I hate teenage romantic comedies.  They give me bitter nostalgia for something I’ve never had.

I really don’t like movies in general. I only watch them if I’m with a man, because my brain is unoriginal and I can’t think of other things to do.

also! poetry.  I was sitting in church feeling uncomfortable because all the women my age are so ridiculously polished.  They are very un-messy.  You get the feeling they have never laughed uncontrollably to the point of falling, or stuck their entire upper body out of a car doing 80 and screamed at the stars.  I guess exteriors don’t tell you that much, and I can act charm-schooled as well. I did used to be in a sorority after all.  anyways, I wrote this in church. 

Uniform
 
the people I like are the ones
not well put together

wild-haired mannequins
in strange colors
with screws loose and
backward feet

the ones rocking enthusiasm when
calm and cool is the Cosmo-worshippers
first commandment

people who sit on staircases during
ragers, doing math problems by
strobe-light

people who see no difference between study sessions and
musicals

the ones who are so down with
looking like fools
the standard for commonplace
eats it’s own
smothered-in-steak-sauce cliches
for breakfast

you make me forget how good
I am at blending in

you turn “normal”  into
a breathalyzer test
I can’t wait to fail
—-
These are fortune cookies I got.  If you know my history at all, then you should be able to see why they freaked me out so bad.  Also, what the heck King House, my best friend gets “What do you call a sheep with no legs?  A cloud”.