growing up...

and moving on...

love dies too @ wordpress

old self portraits 2005

i plugged in, and looked around, my external hard drive today. forgot all about these photos i took two apartments, and three lives ago. kind of neat. couldn't have taken these with the nice new camera i have today.. thank heavens for that old piece of shit and way too much time on my hands.

white and red

the white satin robe hangs open. face towards the huge window that looks out over the foggy city. it's the middle of the day and the boy who fills the house coat is skinny, bony, and has a lopsided hair cut. he's twenty something, and this is his apartment. only his back is visible as i am standing at the door of his bedroom and he still looks out the window. hair, robe, bare feet. he has a gun in his right hand. he lifts it to his temple and blows his brains against the wall.

i survey the room. starting to my left there is now blood all over the white wall. everything in the room is white in fact. except of course the blood on the wall and the oriental red dragon that was pressed into the silk of the lump on the floor. even the bed frame is white. sheets, pillows, bed side tables. everything is white with red accents, which seems grotesque now.

i lie in his bed. the bed was not directly in the spatters path and is only slightly effected at the bottom left hand side. i get under the covers. they are silk as well. or at least feel like it. expensive is all i can say for sure. 1000 thread count my brother would say. i look through his bed side table. flip through his magazines. and even use the hand cream he kept in the top drawer. winter makes my hands chip.

i get up and start by pressing my finger tips into fat little ovals against the smudge-free floor to ceiling wall mirror directly to the right of my brother's bed. i walk from the bedroom to the living room drawing invisible lines along the wall. touching everything in the little ovals paths. my fingers glide along the immaculate walls. i run them up and down up and down. none of it matters now.

more white. and red. and chrome. the symmetry is endless. i kneel on the autumn looking into the framed picture of some sort of falls somewhere. it's beautiful. i flip on the t.v, i dont watch but let the sound of the cartoons fill the room. i enter the kitchen and open the drawers, rifling through the utencils, spices, and everyone's favorite, "the junk drawer". which holds nothing too exciting. this apartment seemed much more interesting last time i was here.

i waste time milling around and before too long the paramedics rush in. someone must have heard the shot. must have called the police. i guess i should have done the same. one woman and two men enter the apartment and seem to go directly to my brother's body without me having to tell them anything. as they try to assess my brother's condition, its hard to breath. i feel pulled into the scene. drawn in. but i dont want to interfere. i've done an amazing job at staying out of the way. but i know there is nothing they can do. my brother is dead.

my eyes burn, and i feel overwhelmed by the brightness in the room. i can barely make out the figures that stand kneeling beside my brother's body. as their words become muffled i realize i need help. i go to them and try and get someone's attention. but they wont listen to me. but i am having an emergency too. i start to panic. and i try and shake the left shoulder of the paramedic who is still on his knees holding my brother's wrist. but nothing works.

it takes ten to fifteen minutes to realize i'm dead. the real amount of time unknowable. it isnt until i do that i begin to feel cold. my hands begin to feel like i am wearing gloves and i get the worst taste in my mouth. i begin to remember that the man who blew his head apart is me. not my brother. and that i never even had one.

i watch the paramedics put me on the gurney. my heart has sank and i mourn myself as though i were someone else. as my bedroom begins to clear they roll out my body. as though tied by an invisible transparent worm i am forced to follow. cold, tired, and without a body of my own.

Photos

a dream

i had a dream last night about a spanish general's brother who cuts his penis in half. diagonally up from under his scrotum right through to the tip. voluptuous nurses dancing around like gypsies sew it back together, they had long flowing skirts and their breasts exposed, which made him hard enough for the surgery. he did this because he was in love with his brother's wife. the general died in the war but his beautiful wife had to remain a widow due to custom. she grows older, and matronly, and the crazed brother who cut his manhood in half convinces her to have a penis implant. they start a monthly; her with her imitation penis and drawn on 16th century spanish spade beard, and the topless nurses. it's a success, and they live like rich gypsies. this all takes place at a carnival, at night.

conquering act

sex makes me think of you. seeing it - i see you.

you on your knees. i'm resting on my back, my upper shoulders taking most of the weight. your palms open holding up my lower body. legs together resting up on your right shoulder, my toes curl and tighten with pleasure as you pull me and i glide to and fro, in and out.


i extend my arms up and cross my wrists as though they were cuffed, all for you to see. i play along, play my role in this mini conquering where i act as though i don't want it, or i'm giving in, or i'm surprised this could feel so good. i am a good girl, and this is certainly naughty. as i breath in, or hold my breath, i can see that my ribs are exposed, and that the area near my hip bones concave slightly and i turn myself on.


my ankles cross while still over your shoulder. i tighten my calves, tighten my thighs, tighten my cheeks. i try to tighten inside. i try to squeeze you from the inside to make it feel.... more.


my legs open wide, left leg crosses over and past your face, and lowers down, so i am open, before you, my body like an arch. and you are able to put me back down on the bed to get a better thrust. a better push. i have been moved up with each movement and can now cross my arms above my head and push against the wall. push back. push back in pretend agony.

i close my eyes and turn my face to the left. i do this so you can still see me. see me cringe. but still see me open my mouth and close it with breaths of enjoyment, and torment. i close my eyes so you can make me whomever you want. you can be you without someone watching. thrust, and groan without my intrusion. i become the cunt you so vehemently pound, every so carefully, but with all of the drive you can muster. it feels so good.


i wish you would take my neck in your grasp and tighten your fist. i need to be even more short of breath than i am now. i want you to hold me down. your right hand on my neck, the other on my right hip and PUSH.


and i know you will. and that's why i've chosen you. because with each caress of my skin, touch of my nipples, pull of my hair, you make me feel this. this becomes real. and i become yours.

losing likeness

she's slipping.

trying to fasten her grip is no help and each grope for a better hold is a waste. Fully stretched out, her arms don't quite reach half way around the massive globe she hopelessly clings too. the surface of which provides no respite thanks to its smooth texture.

"how long can she last?", I wonder. and her attempts at repositioning finally fail and she drops down, down, down, out of sight.

I scream up at him, "this isn't love!". and i feel barren after losing another. i don't know if he hears me. i can't see if he's there.
But he's given me unattainable obstacles to overcome. and i hate him for it. hate/love/hate/love.

stripped of my final attempt, i feel exposed and dangling. i have been all of the girls whom i have sacrificed. and with each, i've lost a bit of myself.

i loved him, but he wouldn't listen. i wonder why i've been left to survive, while so much of me has fallen into the unknown. abandoned by me because if it's lack of this, or inability to do that.

i think of the other girls who seem to have sacrificed so little to win him. i imagine my likeness out there unable to hold her grasp, succumbing to Odyssey below.

it is on this ledge that i stand, one hundred and twelve point five milligrams at a time, firmly away from the edge. i too could fall, slip, or slide, all the way back down into the unknown. or perhaps the 'all too familiar'. but it's not like that now. as bad as it is, this defeat is fleeting, and only at times, overwhelming.

Despite my armor, intelligence, and charm, I was unable to find the key. "we had a dog name Zelda once", i offer. but none of that matters now.

As i'm lost in thought, the booming voice above announces, "the game is over". let down, i step back. lay down my sword. and wonder how the voice of one can chime out so many others.

Upper Hand

The three of us. It's been five years since i've seen you; one year more than it took for you to ruin my life. And here we are.

Me, you, and your new girlfriend of two years. I wonder if she's been spared the pain of you sleeping with your old girlfriends. well, we're about to find out.

I like her, she's bubbly. Blond and spontaneous. And really nice. I ran into you two at her work. Which just happens to be a block from your house. You two live together.

I was having the worst day. Puppy problems, a fight with a best friend, and a skinned knee that won't heal.

I'm in the open stairwell of the antiques shop/cafe she works at. Loudly arguing with my friend who is unsympathetically helping me maneuver this red, country style chest, over the hand rail. It's not working.

Once i see you it's too late. I would never have seen you again if it were up to me. But there I am in all my glory: huffy, ripped open knee, pushing my friend to her amiable limits.

She bails, and sure enough it begins to pour.

You carry the birdhouse shaped chest the two blocks to your and her new place. you'll give me a ride when it lets up.

She is kind, offers me tea to warm up. and all i can think of is fucking you. i've always thought of what it would be like to let you take me over like you used to. you are not a good person. you broke my heart. and part of me hopes you will break hers.

We all stay in. End up drinking. and she falls asleep. this room is dark, with only the t.v on, just like your room was when i was fifteen. i'm wet. i can't help it. and i hope you want the green gym shorts your girlfriend has lent me to come off as much as i do.

You do. i can see it in your sweats. we're going to fuck. there's no way around it. but the apartment seems much smaller now. and the living room and bed room are only separated by the back of the couch i'm sitting on. but it doesn't matter. you take me over to the thigh high bed and i turn around and bend over.

the best part is the first touch, and with that we're fucking like we never missed a beat. i don't love you. and this act of insolence, youthful ignorance, isn't going to help. isn't going to change anything. it certainly wont make my parents like you anymore.

it's not the physical act. it's not the delightful pain, or the undivided attention. it's that i want his wanting me. i loved him like a child. and he treated me like one.

she wakes. sleepy eyes look over and process what she sees. she gets up, walks to the bathroom. we pause, and when she comes out she isn't mad. he's done this before. "i thought we were working on this", she says. Fuck, she's his kind. not treacherous, but unaffected. she looks at me, "you should also know he said you were used up". i get up.

I call my friend to pick me up. we can put the fucking birdhouse in the back of his truck. i never want to see you again. but this time i mean it. and this time it's you who has the upper hand.

Anais

His inner thighs hold my hips in place. A thick hand and steady forearm run his wide fingers up my naked back. First, moving over my tail bone, then casting an eclipse like shadow, his palm grazes up my spine; which makes my legs cringe with anticipation.

Palm over my shoulders, fingers up the back of my neck, i'm captured with a tight fist full of hair and firm pull, which reveals my face over my right shoulder. my temples tighten with the tension of my hostage hair.

A full palm covers my mouth to hold in my scream. but i wouldn't dare. i want it. i want to fuck back because i hate him. and i hate me. i push back and i relish in the inhospitable clenches of flesh that i know will leave bruises.

The blade runs cold, down from my bottom lip, over my chin, throat, chest. One rib, two, until it rests pushing into my lower abdomen. i used to be afraid of being maimed. but now it's different. now i want to die.

My ankles tied together, my knees bent, locked in place, my face pushed down in the sheets. I want it to hurt. I want you to hurt me. Because this is the only way i feel.

American Gods

a sledgehammer to the face. whhhhack. and i lose every tooth in my head. I am now as ugly as i feel.

I twist and pull at the bloody stragglers left behind. I don't wipe away the blood from my chin, or my chest. I want to feel it's warmth and fluidity. I bathe in the gore of my blood-soaked misfortune.

my nose is broken; my eyes are beginning to swell. I will wear this wound, this battle, for awhile. My bruises will post a 'no trespassing' sign, to anyone who may wish to enter.

My smile, now crooked and gummy, shines through. Because with that blow, the pain is over. 

nails apple lips

red nails, red apple, red lips,
white teeth tear the flesh.

"hey, my heart was in there", i say over your 'slurp'.

crunch
i loved you more than you loved me
crunch
why couldn't you love me back
crunch
there's nothing left to say

with every tear, and juicy mouthful, a little of my love dies.

i exist in the sweet juice of that apple.
i am the tender texture you devour. 
that beautiful red was what i had to offer. 

but all that remains is the core,
and, yes, "this too shall pass",
until i grow again

to be young

as my fist tightens and my blue veins jut out, my wrist quivers with pressure. the meaty contents of my hand molds to the force of my tiny finger tips. warm, thick blood wraps around and runs down my forearm like rain on a pane of glass.

as i stand in my towel they don't notice me watching them scream. the heart in my right hand goes unnoticed as voices raise and feelings are hurt. thrashing back and fourth like paint strewn on a canvas their argument tears me apart. i want to scream, "hold me!". But i know they wouldn't listen. the battle has taken them, and they have forgotten who they are. and with this, they have forgotten me and the warm organ in my hand.

i paint my face with the blood of my possession. an object i massage and admire. i look to it with love because i know i can destroy it. stabbing through it's leathery skin with my dull finger nails. i have extracted it from the body of my love. the one i loved from day one. but as i lift the heart out, and hold it as a separate thing, the body grows cold and gray.

they scream.
fighting means leaving.
and i will be left alone.
i can't control it. the fight has taken over.
but i don't mean what i say. these insecurities aren't mine.
i can't begin to offer the bloody heart in my hand. it's the only one I have.

and as he leaves i know i have failed.
and i am all alone: mess in hand, and broken heart on the floor.

fix me: old poems by a younger girl, together revised. (probably a mistake)

1. the city is polluted.
but on the surface it's shiny and well.
the underbelly of people's lives are rotten and decaying, and i'm afraid i bought in.

people are sick.
this city is sick.
cheap sex is sick.

yeah sure, piss in my mouth and punch me in the face. i didn't love you anyway.
these people don't know love.
and now in the face of chance, in the face of optimism, i need to be cynical. You see, chances are this new one is as trashy as the last; as fucked up as the whores he's supposedly slept with.

it's hard when you get what you want and then realize it wasn't what you thought. these people are 'popular' because they're ruthless. leave me out of it. they just want more players.

and there it is. i'm as cynical as the first one had told me i would be.
damn, maybe i was too optimistic.

2. late nights, early mornings
something has got to give.

i cant sleep. my stomach turns. i don't even know you.
i stay up late. i stayed in to sleep. but i cant.
i want to be out.
i want to drink.

i made a decision. now i'm nervous. but it doesn't matter.
really i am me.
and i am loved.
even if not by you.


3. when i was you and you were someone else

in-love with a feeling.
but i am empty.
and tired.
and my eyes feel heavy.
i cant work. i won't work. anything takes too long.

you steer my day and don't even know.
i make you something.
you wont miss me when i'm gone,
because i was never there,
but to me it has been ages.
i wonder if you'll feel it.
i wouldn't want you if i had you anyway.

this town is the same as the next.
the same as anything.
it's the chase we are after.
don't give in.
if you'd want me it wouldn't be true.

4. in love with her from day one

woke up late. no sun to rejuvenate. school. a number. post alcohol. thought about writing. thought about writing you. thought about reading. scrolled through life, someone else's for that matter. we wont meet again. moving lightly like sunlight. felt sorry for going without you. missed a friend. the teddy bear didn't cuddle back. no shoes, no smiles. lets see how this goes. a new love would be nice.