They liked the idea of you. The object of everyone's affection. The chocolate coated baby-candy-treat. You free bleed into the kitchen sink. The rain pours harder but the music is set at a low level grumble. Take all the cosmetic surgery to avoid aging like the mother that never really wanted you. This place of pop art serenity and bubblegum opium.. » Continue Reading
Body bed imprints of single girlhood but instead of 20 year old bones it’s now 30. The music has transcended to a higher priesthood, it’s all there on your receipt. Youth. naivety coins earned and then exchanged for momentary lapses of stick poke grief and an extended stay at a mattress king terrarium where things don’t always grow as intended. The girl down the street was easier, bree » Continue Reading
Well, I'm pretty fucking tired . So we'll see how cohesive this ends up being? I've posted many 'o bulletin and I'm getting pretty fucking sick of the radio silence from everyone. Either that, or the awkward comment equivalent of passing by a homeless whose finally snapped from all the abuses these brittle systems bring. (Okay, majorly dramatic , I by no means, know what it's like to really be hom... » Continue Reading
Your help: a lot of head shakes and motionless standing in doorways. My screams go into the floorboards. Full body carpet skin rotations. Reverse, reverse! Pull, spin, Bop It! Your words infiltrate the insulation that wasn't installed by a loving mother and son duo together on a cloudy Sunday morning. Instead, a room shoe box glued, taped, and painted by » Continue Reading
Not sure why it feels like a response to an addiction? To restrain from quickly typing in a name to its correlating search engine. A name considered maiden now, I guess. Just an optimal time to live then. Where emotions were felt HARD. Simple things achieved on $5 dollars worth of gas. And I felt it. The temperature on my skin, the salt in my mouth. Waking up next to you » Continue Reading
Endless hours on the floor looking up; my own sunscreen for facial congestion and a healthier existence. Obsessiveness in the form of sloppy applications of a rhinestone or half a dozen, onto department store laminate. The blue blur conceals my face as faded gray scan for a disturbance during her travels abroad. Couldn’t even recycle styrofoam for you to get a free concert. Never needed to... » Continue Reading
Why are some people born with both parents? How do people have a mom and a dad in their seventies plus, and does it always sometimes matter? I’m struggling . If you haven’t already figured that one out. I feel so isolated. I’m not the anti-hero that can survive not having a family or the crafty character actor who can create their own piece by piece. The camera panning into the window of h » Continue Reading
A masterful couple. to house sit amongst the vacant headed. I’m grateful for you. Resentful he made me get purple frames instead of clear. I saw her French mouth today, above it sports clear frames. Grateful for him. Grateful for him. I look like a clown always. Without charming ceramic or mantle-worthy surrealism. The mean and blatantly angry everyone avoids at lunch. Under eye mascara » Continue Reading
Depression is found inside bleeding gums. Hearing another voice on the phone in the next room is still a nightlight left on for me. Handmade hearts over protruding stomachs flood the internet. You aren't a mother anymore if your child's birth date, photo ID, and zip code are not on full display. Just another club to be forever exiled from. Still haven't forgiven my own for piercing infant ears. Wi... » Continue Reading
My mother used to exude a more breathable oxygen when she kept on reading. To me or to herself. She was the trees for awhile, the forest that gave each one of us a little collection of her air. The color drains from both of us when the blue screen sucks out any natural light. My sister used to hold my face tight when the flash bu » Continue Reading
It seems each one of us outgrew my mother’s face except for me. Drinking full fledge coke inside a house which no longer keeps my grandparents makes the forever transition to diet more secure. OK Aspartame, take me. I honestly hope for my eyes to sink deeper into the back of my skull. Then forward onto an empty space where no thought or feeling provoke a stillness. Who will resume holdi » Continue Reading
I hate my small face. I can scrunch it into Michelin-Man-Marshmallow and feign distress. From faraway, it can disappear from everyone I know; a square peg failing to fit into its circle. Oh those beautiful circles. I envy their full baby faces staring back. The top of a heart drawn on various spaces. Leaving all sorts of abstraction in their wake. I want to feel comfortable in my age and dre » Continue Reading