me rambling like there's no tomorrow

too much reading about kidnappings totally made me out of whack today and totes unable to sleep. 

this one's definitely for me,

thinking about mom and the outcome of things and how this past week meant nothing and everything to me. sometimes people get pregnant or not and sometimes girls want to "beat the shit" out of me for standing up for myself (and you could! no denying it) and sometimes i think about cutting and hide all the sharp objects in the house because i'm beyond that but addictions never truly leave and that your ego be trippin (!) if you keep judging poems like that and women are powerful and i'm still learning how to be a good person and i'm only 21 and you're crying to me in a bar and i don't need it and writing is the best thing, next to sandwiches and i was creepy today and i hope she didn't see me and it's 3:17 am and i'm smarter than i was 3 months ago and who drank half my soy milk, i think it was me actually and i'm in denial if i think i'm not allergic to cats and love is so complex and beautiful things and ideas are born everyday and i know people who are *soul mates* and it inspires me and this month the full moon strap on fucked me and i'm so greatful for everything and lately i've been feeling mean and i'm not self loathing but need to organize my thoughts and my notebook is so far and the computer is right here and wow mondays are weird and yeah, so what i used the word 'baby' in a poem that i happen to think is great! suck my nearly symmetrical labia. and what is perfect anyway? and how do i save all the opressed women of the world? i don't. and 1 in 3 women in swaziland have HIV and i've been trying so hard to be objective and i finally learned how to step out of myself and breathe and blink 182 will always be my favorite band and tattoos are like peace treaties with my body and i can finally stand in front of the mirror and feel ok and that's amazing and i've only experienced true anger once in my life and it wasn't this week and i don't know why i said otherwise, i think in my head i was trying to be funny but obvi didn't come out that way and i was hurt by them not coming to support me, but finally grasped the reality i had been repressing: it's over and that is so ok with me, it is what it is, why did i make it a fucking big deal to someone else? and why did i talk out of my ass to someone that i actually respect and that doesn't intimidate me? nicole, just shut up and stop text messaging and i'd never ruin anyone else's personal property ever and i wouldn't wish scabies on anyone and i can't believe people throw water melons at buses and my skin looks great since i stopped smoking weed and pbr sucks but it so cheap and i hope that got that got beaten up at the park is ok and i miss my dad and it's now 3:47 and i get to see linzy tomorrow and what does "you make me crazy" mean? and why'd you come back to me? we're not even compatible, duh. and i can't stop thinking about my dreams, so vivid these days, premonitions??? i beat up lisa, so random and sharks and swimming and rose tattoos and crohn's and having to explain myself and fucking girls and doing it well and not being ashamed anymore and so proud of my mom and sooo proud of my mom and my sister and i talk now and i want to grow gardens full of lupines and traveling would be amazing and no more burritos from 18th and valencia i felt like my gallbladder was back to haunt me and apparently i'm not going to like to be tied down romantically and we'll see and blah and blah blah got to pee again, i do really want a cat though

ramblin like a ramblin thing....3:54 this one's for me ooh yeah for me

trusting hieroglyphics as poetic statements

my daughter's birthday

my womb started beating fraud-u-lence-is-wait-ing when the orchestra drove ivory piano keys into me and so vivaldi birthed my daughter wet and gifted spiritually, she was born restless, with obsession and depression, her trials were ritual sadness locked up in rib cage cabinet, she was a death threat and potential mess. 

my daughter was born in november with an archers wound and consistency to surrender, she was peeled out of scabs from her torso, my daughter breathed little and extended fingertips to suffrage but my daughter had no soul, she was born in november, topaz toothaches, emotional disconnection, lies before truth was made, my daughter was born on her knees forgetting which words spelled out forgiveness and tried to please people with kindness, but my daughter was inevitably soulless. she shunned off the violin strings she used to strangle me and plucked my money ‘til harmonics ran smoothly. 

my daughter took my picture one day in spring time, she told me my bones were perfect, that she’d inherited my jaw line and my daughter wrote love letters to suicide, wanted to be famous on the other side. 

my daughter was born in november during down pours of her favorite weather, she was a caretaker for nothing and couldn’t memorize a poem, my daughter was a writer, she tried to tell a story, my daughter was born in november she was always paranoid, she felt too old in the winter, too young in the summer, she wanted to be trained classically but couldn’t withstand the notes and keys. my daughter only felt self loathing when her hands were too dirty for holding, my daughter was born in november and i don’t even remember her. 

sometimes, i wish i could take my voice and choke it, but not most of the time.

and the other times i would make love to my voice in a library of acoustics, because i love it and couldn't possibly hate it.

stop sweatin' me, sun

wow, crater face is so in the works hardxcore!!!!! it's filled with religion, sexuality, women, mom's, mental illness, art, and trying to just figure shit out! i can't wait to finish publishing it! oh and writing it heeeheeee

Sept 6 – trans man? Not sure – w4m – (castro / upper market)

 I’ve been looking for you since before my thoughts had been conceived, since before confession had been forced on me, I’ve been looking for you. I’ve been looking for you under prayer shawls and in the ink blotches spilling verses of the Qur’an. Looking for you in the eastern sky where wise men be seeing you, but not i. I’ve been looking for you in the Torah’s Ark and in 78 cards of t-a-r-o-t, been searching you out like Tibetan hills and meditation rituals. And God, I think I finally ran into you waiting for the 33 on 18^th street, you were looking pretty worn out, you were looking pretty much post-surgery, but my eyes can easily deceive me. I was too scared to ask for your number, but you gave me the feeling you were a bio woman in God’s clothing. So maybe we could grab a cup of coffee? Because, God, I’ve got some questions that really need answering. 

lauren and whit von koss-bailey be MIA

your whiskey dick leaves me helpless

I’m begging you to,

please write me a love poem

where your words aren’t clouded over by subtle line breaks

and you don’t whisper my name in vein,

like shooting poison down to guessing

and I can’t make these gravestones fit

but you know me,

I’d make them rise if you’d wake with me,

if you’d look at stars and see woven truth with me,

let the life lines of our palms spawn gentle chemistry

just write me a love poem, baby,

please include thoughts

like how you wear my heart on

your collarbone

and my words pierce your nipples like sex does

and maybe interplanetary combustion gets your engine revving,

I just want to hear you speak it

Like you know it

Like it flows through you

Like pages and pages of chicken scratch note book

Scattering like wind chimes

Reading like children’s rhymes

like when they were first writing the words of the bible

On parchment

It scratches skin so deep

jesus keeps crying

and he’s wondering why these words reflect demons

and not hymn

and why god the father wasn’t there to teach him

to throw a

baseball

or ride a

bicycle

just taught him

suffering

like being lonely wasn’t enough

and I know that you know what I’m saying

But you ain’t dead yet

You got years that pool ponds of memories

That I’ve already thought of

But haven’t shared yet

And I know your religion is scattered on your left arm

So raise it to heaven

Without pleading for forgiveness

And write me a love poem

In the language of your people

In the tone of voice you sleep with

In the tone of voice that he’s everything you’d ever dreamed with

To be with

And see with

He’s got tan skin

To protect the bones you got caged in

And like I said

jesus

spent some time suffering

Begging his father to just forgive them,

They know not what they do

And I know these days you feel like him

And I see that your arms are stretched

Against plywood and you’re nailed to it

And I know you think that no one knows

What your deal with the rosary is

But I think that I get it.

 

I want you to just write me a love poem, angel

Starting with

“You complete me,

You’re everything I want to be”

I want to hear you spit it on dirty cement pages

Just do it

Thinking clearly

I’m nearly

Your lover in some other

Body

Of Christ and of poetry

Where we can tie religion in like shoestrings

And I’ve strung, you to me,

So write me a love poem, baby,

And tell me what you’re feeling

Because I’m missing your words like bible study

And miracles that make you saintly

And I’m just waiting

To hear whatever type of poem you want to write, baby

I’m just waiting.