on this night of all nights

December 27, 2006

you you aim to hurt, you are not truly looking at me but at what i think i might have been i am angry and i am broken i am screaming without any sound you are hurting me hurting me hurting me Erin and Julia and i ran around the block i ran until i thought my lungs might burst outwards, shining light, pouring onto the street the lights were so bright, they were the colors of dreamsicles, the color of dreams, the color of my nightmares these days and i kept falling down but i was still breathing, i kept dropping to my knees inside my mind but my legs were still moving i was still running and i was still breathing, still breathing, my heart was still beating that powerful feeling that intimacy because a heartbeat tells you that we are the same, we are just as mortal as anyone else no matter what that second seems like a heartbeat never really slows and time never really stops.  i can’t believe that you would lie to me, i don’t understand how anyone can treat anyone else like that.  i want to scream and cry and hit things, i want to throw rocks in your windows at your face i want to tear your canvases from their frames i want to pour red red paint (blood) on your drawings and your sculptures i want you to see that there is nothing beautiful in the world, you cannot make beauty you can’t because you are not as powerful as you think you are, you are not immortal!  we are all going to die one way or another, i can only laugh and the smoke that billows from my mouth tastes of ozone and winter reminds me of summer reminds me of being happy, or at least content.  i can open my eyes wide and stare up at the dark sky, a hollowed out moon and hiding stars and streetlights like the Christmas Beacon, shining in neon glory.  the three of us held each other and i have never been more in love.  i saw your face for the first time since that night in June when you made believe that it was still something when i hoped that our Nothing could be Something because i loved being in love and i loved loving you.  your eyes are so dark and your face is so angular, everything about you cuts me somewhere that i can’t reach i want to break you i want to bite you and make you bleed, to taste the blood of you on me because YOU CANNOT DENY ME i will run until there is nothing left running for, until there isn’t anything but MYSELF i keep wanting not to care i keep wanting not to hurt i will fall again and again i will press my face into white snow and breathe the ice i cannot love except with everything that exists of me.  i cannot give anything but my honesty, i cannot give anything but my trust i will be anything and everything for you, i am so full of love that it hurts me.

i don’t know what i want from you anymore except for honesty, the one thing i asked you for.  i don’t know what i want except to see what the reflections of the snow look like in your eyes, i want you to be there for me like i asked you such a long time ago.  i want you to care.  i want to know that you care.  i want to know that i am not alone and that i will survive this, i am going to be so much somewhere and this does not change me, this cannot touch the essence of what i am, no matter how reckless i am when i love you.  i feel like i am back in August when i cried so hard that i couldn’t breathe and the whole everything pressed in around me until i had to let it all go and those photos fell so easily from my fingers, the pictures of him and i when we were so happy and the lake took everything away from me.  

your face in the light of the lamp, you were there and you could see me and the panic and anger was so choking that i had to run.

i had to scream.

i want to not care.  i want to not hurt.  i want to not love.

i want to

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this time of year, you always disappear
you tell me not to call, you tell me not to call
and when the door is closed,
you’re wearing different clothes
or hiding in the paper, pretending not to hear.

inexpensive wine, i buy it all the time
you tell me take it back,
you say you’ll take a nap
but i can see it now, you always tell me
how i could so much better
(you said it in your letter)

did i make you cry on Christmas Day?
did i let you down like every other day?
did i make you cry on Christmas Day?
did i let you down on Christmas Day?

the bed that isn’t made,
the broken window shade
the radiator song, i loved you all along
but i can see it now, you always tell me
how i could do so much better
(you said it in your letter)

i stay awake at night after we have a fight
i’m writing poems about you
(and they’re not very nice)
i didn’t mean to yell, i said i couldn’t tell
i only grabbed your wrist –
or would you rather we kissed?

did i make you cry on Christmas Day?
did i make you cry like every other day?
did i make you cry on Christmas Day?
did i make you cry?

(Sufjan Stevens)

happy christmas

December 25, 2006

emotional displays, being congratulated, and being hugged by extended family members all make me very uncomfortable.

my uncle wants me to visit him in St. Paul in March.  i’m not sure if i want to go, because my family out there doesn’t really like to see me much, and i wouldn’t really know what to do.  i don’t know.

O night divine

December 24, 2006

it is still
already dark,
we are coming
home.
the music is a little loud,
i
feel the curve
of my sister’s cheek against mine.
she pulls the gloves from
my fingers,
one
at
a
time,
silky black
Christmas night.
when she puts them on, the tips
sag a little
her hands are very small
her knuckles are knobbled
like mine.
she is almost
not quite
nearly ten,
we have identical noses.
her face tilts up;
i will kiss the
sweet spot on her
forehead
she is my darling
mum and dad laugh;
my brother looks out the window
i smooth away sleeping sister’s hair
her skin is damp and soft,
my baby.
her hand holds mine tight
and the streetlights are lightly frosted
Christmas is creeping nearer
ain’t we got it good?

tonight

December 22, 2006

it feels 
like how tonight should feel
i feel like i am alllll right.
it feels like the streets are
symmetrical,
the same on each half of
my mirrored view!
oh my guardian
angel!
i see
the lights
before the roadway

lo how a rose e’er blooming

December 22, 2006

i will fold
myself into a 
paper air–
plane,
settled on the
water’s waves,
pale.  skinnedknees
angled upwards,
cold skin, and soap
film clinging to my toes
the bath drains slowly,
heavily pulling, i stir up secrets
with my hands.
a little bit of
blood on the pale blue towel; i’ve
cut myself again.
i guess i fell a little
(lota) bit more
in love
than i realized.
hey, okay.
tonight i’m breaking the law

i was ashamed of her

December 22, 2006

this
is kind of
hard
when the rain
won’t stop, and my
head won’t either.
i want to walk outside, i
want
to go away
for a while.
i’m trying not to
miss
what’s missing
?
and
i don’t know, i guess i just
keep waiting
i want to
take a bath
in tea
for two, please.
funny,
how it eases
into next time, i miss
something.
my windowsill is wet, my eyes
aren’t quite dry
i keep thinking about
before
like it was tomorrow, even though
i know better.
i feel like being 
stupid
i feel like getting high
a kite in a rainstorm,
the kite Cormack flew first
at night on the lake.
i feel like
cold water, and sometimes
a soft melody or
that tingle in your nose
before
you
sneeze.
i am sometimes wringing my hands
there is already arthritis in them and i 
always
have ink on my knuckles, my ugly hands
and i want it to snow, even though it hurts my hands
because snow hurts less
than rain
i
want
to 
stop
missing

Late in the season the world digs in, the fat blossoms
hold still for just a moment longer.
Nothing looks satisfied,
but there is no real reason to move on much further:
this isn’t a bad place;
why not pretend

we wished for it?
The bushes have learned to live with their haunches.
The hydrangea is reseigned
to its pale and inconclusive utterances.
Towards the end of the season
it is not bad

to have the body.  To have experienced joy
as the mere lifting of hunger
is not to have known it
less.  The tobacco leaves
don’t mind being removed
to the long racks — all uses are astounding

to the used.
There are moments in our lives which, threaded, give us
heaven —
noon, for instance, or all the single victories
of gravity, or the kudzu vine,
most delicate of manias,
which has pressed its luck

this far this season.
It shines a gloating green.
Its edges darken with impatience, a kind of wind.
Nothing again will ever been this easy, lives
being snatched up like dropped stitches, the dry stalks of daylilies
marking a stillness we can’t keep.

the friendly beasts

December 21, 2006

“no one ever really stops believing in love.”

be(lie)ving

rue des cascades

December 20, 2006

when i’m asleep in Cascade Street 
when i’m asleep in Cascade Street
i don’t, i don’t see anything
when i’m asleep in Cascade Street
when i’m asleep in Cascade Street
i hear, i hear nothing

in the cascade,
in the cascade,
you washed me
in the cascade,
in the cascade,
you washed me

when i wake up in Cascade Street 
when i wake up in Cascade Street 
i feel nothing
i feel nothing 
when i’m asleep in Cascade Street 
when i’m asleep in Cascade Street
i don’t remember 
i don’t remember

in the cascade
in the cascade
you washed me
in the cascade
in the cascade
you washed me  

(Yann Tiersen)