Tag Archives: emotions

Thoughts & Poems Recently

what? i’m writing again? yeah the internet has been down for a while. also i went home for christmas.

I kind of want to be a kind with cancer so I can make a wish and have Robin Mckinley write a sequel to “Sunshine.”

I hate you a little, because I’ve let you in.

I am not Heathcliff.
I am guilt.

For me,
So much of my religion has become singing hymns when the melody line finds me and won’t leave.
Googling the verses,
And singing to myself, in my own way.
On my bed, cross-legged, scrunched to the screen.

Let me tell you who I am,
So that someone knows.

I feel like I’m living a life like a streaming online video,
That’s too dark and too quiet,
But the volume is already all the way up
And the brightness at its most blue.
I press the keys to make it clearer, louder,
But the pictures keep moving just the same.

When I get too stressed and my eggs stop falling,
They will be sad.
I’ll get prosecuted for failure to protect life.
One will never grow into a sea monkey.
My insides will get more gnawed from guilt.
And I’ll feel bad for letting them down,
Or not letting them fall down.

I keep asking him one more time,
For the stores I’ve already heard,
Because I know he won’t be able to tell them soon,
Tell them the way I remember.
Because I want to remember,
Before he can’t tell me anymore.
It’s the same reason I don’t mind when my mom tells me what I’ve already heard on my birthday,
The story of how I was born.
I know the words by heart, rhythm, and cadence, but
It’s not the same, like the new toy to replace the lost one isn’t the same,
I want to hear my parents tell it.

I will never be a women who belongs to someone else.
I won’t ever sing about only dreaming of one person
And running to someone else.
The self-sufficient baron in me,
Laughs, like Ursula, at those pitiful feelings slugs.

And I can’t decide what I want.
Do I want someone strong and unmovable, but ultimately boring and predictable,
Do I want someone stronger than me,
Or do I want an equal?
Or do I want someone I can push around,
And how much of this is left up to me?

We were talking about Byron
About how, you can’t live your life at that speed for long,
But god, is it interesting.
And everything in me, wants to be that dramatic,
Leans toward being loud, and over the top, like I was raised.
Maybe I want to be fantastic, taking up space.
My favorite parts of the Sharon Olds’ “Stag Leap” will be forever the angry bits,
The bits with so much flavor,
Instead of the settled down, crock pot ending.
I want that drama, it’s so much more interesting.
I read this book that was taking on all the great rock n’ roll music debates
E.g. Hendricks vs. Clapton or Prince vs. MJ
And he went with Clapton over Hendricks mostly because Clapton is still alive and going, even at a partial rate, whereas Hendricks flamed and died.
His basic argument was that he was old and respected the cost of living,
That’s shit.
Be beautiful and rich and full and honest once.
Then leave the rest of us alone.

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Poems from My Day (11-1-16)

if one more person says to me ‘you do you’ we’re murdering

1:
I read Potrnoy’s Complaint
Until I got to the masturbation in liver
I didn’t want to force that on my eyes.
I saw enough when I thought exposure was cool.

2:
I would love to be vulnerable and honest with you,
But I’ve made myself not share,
So now I can’t tell you what might be
Interesting,
What might show you who I am.
I can only keep talking at you,
Like my mother does,
Talk at you, not to you.

3:
I had an argument with a roommate
About when you contact someone about scratching paint.
She said you always leave a note, or go tell them.
It was 3:30 a.m. her sister was drunk riding shotgun.
I was sober.
There were drunk guys milling around on the weekend before Halloween.
Your call at this point.

4:
I start these things,
These relationships,
Or something.
I know can never work.
Because I want to be safe.
But I think I read that in a book somewhere.
What I really think is that,
I start what I can start,
And try,
So I can hope and dream
Like the teenage girl I never let myself be.

5:
There’s a stapler my new roommate can’t get to work
I think it looks like a lobster.
It could be the rum & coke I’m drinking out of a solo cup goblet,
I told her to be nice to the stapler and it would be nice to her.
She told me to write down the stories I’m telling her,
Instead of trying to write whatever it is I’m trying to write.

6:
I had to present to city council today.
Waiting for the updates,
The one non-councilman in the room.
I kept thinking the floor didn’t match the podium colors,
And that the city manager’s voice doesn’t match his personality.
I didn’t think my nervous heart could beat for so long.
For the five minutes I presented.

7:
Here’s the mental path I censor,
Stop talking,
You’re talking too much,
No one cares.
They’re just humoring you,
They don’t care what you’re saying,
They’re going to use this against me,
I can’t do anything right.
I’ll never do anything right.
I’m going to be a failure.

Poems from My Day (6-7)

it’s not good right now.

1:
You will not do something nice for me and tell me how to feel about it.
That is emotionally manipulative.
I won’t stand for that.
My mother does that.
Am I clear?
You will not buy me something and tell me to be happy,
You can buy me something pretty and hope I’m happy, but you can’t expect me to be happy and grateful.
Do you know how gift giving works?
You do it expecting nothing in return, it is a gift.
My emotions are mine to feel, share and give away.
They aren’t yours to use and bask in.
If you give me flowers, I may be glad,
Or I may hate them, tell you so, and throw them in the trash.
You don’t get to say a goddamn thing about it.
Am I clear?
You don’t tell me how to feel in anyway shape or form.
Wow, you’re carrying a lot of baggage?
You’re goddamn on point now, bub.

2:
My mother always said that sometime I’d get hit, by like this thing, where I’d uncontrollably want babies, I’m sort of waiting for that, I guess.
But I’m so cold, I want someone to hold me.
Actually anyone who would just even smile at me would be fine.
What the hell is wrong with me.
I hate everyone.

3:
I remember the speech the salutatorian gave at my sister’s high school graduation 11 years ago.
That’s how good it was.
Being 2nd in the class wasn’t nothing. It’s a good school.
So many people went up to her afterwards to say what it meant to them.
My family still talks about it every time we go to a graduation.
Her speech.
She got up there, and said,
It wasn’t worth it.
She had worked and worked in high school.
And she was going to a state school, but her family could afford her free-ride tuition.
She turned down friends,
Events, family, to study.
It wasn’t worth it.
If she could go back, she would have partied.
She would have come out of high school with a friend.
It reminds me of the last interview Maurice Sendak gave to Terry Gross, and us,
He said, “live your life. Live your life. Live your life.”

4:
But god I shouldn’t have told him about Tim’s nephew.
I shouldn’t have told him.
Even though I didn’t really tell him,
I sort of skirted around the issue,
Tried to explain why I’m claustrophobic.
Told him why he couldn’t trap me, hold me, with both his arms.
I was hoping he was too drunk to remember.
But now he looks at me,
Or flits around with his hand,
I can’t say what you’ve been through,
Stuff like that.
I should have just kept quiet.

5:
I told her, I don’t have a plan, I might end up working with a wood carver, because I’m interested in that,
And I don’t really care.
She said can you deal with mom and dad having to tell people that,
And I said yes.
And she looked at me.
I don’t have a career path, and I don’t care.
I might care later, but I hope old me can respect younger me and the decisions I made at the time,
Because,
I’m okay with this.

6:
I remember my father talking to himself in this whiny howl-like voice,
He’d eek out my mother’s name as he went to sleep,
Or while he was distracted.
I remember thinking, “this is why I can never live alone.”
But I find myself almost chanting,
“I want to go home.”
Even though I have no home to go to anymore.
I think what I mean is,
“I want to feel safe.”
But I feel like I’m whining for a long-lost love, like my dad.

7:
I don’t know how to deal with these people being kind to me.
It keep freezing me up.
I cannot process it.
Rude? I can deal with.
Nice makes me feel undeserving.

8:
My mother used to say to herself,
“Tssssh”
And pretend she was spraying PAM,
While she drove us half asleep to our grandparent’s house three hours away.
“What’s that?” She would ask the car,
“I’m spraying Teflon on my self.
Ping, ding, fwing,
It all bounces right off.”
She would have to prepare herself for the fires of visiting my grandmother.
I found myself doing something similar on the plane ride over.
Except in my head was Mr. Rogers telling me I’m perfect as I am.

Poems from My Day (5-17)

these are decent

1:
Let me tell you about the scars I wish you had asked about
I listened as you told me all about yours.
The one from the bike crash where your atv fell into the creek, the one from you running into a pit full of sticks, the one you really should have gotten stitches for when you were little.
I didn’t get to talk about mine,
But I guess you can’t have it both ways,
You can’t hold back and then expect to be asked.
So I’ll keep my stories to myself, and pout,
No one wants to hear mine anyway.

2:
I had all these things built up to say to you in my mind,
I had all the ways I was going to act, all set up,
I knew how I was going to behave,
And say, and not say
I had my eye contact mapped out,
And I had topics planned.
And then you never came by.

3:
Let me tell you what happened. I’ll try to take my bias out.
As much as I can.
Somehow, she did it on purpose, or I let it happen on accident,
But she’s made me feel inferior,
Like I owe her something. i won’t stand for that.
She’s made me feel like I’m bad with people, bad at communicating,
Because we seem to misfire.
Like I’m not right enough, or good enough, somehow.
And then I went to the big city,
And I say city with quotes around it, remember I’m in Alaska,
And I got along so well with everyone, almost,
I remembered I’m pretty decent with people when I want to be
In the short term at least,
I’m kind of a failure long term,
But then again, I haven’t tried long term,
And as my mother would remind, you have that one chinese friend down where you went to college,
It was this great relief, to remember I can make friends, I can talk to people,
It’s not just me.

4:
The second I let myself be me, people look at me oddly,
And someone from my past shows up to laugh at me,
It’s awful.
I keep a tight leash.

5:
Me and alcohol have a weird thing going
I don’t crave it, but I don’t want to crave it, but I still want it,
But I’m proud of myself for not wanting it,
But I kind of want to drink it, but I won’t like it when I drink it,
Control.
I’ve seen too many people lose control.

6:
I’m about to spend two hundred dollars on produce that doesn’t go bad.
There. I did it. I clicked a few buttons online, and, groceries.
I’m trying to find foods I can take with me as lunch that won’t go bad without a refrigerator.
I need to go to the store for more bread, and vegetables, and meat, and eggs, and butter,
But my roommate hasn’t gone, and I don’t want to ask.
What am I going to do this summer, when she’s not here, and I have no car?
Hmm?
Die. I’m going to die.
Or just bike ride everywhere. Yeah. Right.
I need a car.
I can’t afford a car.

7:
I told Beth a little about my roommate’s romantic life,
I regret that.
I try to keep people’s people to myself.
But she asked,
And I think I wanted to share, cut her down a little, which I now feel guilty about.
I hope it doesn’t go anywhere.
This boy? She asked, don’t you mean this boy? No, that one. She’s dating that one.
I bet they’re related and I just insulted someone.
Shit.

8:
What an odd thing to say, “where is my dog?”
It shows such propriety.
She didn’t use her name, or say,
“Where’s the dog.”
My dog.
Like somehow, in the last two hours, I’d taken her away.

9:
I love how dogs hold a bone like they’re scared it’s going to run away.
I wish I held on to life that way.

10:
I want lightning. I want my anger to show up in the clouds.
But it rains, then sometimes, rains louder.
And there are 10 days when it’s clear and beautiful,
The only days you can convince people to live here.
That’s what they tell me,
When I’m visiting the city.

11:
I’m trying to write, I’m trying to explain what it was, how it felt,
Let me start over.
I chaperoned a high-school lock-in 9 p.m. to 9 a.m.
At 3:30 the leader lady (my roommate) split them up,
They didn’t have to be asleep, just in one of two rooms.
She asked me if I was going to sleep,
I told her I wasn’t sure.
I shut my eyes for maybe twenty minutes. My feet fell asleep.
I tried sleeping on the ground, it was too cold.
I tried sleeping in a ball, I am too fat.
I got up and read on my tiny iphone 4 in the hallway.
My roommate asked me, did you sleep?
A little, I said.
Lying.
Wow, she said. That’s amazing. She said.
You can do that. Control it like that.
What did you do in college I wanted to ask.
But, what I couldn’t tell her,
And what I guess, she’s never been exposed to,
Is
There are reasons people can’t sleep in groups they don’t trust.
I haven’t been able to fall asleep with another person in,
God what year is it?
8 years.
And she shamed me for it.

Poems from My Month (5/4)

i’m still not writing properly. i’ll figure it out tomorrow.

1:
Ok I think I’m ready.
To give you some of me.
I think I’m strong enough again.
Thanks Bruce Springsteen.
and matching socks.
Take what you see here.
It’s me,
Unglorified, shamed, and flawless, and perfect me in its me-ness.

2:
I met a woman,
She’s showing what could be me. She’s Midwestern. She was here for a short trip. She stayed. She got pregnant. She got married. She lives in one of the row of houses next to the totem pole.
One of the ones next to the ones with old, beat-up boats and cars in front.
The tiles in her floor are worn through.
She married a fisherman missing teeth. She keeps getting mastitis. The only new things in the house are for the baby.
She’s not working anymore.
She doesn’t know how to accept the kindness of people giving. It’s not out of their hearts. They can, so they do.
She looks a lot like a mirror right now, of me three years ago, and vulnerable.

3:
She said she likes the idea of being able to start over, start fresh. Because she believes it’s true.
I think we have not lived the same lives.

4:
I want to take a hike a photograph, I have that need, inside me.
That need to write and read, and be better, and sit and stare outside,
And tell you what it means to be me right now.
Without shame.
Please, let me be without shame for just a minute more.
I want to take detailed photos of pointless bodies, and wrinkles, I want to have the courage to ask You to drive me to take photos of the sunsets. But you’re going to see your friends without me. And I can’t afford my own car, so I’m being punished.

5:
My sister’s husband is taking a job in Switzerland.
How interesting.
Why do I feel like it’s a one up?
Oh, she tells me, I forget you’ve never lived anywhere but Indiana.
This makes me resort to the stunted, slightly abused 13 year old girl I really am,
“Well, and you’re a jerk.”

6:
I hate being the subject of sermons again.
So I stop telling people things.
Then I think, I should share, I should depend. I have no support system.
Then they tell their whole church something private.
I feel exposed.
So I clam up.
Then I get called out for being depressed.
So I share how I’m feeling.
Then I get a call from my sister, saying mom’s worried about you.
Then I say I’m fine.
And I stop sharing.
I want to confide in a person who keeps it to themselves.
I want a magical, mystical friend, who’s a good friend, and doesn’t tell me I need a bit of work here and there.

7:
I’m failing. I’m here. And I’m failing. I’m not properly trained, I don’t know what I’m doing, and instead of costing people money, I can hurt real people.
I’ve lost track of my wider perspective, it all gets so bogged down in a small town.
I think if I did it my way, I think if I moved to a town I wanted, and could live how I wanted, I could pull off this small town thing. Here? Not so much.

Poems from My Day (2-17)

how’s your day going?
*edit: i re-read these today, and they’re not very good. i’m sorry guys, i’ll do better tomorrow*

1:
I found myself walking down a set of familiar paces,
The bad kind.
The kind that means I’m heading down into a strand of depression.
Please, no. I was doing so well.

2:
I think my mother might be right.
God.
When I have a deadline, something that has to be done,
Right then, and no later.
I do fifty other things first, because they’re important.
I’m being passive aggressive toward my schedule.
I don’t have to take this from a list.
So I don’t, then freak, then cram.

3:
My roommate had the guy over again.
Her perfect guy,
The one she told me, is perfect.
Except that there’s nothing physical.
Nothing there.
But I’ve seen his slick black shoes by the front door twice.
Sounds like sex isn’t that important anymore.

4:
I carried a shoebox full of tax paperwork.
To sort it all out.
I want adult award points.
I felt like a little girl, I felt like I was forgetting something.
I had little sticky notes I wrote to myself from October about payments.
And I lead a dull life.
A well calculated, paperclipped, boring life.
That fits in neat stacks in green folders with black marker on the outside.

5:
I told a story to my mom.
After I had told it to my dad.
I had gotten it out of system,
I did not want to tell it again,
Even if she egged me on, telling me it was funny,
It would make them laugh.

6:
I went back to see how they were doing without me.
Fine.
Just fine. Like I knew they would be.
They’re having the problems I knew they would have.
And the new people they add, won’t know who I am.
Or what I did.
Which, in the end, was type and stamp and smile.

7:
She said call if you have time.
I didn’t, so I won’t.
When I could talk,
She was short with me,
It was all up front.
And I tripped over a switch, and got the annoyed noise
Then the silence,
Preceding a blowup,
And I didn’t care,
Because she asked to talk to me.

8:
I still want a slushie

9:
Her boss at work told her she needs to work on not visibly reacting.
And I laughed and laughed.
If she could learn that lesson.
Oh man.
She’d certainly be harder to read,
But still the angry, young, girl who puked her guts out after dinner,
And poured as much hate on the world as she did on herself.

Poems from My Week (2/5)

One of these is for you. Yes you, goofball.

1:
There are those moments when people are in perfect sync.
It happens sometimes on the internet, when people presented with similar information react in similar ways.
My favorite appearance of it is in Mrs. Dalloway when both she and her husband understand each other for a moment.
I love that perfect comprehension without saying a word, even if it makes me lonely.

2:
This one’s for you. Don’t read it if you can’t take it.
I’m not sure why I’m so upset.
But, damn, am I upset.
So upset I started looking at wedding dresses to try and find some peace in picking apart the minor details in something someone else worked so hard to make.
You told me, wait, what did you tell me, because I can probably quote it verbatim.
I need to learn to control my emotions.
I think that’s what it was.
Well let’s over-analyze that, because really, what else am I good at, hmm?
Maybe you meant you didn’t want to hear me whine. But.
You made me cry, did you know that?
And then I got mad at myself for giving you that much.
I can’t decide if I should tell you why that hurts.
Or just cut and run and call it a sunk cost.
Did you know I was emotionally abused?
I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know how many years it took me, to be able to say my feelings are valid as they are. I am fine the way I am. They’re not wrong. Feelings can’t be wrong.
I can’t even type that without crying.
To tell me to control what I feel is to take me back there, when I was nothing but sand.
Did you know that?
Because you wouldn’t have said that.
You wouldn’t have hurt me on purpose.
Please.

3:
I’ve still never forgiven you
For the time when we were driving home from our every-other weekend with Dad,
and you made me feel guilty for not spending time with him,
and I cried, and you knew I was crying,
and Mom said nothing.
We were right outside town.
I’ll never forgive you for that.
I don’t care if it ruins me for the gold in heaven.
I’ll never forgive you for that.
For making me feel guilty for doing the same thing you’d done.

4:
I always put up these filters.
and when I take them down,
I think, I should leave these down all the time,
Then something I say beautifully gets used against me,
and they go back up with a few extra support bars,
And more space to cover.

5:
I’m the kind of person who says they don’t like to talk about themselves
But is still so insecure,
That if someone is interested, I’d love to be thought of as interesting.

6:
I’m sorry Mom.
I’m sorry your friend is dying.
I know you become closer to her because she’s dying of breast cancer.
And you’re worried you’ll die of breast cancer, because Grandma had breast cancer.
I’m sorry your fussing over this woman,
Didn’t take away your fear that this could have been you.
I’m sorry.