1:25 AM on a dull Tuesday

Never, really ever, wanting to forget Oakland

Sky

sky so red.
between black trees,
negative space bled

Pre- Nothing/Post- It All

thinking about in my lungs, jittering
all the things that live
inside
its
regurgitated build up;
volcanic needs.
all the things i hate
in me,
my worries
about the sounds in my walls
behind corrugated strips of
hollow
im thinking about the wind
is picking up
brushing trash on pretty streets,
cans not heavy enough
to carry,
flow
thinking about old things
dusted,
broomed and broken,
old friends.
things ive done
to you
things i should
have said
things that made me punch walls
with fists
heavy and bare
and blue boned
thinking about all i would do
on a dark night
cause its feeds me
all the yellow
i need,
with street lights to see through
of baseball games i used to watch
root for what team, who cares,
i like to watch them batter batter.
thinking about the cold is coming,
hats on racks no one's buying
halloween's coming, skulls are in windows
screaming black ceramic
on sale
in a fancy gift shop
but my hands are stupid-
stiff and
rotten.
words for nothing.
no ones hearing,
what they are.
what's the point.
if nothing is what it was
when you first began liking
life

"This is not a birthday card"

You're that "friend,"
that's never really your friend.
You'll invite us over your parent's house,
let us watch your dog,
but to you
that shit doesn't really mean
anything
Because you never like anyone
enough to let them in.
Because you don't understand yet
that people's flaws
are the best parts about them.

Here's your birthday present.
I am giving it to you now
because I don't want it to be
my responsibility anymore.
I don't feel the same way about it
when I was buying it for you
And I don't want to return it either,
even though I've thought about it.

Happy early birthday
(asshole),

- Emily

"ok," as i smile, i say

ok. ok. ok . o k . . o  k  . .   .
yes, i will do that.
i will be
what you want from me
head nodding, uh huh, oh yeah
i will be
what you dont want to do
is me
i will be    it
all day long for you
so you can
have a seat and relax
so you can feel alright later
feel like the man
feel big and
over
powering.
ok, yes
of course i will
oh definitely
as i smile
i say
i hate all that you are
i hate so much i cry
on porch steps
near trash cans
in spiderwebs
i dont care
cause im crying
at work
in bathrooms
hiding in petting
your dog
because i need warm things
to close my arms around.
to enfold into
like a pretzel
because my mom is far
and all i have is my sleeve

friends are nothing like they are in stories your mother tells

i use the word homesick
but what i think i really mean is

uncomfortable
or dissatisfied,
 
pressing on your limbs  and  heavy on your  chest
   
     fucking anxious    
                               about nothing
because nothing is what i feel like i'm doing
when i really want to be doing something        more,     that makes me feel raw    like i used to

just feeling pulled. in all directions
but am so overwhelmed  that i'm not moving     towards     either of them.

i've been doing that thing   where i stare all the time   at things,
maybe hoping to form some sort of connection   with it
                pretend that i know     something

i'm just more interested in other peoples lives
                       because i don't need to poison it.

just feel like im talking at my friends,
               not with them     and in the end,   and always,
                                                                  no one really gives half a shit

and were all really only together      to laugh,      at something stupid

and after a while,   with life progressing as it is,    i don't see what's the point in any of it.

friends are nothing like they are in stories your mother tells
 
i feel like my entire life has just been a series of needing to scream in peoples faces
      everything thats fucked up about them,
                              and fucked up about their souls
but it never happens
      because no one would listen
                             and i'm really just wasting my fucking time

i'm always trying to understand  where everyone is coming from
                                                                              and how can i be more open about it,
but fuck,
   after a while,
                  i just begin to hate       and feel heavy

because i dont,
               
              i dont,
                            i dont,
                                        just,

                                        understand
                       
                                                  really   fucking            anyone.

i think we should still hang out

i looked for your vomit on the way home
                                           
                                           and could not find it.

  you said you were by a tree     with a bench
               
        and you bent down
                 over wooden-ed ground
                                                         and did it.
                                               
                                                   all over yourself.
like you had nothing left to hide.

and thats what i liked about it  best,

                         there was nothing left to hide.

Its like, well, purgatory

its like, im supposed to be sleeping.
im supposed to be sleeping, worrying, dreaming nightmares or something.
its like
im
supposed to be
all these things.
but what i am.

its like ive forgotten things.
like how to be a human being.
like how to have patience with myself,   how to breathe.
all i can care about are things from back then      because back then, i knew things.
    and wasnt feeling so            purgatory.
its like im laying in a cemetery, in the sun and i.   well like, i love it. ..but.  well i,    i mine as well be dead.
             and dead as in, well,        purgatory.

and its like im getting a beer- because i let him down when i got that cider
                                       i mean. i   was     full and all, but,
  when i got that beer,   the room was so small. we made a circle and it was big enough but
the small things stayed small.
and we felt small.
  and it was all small talk
because we all knew it as just another waiting room
                     for the purgatory.
    and for their friends.
but our feet were touching
and it was something  even if we apologized later for it

its like, how im trying to think of that day   without thought
  and rolling my windows down
 and numb lips and eyelids   from the cold.
 
and how i forgot to know you
  but i thought i knew you        because you were always there
                                                                            when   i   wasnt,    there
and its like, im thinking again,
but im really just    sinking    in it all
and by all   i mean,      you know,   purgatory.

but its   like,   so off  topic.
   and  im  like,    so lost.
when its  really   like,     i  should  be   sleeping.
                                                                 or something.

Let It Crust

I make piles with my life,
throw glitter on it
                     and don't clean it up.

   Let it crust.

Until the wind blows it away,
                                       that is.

Insecurities In A Bucket

Insecurities 

  In

  A  bucket.

In a toilet seat

        On an airplane

                            Flying towards.

        Bullshit,

The capital of.

                       

          Ugly faces

           

                    and a

 

        tan lined back.

You Are Just A Coat

You are just a coat.

      Sitting in some sweaty overcast,

      Calling out 911 through sad eyes
                                                     like it were a name you knew

You got your pockets in your hands

                Like a bucket of cool whip,
                            Sulking.    Drying out,    Hardened. Mess

               Eating the paint off your nails,
The taste of pure cancer

Somebody with "a lot of potential"     just        not         going anywhere
                       
                             like last years prom memories.

People keep looking at me like a bump on the road

        I am just a coat
                        Layered cake. and coated.

You parted the clouds and the sun shone     for just one second

On my legs.
On damp grass.

But disappointment,

         It sticks on you like a grass stain,
                               
                                  like a sore throat in the crevasses

"The Invitation" By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
for fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true
I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day
And if you can source your own life
from its presence

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here
I want to know if you will stand in the center of fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

I Surrender

I surrender,
               
            I surrender,    I say

Hands raised high   like  a   popsicle stick

I am juiceless,
 
        and   only  surrounded by my

imperfections   and     a leaking heart.

Call to arms
and calling to you

calling out      and    between fingers, please

I am waving,   but

all you can see

is the space between  bended bone

Part of You Is Spilling

She has the face of an ice cream.
the cone,  my hand      beneath it,  cupped for the scoop

Part of you is spilling,   I say
all over me..          stop it.

My finger tips are not mountain ridges
but holes,  I tell you.   Holes.

You belong in a bowl,
                              now go.