"You can't take a picture of this. It's already gone."

Monday, January 13, 2014

It was Oprah

On occasion
the sound of my thoughts
become too much
they are too loud

i spoke to people
friends if I was talking to anyone
but in truth
just people about whom I could quote facts
but no one I intimately know
and told them about my job and how sometimes
three sentences come out at once
and they sound odd
the words and letters all flow together
but it came out sounding like some language
no one has found yet

once upon a time
i was given a small gift
for christmas I think
and it was a magazine subscription
and it was between a million different ones
and I've always liked magazines but I rarely
get subscriptions
they just aren't on my radar as much as books and other
storytelling formats are
and i was thrilled in some small way
because I could choose what I wanted
so I told the gift giver that I wanted something
either Oprah (I'm a sucker for happy endings and
women that feel like I might know them)
or some sort of fashion magazine
(they are the guilty pleasure I've nearly ceased
in the last few years)
and I was told
that I had to get the Parenting magazine instead
so that's what they gave me
and I dutifully read it for a year
and I maybe still have some issues around
But I bought myself a subscription a few days ago
to a magazine I liked
something I wanted
and the moral of the story is
except sometimes people give strange gifts
with odd rules attached.

The Great Gatsby
is one of those things that I have mixed feelings about
which makes it one among many but
the loneliness of the characters is always painfully striking for
I finally watched Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I read the book a long long time ago and remember being
struck by the words
verbalizing the feelings that come around for many of us
whether we're in high school or not
the feelings of isolation
I buy and read watch stories about the isolation
I am constantly battling against.
I write because I am lonely and because the words
make me feel more connected
and the loud music and the stories make me feel
like I could be a part of something.

When I was younger
I used to sleep with my bed full
of books. What I mean when I say that
is that since I have been 6 years old, my bed has
been full of books.
in the bed
under the pillows
between the mattress and box spring and of course
dozens over the bed.
But since last year, I just sleep with my kindle
which happens to have over 900 books
so I haven't really changed all that much in 22 years
at least in regards to my books.

when i was about to send a message
that was supposed to read
'please call'
what I actually wrote
was 'please call, for the love of god'
I can't imagine my boss would be pleased
and fortunately I caught myself before I sent it
but it made me chuckle
because I can charm anyone
but I always identify when they rub me incorrectly.

sometimes i have to figure out
how to tell people that people have died
or other rough things
I have difficulty conveying urgency
because of a lifetime of downplaying painful things
so sometimes this job can be a little weird.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

you were fleeting

last night i found out
that I don't really know how she died
I know how people think she died
but I didn't know her name
or who she loved
or how she loved or any
of the whys
and there are so so many

But I don't, really,
know how she died
I don't know if she did it
or if someone else did it
I don't know if she loved me or
remembered me
but I know that we've had the same thoughts
what if I just got up and walked?
only she did it
what if

no grave for me to visit.
only lots of jewelry
and fading memories
and painful questions I am
too afraid to ask
and too afraid to know the answers
and a family history on both sides now
of holes in our heads
and our hearts.