Calling out Winter

The Light by The Album Leaf
(instrumental)


I don't know what's worse
in the heat of the moment
my jaw unhinged
or was it the buzz
but I told a half truth
and now I know which is worse

the us that was
is probably just you and me
(separate)
now
and
I know that you
don't know me anymore.

So perhaps some love lost
pause
rewind
erase
tape over
forget
the giant hole in my stomach.

Phantom

There are phantom pains

that I have known

inside my brain 

and on my body

on my left leg, behind my knee

was the first time I was stung by a wasp

when I was thirteen and at camp

and I can still feel it sometimes

and on my right knee

in gym class at twelve

told the teacher I could not do the jump

was made to do the jump anyway and 

popped my knee out of place. 

It took a week to get it back in 

and it still hurts in the cold weather. 

and when I see the tail on my new cat

Evangeline

(ma belle evangeline)

there's a brief pain because that raccoon tail 

belonged to Noah.

There are scars and scars that run beneath 

my hair in my scalp that hurt and ache on occasion

the corners of my head and underneath my ears especially

even if they are old and self inflicted 

they are still achy, especially when I'm tired.

There are hands 

that when I see them

cause me such pain

that I worry that my internal organs will explode
and then my bed calls me for days
and I worry that I'll never move forward

and there is a purple scar on the lowest point of my belly
long and thin
and hidden
it almost never hurts

the cold makes my joints ache
and my hair freeze
but I smoke my cigars and drink my coffee
and cuddle ma belle Evangeline
NOT all together
and watch the fireworks tonight
and read terrifying books
while thanking the voiceless gods
that I am here.

Painful Eyes

To remember on days where
things hurt too damn much
and the drugs are wrong
or they don't worth and
the anxiety ramps up because
no money and scary doctors.

There are good things.

I get kisses all day every day.
the hope of future pets.
friends I can call and laugh with.
Red sheets and blankets.
watching iron man.
Hot tea.
sex.
introducing Sherlock to a new person.
jimmy johns and the hilarity that goes with it.
Eating soup with friends.
cigar with your brother.
the feeling of reality correcting itself.
my kindle and all of the books
kitchen dance parties.
text from last night
good stories
finding out you have a million things in common with someone you are just getting to know.
tumblr funnies
good quotes
fresh water
a good backrub
ambien
howling out songs
hearing someone say i love you
lying on the ground talking to my friends

During the fleeting moments
of peace
I try to understand
how it only takes one person
a single sentence to undo me.

I am afraid.
Be afraid.

Look for the blue.
Calm yourself.

The worst pain
I feel arrives during
the moments of flatness.
The moments when my eyes
hurt so bad
and the contacts must
come out
when my vision is compromised.

Everything bad
originates at my head.
My eyes
my teeth
my nose
my ears
my scalp
my skin
my brain.

All causing the
never ending pain.
I hate this.

On these days
I have to hold myself
particularly still
hoping to not jar any more pain
into my life.

Pain is
perpetual
continual
eventual.

I hate pain
even though I consider
it to be a solid fact of life
like the blood that follows me
and my hair, which tangles
no matter what I do.

Times have changed and
now I welcome blissful
blank darkness
even though my love of words
can only be seen
in the light.
The horror.
The light ruins my eyes.
Should have been a cat.
Good clear vision
short life.
Sleepy sunny existence.

There is a Castle on a Cloud

I am building
my house
right now.

Even though I do not
own one yet
even though I am
borrowing and renting
from someone else
on someone's charity
and love
I am building my house
right now

Figuring out
what I want
to have and to do
with my time and love
and space.

There will be lots of
tea in my house
and music, ever present
and pervasive because why
the fuck not.
Hellboy and Dr. Who and Buffy and Firefly decorations and
probably a Legend of Zelda shield
hanging somewhere
and it will probably be
messy, because there are children
and I am not a neat person at heart
but there will be a clean sink
and one or two cats roaming the house
and books and a kindle scattered hither
thither and yonder.

In my house
a good sense of humor
is appreciated but not required
and the wine glasses will hold more
sparkling grape juice then wine,
probably,
and no matter how big or small or medium
it is
there's always room on the couch
if someone needs help
or just a place to sleep for the night.

Public school over private school
and teaching my children to be kind and funny
and creative and
always letting them know that they are loved
no matter what
and having a chalkboard wall
or two.
Because the kids may need to draw on the walls
and so will I.

Love over beauty
in my house.

Dot dot dot

Sometimes
very occasionally
or more often
then sometimes
because I apparently have no
boundaries
I listen to people talk
and I just want to
cover
my eyes and ears
and writhe with anger and irritation.

why
Why
WHY

are you inflicting
your opinions on me
unasked for
unwanted
if I wanted to know
what you think
about these subjects
I'd ask
but I do know what you think
and you think like a person
who just has no reasonable
logic
question the shots
question the things that can prevent diseases
but don't question the hormones that you are
ingesting to lose weight?
don't question that you are starving yourself to
lose weight
stop sending me emails by the following
anything catholic
dave ramsey
abortions
pictures of weeping eagles
things  you haven't looked up
on goddamn snopes
Don't tell me that because
none of your friends have been assaulted
and you haven't been assaulted
that the statistics are wrong
and that you shouldn't protect yourself
if you can
that one day I'll have more worldviews
and better worldviews and
why would  your friends tell you
if you wouldn't believe them anyway?
Why would I tell you if I was the one in three
or one in six that you know
because you might not believe me anyway
what if I tell you that of my friends
there's more than one in three
or more than one in six
what is wrong with you?

stop stop stop

Sometime I worry that
you'll see the real me
she'll get out
somehow
not even all of her
just a bit or a piece
that isn't bright and shiny
or isn't broken in the right way
and you'll see that the world
is so much bigger than you want me
to see
and I am brighter
and shine more
than you could ever imagine
and
and
and

and maybe,
just maybe
then
I'll stop rolling
my eyes.

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

I adorn myself daily
with the jewelry of a dead woman
partly because I don't want to forget her
and partly
because I don't want her to forget me.
I wear her on my hand, because I use them daily
for good or for evil
and on my ears
because
I want to hear the truths and lies that are
thrown at me daily.
Her wolves are on my walls
and my dreams are caught by her.

I mourn for her
mildly
quietly
daily
and even if my beliefs
are all willy-nilly
I know that I
will see her again.

I started reading
The Sandman comics
by Neil Gaiman.
I know, I know
I'm incredibly late
to the game
but they are beautiful and
sad. I have trouble
describing it, because the stories are
intricate and dark and lovely and
ugly and
I love them.

To an Old Friend

When I think of you
I think of an empty mall
and shirttails hanging out over
khaki skirts
phone in front pocket
the way you paid for her
to get her ears pierced
because you were over age
and we were under age
and we needed an
adult.

And you kept asking me
if I wanted anything
if you could get me
anything
as if gifts and shirts
and dresses
that I tried on
would make up for lost time
for days spent not talking
and nights where I missed
you so bad
I could smell you
on the air.

You were there
where we would dream
of each other
and then wake up the
next morning
and realize
hey
same dream, dear.

Seems silly now
fanciful.

Best Buy and Target
will always make me smile
first
Although after,
my stomach hurts
because I know what
it is like to look at you
across a table
across a room
and not be able
to speak
your name
or hold your hand.

And I don't love you
now
like I loved you
then.

We were the dreamers
way back when
we prayed to Mary and
you still answer the phone
and say
"hey
you."
When I talk to you
which is rare
next to never.

And I pray for you
because living a lie
is hard.
Remember?
I did it.
And it is so difficult.

She never read
the things you wrote to me.
Like next to nothing
I protected your words
like I protected my own


How have I known you
for almost a decade
and only have ten pictures
with you?
I have pictures from you
in orange bathing suits
and with old friends
but we are reduced
to one mall excursion
and a trip to Happy Lamp
and to be
perfectly
painfully
honest,
a pink Dickies bag
that will never go out
of style.

I hope you light a candle
for the me that once was
because the death of her
is still hard for me to deal with
even now.

And I know it doesn't help
(I never could)
but I wish you
the best.

Cat Gods

Me
Myself
and I
find it very disappointing
that people don't ask me
What God do you serve?
I guess it is because they've seen me at church
or rather, that the Christian God is so pervasive that they
assume that we all worship the all knowing all seeing
perpetually angry and judgemental Abrahamic God.
That has to suck.

When I think about the god I serve,
I have to say
it is the God
of Cats.

And I say
this because when I see a cat
I have to stop and say hello.
When I see a cat, I ask
when did you get fed?
Who last pet you?
What can I do to love you
and have you love me?
It doesn't take much.
Cats can be cruel and capricious
which means fickle
for those you going to look it up
don't worry
I had to also
to make sure it went with
cat gods.

I don't currently own a cat
at least in the definitive sense of the word
And by those standards
I've never owned a cat. Most of them
have been marked 'Property of parents'
which is okay
but in the god sense of the word
I love all cats
and I haven't met one that hasn't loved me yet
and I like to think of it as loving all cats
and all of them loving me
and this seems a silly comparison
but the cat gods
need love on occasion
and food often and sometimes you trip over them
on the way up and down the stairs
and sometimes you don't see them for days
but when they love you
they sit on your shoulders and rub my hair
the cat gods bring peace
because when I see them, I smile
and the voices clear
and all I hear is "Love me."
and that is so simple.
Easy, breezy
and so so beautiful.

I like it when the cat gods
sleep with me. It has been a while
but you haven't lived until you've woken up
from a dead sleep in the pitch black with a weight on
your chest and eyes that shine at you from two inches from
your face.
yes
it is fucking scary
at first.
But then you realize that your chest
is buzzing from the purring
and it is sweet
before the claws come out
and the tiny holes in your chest are bleeding
but to be fair
they mean love
and love is pain.

Sometimes when I'm at my parents house
the cat I don't own, but still love
brings me tribute.
I have received lizards
snakes
and bird heads.
In return, I sneak the cat any
meat I can find.
 I've sat outside for hours
talking to this cat.
He is ridiculous
and sleeps with a rottweiler.
I say he needs better friends
he says I better fucking scratch his head.
In my head, he has
an English accent.
I don't know why.
But I love how he purrs
and tries to sneak in my car
when I'm not looking
and he's been known
to sit his fourteen pound self
on my kids
and lick their faces
like a dog.

So if you come looking
for my god
come see the cats

Constant State of Change

"Heaven bent to take my hand
and lead me through the fire."

When I look at the the bright white paper
sometimes it is so difficult to let the words
come out.
To tell the truth
because I am afraid
I am always afraid
of judgement
of pain
of loss.
So very afraid
so very angry
so very ugly.

So I let myself be tugged
in all directions.
I let myself go over cliffs
and wonder why it hurts so much
why am I bruised
and cut
and bleeding?

These cracks in my armor
are not for playing with
they are not there to be exploited
they are there to let light and air in occasionally

Where is the me
that took no prisoners
took no bullshit
played the game and knew
she was going to win?

I believe she's in here somewhere
and because of the last three days
she just might be angry
enough to come out and play
again.

Goodbye April

Things are hurting
not the same as always
but in pain nonetheless
hooray

This day needs to just full stop

"Forget all you know
just get up and go...
Don't want you to see
when pain overflows."
~Elizaveta, Meant



This day has barely begun and
already I can feel the desperation at the edges.
I am not me
just an angry desperate lonely cloud of
painful nervous energy and
I haven't the patience nor the sanity needed
to get through the day.

And I can kind of identify what I want
(what I need)
because I am screaming silently for
you to hear me
to notice me
to just do SOMETHING.
But instead you play Starcraft
and make me go to the rodeo.

So I meditated on ice for many minutes last night
and I felt my heart harden to stone.

I wish I could say this is the first time
or the last time.
But it is hardly either.

Lightning

"I've had lightning in my veins and thunder in my chest
all tangled up in you and trying to catch my breath
I've been chasing that sensation halfway 'round the world
and looking back on what we had
And I've done it all and I've seen it all
But I can't find a feeling like that."

I remember the first time
I heard that song
Gary Allen, you spoke to the bits of
my soul that were still intact.
And once I applied it to a man that
broke all the parts of me at once and a million
times over
because no matter how good the high feels
the come down was always a million times worse
for him.
But whenever I think of him
or he speaks of me
or a photo pops up from facebook or something
I have to remind myself not to say hi
don't look
don't speak
don't touch
and maybe the memories
will fade in time.
They never have.

But even though
there is pain in this song
there were good things
there were pages of letters that
were more like books
and poetry and pens that
made me think of some sort of dreadful
Jane Austen novel.
Oh my gosh
I'm such a fucking elitist
and everyone else is a peasant
and if I happen to become some sort of politician
or person of note
I am so sorry and that was a mean dreadful joke
and you are all lovely and wonderful and I was
just channeling Yyzma from
the Emperor's New Groove.

I always have to remember
to play nice with the other kids
because they are people not playthings
and you shouldn't hurt other people
because it is wrong.

And I've done it all and
I've seen it all
but I can't find a feeling
like that.

This morning

My love has always been
like gasoline and fire, there's always
pain involved
and generally I try to keep it
where I am the one doing the hurting.
This sounds bad out loud, but to a certain degree
most people would rather perpetually be the bad guy
the perpetually be the bad guys plaything.

In any case, I have built
walls and fences and booby traps
full of razor wire and spears and poison
around the tenderest bits of my heart and soul
because I don't like pain in any form
which is interesting, because I seemingly court it
in all directions.

So why is it, after all of the protection I have
employ and own
that all it takes to hurt me in the morning
is a man
who doesn't seem to care about anything
but where I moved his keys?

For a Friend

I went and saw some friends yesterday
and it was gloriously good, and I feel renewed
spiritually because an afternoon and evening spent
with friends is more healing to me then a lifetime spent
at a church.

Girl time combined with favorite couple I know time
is awesome. Thankfully they don't get tired of me bumming
around their place sporadically.

And while there will be a post about them someday, because
I love them, and this is the only tribute of worth I can think of
that is not what this is about.
While I was there, I noticed that my friend had a
book on his shelves. As I looked further, I saw he had multiple books
by this particular author which lead to a conversation that had my other
friend abandoning us for a few moments as we reminisced.

The author of these books was named Brian Jacques.
He wrote the Redwall series of books, as well as the Castaways of the
Flying Dutchman series.
Both my friend and I read them, him back in the early nineties, I expect
and I starting around a decade ago, at the age of 11.
And my friend then let me know that Brian Jacques died in 2011.
And I didn't know until last night.

So dear Mr. Jacques,
I did not know you personally
but I feel your loss like we were friends.
The words you wrote sustained me during elementary and middle school.
You taught me about the fantasy genre, and what beautifully descriptive stories
do for the imagination. When I was lonely and friendless and in pain, Martin and
Mattimeo and Mariel and Matthias and Triss and everyone else in that world
comforted me and loved me and told me I could be a warrior even though
I was young and female and angry and alone.
That the strength of your heart
could be better than the strength of your arms.
And that being a legend
does not always involve being the bad guy.
That being a hero and being afraid are not mutually exclusive things.
That regardless of your upbringing, it is the choices you make
that define who you are and what people remember about you.

So thank you Brian Jacques
you gave me the first nightmare I can remember
with a snake that I've been terrified of for years
and an eye for beautiful descriptions in literature
and stories that I'll be telling my children for years to come.
For giving me connections with friends
and connections when I didn't have friends.
I will pour out a libation for you tonight
and light a cigar
and think of you.
You will be mourned
you will be missed.

Splinters

"I will always remember you
watching me walking away."
Meant by Elizaveta

"Your name is the splinter
inside me."
Joshua Radin


That last lyric
breaks me every
single time I hear it.
I know how that is.
I know what that is.
I live it, because there are splinters
and names inside me all day every day.
I'm sure some of these names know who they
are and there are others who know and don't care
and others still who never knew how much they became intrinsic
parts of me. I hold onto these names and I tell people that it is because
they make good stories, and I'm sure they do, just as I'm sure that I will tell
the stories one day, but the truth is, is that I've let these splinters stay, because the
pain of splinters stuck in my flesh is worth the remembrance of times past.

These splinters have sliced my hands when I slapped them
and became a part of me, sucked into my bloodstream
because when I was angry at them, they became intrinsic parts of me
how I remember and relate.
But now, where they came from is irrelevant to a certain degree because
there are now bits of wood and glass and steel, all with various names
and dates and deeds floating about it in my body
These are the prettiest and ugliest bits of me.
Splinters of people who touched me and set me on fire
and people who spoke words that remind me that family is choice
and that I will be loved despite the overwhelming prevalence of ugliness
that is inside of me.

There are splinters of people who
I text Thrift Shop lyrics to every other day
and see almost every Sunday
and people I talk to once every two months
and we are warriors and friends and sometimes
domestic as fuck and at other times we are gods of bagpipes and feminism
and splinters of a person I knew once all too well
but his god is not my own and I am broken in his eyes because
I do not believe that I need to be saved.
And splinters of people that are in the downward swing of our friendship
but because I know everything is a circle, they will swing upwards
and splinters of people who have been close to my heart
since I met them.
These splinters can be painful
but they bring so much beauty, that it is worth the pain.


On a sillier note, every time
Welcome to the Black Parade
comes on
I turn it off
unless it is just me listening to it.
There is the true confessions of my life.
And dancing around like a muppet is to this song
is one of them.

My Gift is my song (And this one's for you )

"Every word you say, I think
I should write down
Don't want to forget come daylight."

"I should know who I am by now."

~Joshua Radin

Once upon a time
a few mistakes ago
a manboychildthing wrote to me and said
I really thought he was gonna grab my hand, pull me close and threaten to rip my soul in half."
It continues to be the funniest thing
I have ever read. Just looking at it makes me
want to howl. My poor dad.

He told me that I was Sybilla
and Vesper Lynn.
And we determined that I was a goddess.
Once, we prayed together and
I saw things for weeks after
in the air and water and mirrors
and there was power there.

We were heinous at times to each other
I scratched him so hard, I drew blood and left scars
His sister once tore his shirt because she didn't want us dating.
I slapped him. He didn't sit next to me during key events and
during our prom, the teachers made fun of the fact that my main rival
for his affections was his best male friends.
I'm pretty sure at one point I tried to set him on fire
He tickled me during class so I screamed during ridiculous moments
and would NOT let me play with his calculator.
He was mean to me about being catholic
and I to him about absolutely everything.
He once wrote
You literally are the worst thing to happen to any human being whatsoever and the greatest pox on men. And quite honestly you don't offer very much to anyone, but I still love you.
I have never been so pissed in my life.



I've never forgotten those words.


We were friends long before anything ever happened.
It was like a violent sort of friendship, one that revolved around
antagonistic behavior and being frustrated and tired all the time,
a common thread in many a high school setting.
There were times, though, that I was so fucking proud of him
I could have screamed it to the rooftops.
I hate the word lame
and he used it around me frequently just to make me crazy.
Senior year he sat behind me in English every other semester
and said the most random inane shit I've ever heard in my life
and got me in trouble all the time for baiting me into talking to him.
He also once called me a cold tamale.

We had the best banter of anyone.
We were harsh and cruel and I had teachers ask
why we hung out if we were so mean to each other
but there were lovely parts too, parts where we supported and
comforted and loved, things that I remember more than the time he told me
that he didn't care.
That we weren't real.
I was so rage-filled at times
and he was there, like a wall
and he took it and dealt with it
and I found that infinitely fascinating.
We publicly yelled at each other
but if I ever make it to the top of the Tower
I will shout his name.

When we liked each other we were bad
and when we didn't, we were worse
and we pissed off teachers with our physicality
whether we were kissing or just shoving each other
down the hallway, it was like watching a forest burn.

At the same time, he was stone
and I was water.
I could crack him and break him or nurture him and love him
but he was still there.
I once told him I was not an option, I was a priority.

When we broke up,
when I destroyed him, because what else could I do
but burn and main and kill
what I loved?
What else does a goddess do but demand sacrifice
from the ones that love her?




But now I am no longer the Lord his God(dess)
and I am less angry
and somewhat less destructive
and perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
there could be beauty in the friendship
because more than I miss the worship,
I miss laughing with him every day
and knowing he got what I was saying.


Therefore, as friends
we shall be again.
maybe
possibly
probably
definitely.

Listening to Morbid Music in the Morning.

I GOT THE JOB! HOORAY! SHINY!
_______________________________________

I wrote this in the car
twenty minutes before I walked in
because it was calming. I wrote it all by
hand, and I'm typing it up so I think it still counts. I may
write more. My day is looking up, but I can feel
my body arguing with me, because I stayed up
and emotionally, it has been pretty fucking
taxing.
_____________

Oh redacted one,

You are definitely right about friendship-
as far as the components of it all go. I think
I do things backwards. I try to believe that someone
is my friend until they prove me wrong a few times.
Too fucking idealistic, now that that's written down, and more
than a little embarrassing to think about, of course.

I enjoyed speaking to you. I know it is awkward now and probably
will continue to be awkward for a while, but at least we have a good while of
stuff we don't know about each other, so we shouldn't run out of things to talk about for
a while. Or maybe we will. I have no idea. That is supposed to make me feel better.

I'm sitting here in front of Petsmart
I had about an hour of panic when I woke up at 5 this morning because
my stomach hurt and I was terrified. But I'm
sitting here and my stomach is settling somewhat. I was
up until one last night...or this morning. Hooray for
bad life choices!

But I was doing my calming music
and reading my books. I always get stuck on
Good Omens. Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman both
write in a way that fascinates me. I love any and all of the books they've
written. They can capture humor and satire and eerie horror so well.
Good Omens speaks to the Supernatural-lover in me, as well as the old
Roman Catholic from days of yore.

So I end up reading and re-reading their books, especially Good Omens
because the old gods comfort me more than the new gods ever did.
My handwriting has gotten dreadful over the last few years.
For shame!
But it is consistent now, which is nice from a far-off perspective.
To a certain degree.

And into the breach!

So say we all.

Hellkitten
______________________

More later, probably.

Good Morning

Good morning to the world
which has been pretty difficult today
and it is only the very beginning of the day.

I have a friend coming over
today. I have no idea what time she'll be here
or what we'll do, but hopefully she doesn't expect to much
because my house is not my house
and there is children's stuff everywhere.

I started a post last night that I'll probably
have to finish tonight or the night after, because it is one
of those things that only comes out when it is late
and I am tired or drunk or anything but staring into the bright
shining morning.

The idea of tomorrow is giving me a heart attack.
Between dentists and job interviews, I find myself
pretty terrified. This week has been too crazy and I can't see
the weekend being any better. There are over  600 books on my kindle
and I can't choose between them. So I read a few last night
and spent a few hours terrified out of my mind
because they were scary and it always takes me a good 12 hours
to get the horrors out of the front of my head.

They are gone, now, the ghosts and monsters of last night
they might be back but they probably won't
but just in case, I'll be careful when I drive at night.

In any case, until she gets here
if she gets here
(please get here)
I'll be listening to my music extra loud
and ignoring these dreadful feelings until something gets
resolved
and maybe pray
for the first time in a long time.