they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

the glass house project. entry 2.

entry no. 2 (mess.)

this is messy
and I don’t seem to remember
what order looked like
and how it felt
to have everything in its place
and hung according to season and color and style
with never more than one day of settled dust
or gus hair
or whatever else floated around
the air in that space --

the air that delighted,
as did i,
in one crazy-eyed dog
and a lot of purple
and red
and an orange wall or two.

Monday, July 30, 2007

the glass house project (or, experimental honesty)

i've decided to conduct an experiment. every day for the next month, i'll write a poem. it will be real and honest and will deal with feelings and highs and lows and laughter and pain and maybe even with problems i don't yet realize i have. it may be short one day and long the next. a sentence here. a paragraph there. but it will be me. and it will be here. in cyberspace. for anyone and everyone to read. i welcome comments and constructive criticism and praise, too, if you have any to give. but please, allow me to be real. don't question my feelings or if i'm being honest with you or not. because this, i promise. every word i write for the next month will be pure me. and in the end, hopefully i'll learn something about myself. about being human. about feeling and living and growing and changing. and if i drop the f'bomb occasionally, forgive me. because sometimes, it's a really good word to use when nothing else seems to fit.

entry no. 1 (honey)

this place -
it pushes and pulls
and leaves me
filled with winter
and death -
hard, frozen ground,
iced-over lakes and ponds
and birds trying to find
but i'm not running
because i know that every winter
promises spring

even dying trees
go to sleep on fertile ground.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

you people are funny, right?

this time last year, i attended a funny t-shirt party. this is what it looked like. basically, i was funny followed by several exclamation points. (apparently, i was also sweaty.) but that's neither here nor there.

this year's funny t-shirt party is quickly approaching. and, i want to make my own. you know, buy a white t-shirt and write something absolutely hilarious on it with a sharpie. the problem, and i know you will all be just shocked about this, is that i can't think of anything funny to put on the shirt.

i'm open to comments. please. and if i win the most coveted funny t-shirt trophy, i will somehow repay the lucky slogan-generator. well, i'll at least give you a shout-out on the podium.

so, help me!

Monday, July 23, 2007


there is this puddle
and it’s filled -
with rainwater
and mud
and tablespoons of motor oil
and whatever else might have been
washed inside -
like chewed gum,
thrown to the side after the sugar dissolved
on ungrateful tongues
satisfying temporary cravings
only to be tossed out car windows -
windows that divide the road from the seats
and the airbags protecting
laughing couples
or crying babies -
maybe lovers
maybe you.
and this puddle follows me
making a mess of my new tires
and wheels
and the slightly gray, mostly silver paint;
and the hum of the four-cylinder
that i hope is strong enough
to keep going
so that i don’t have to fear
what might happen
if it stops
on the way home
in the middle of a crowded highway
filled with rush hour, cell phone-chatters
and texters
and people who really, really need a nap.
and if the engine quit
in the middle of the puddle,
i don’t know how i’d find my way
and so i add
to the blackness of its depth
spewing tears
and pain
and that place deep within me
that holds memories and my holly hobby glasses
and the way he used to look at me
when i was sick and drastically underweight
and a junior in high school feeling more worthless
than the piece of gum
that sits at the bottom of the puddle
that follows me home.

Friday, July 20, 2007

i got this today.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

list of things to do.

Go running in the rain
Make a collage out of magazine clippings
Go through old photos
Print some new ones
Make another mix CD
Finish the book I’m reading
Turn the other cheek
Contemplate grace
Watch two movies in a row
Go to a movie alone and order popcorn with tons of extra butter
Eat it all
Enjoy sushi every night for a week
Do a cleansing fast
Buy another fabulous pair of jeans
Compile all of my poems
Write letters to my grandparents
Have a picnic in a park with a bottle of wine and some really good cheese
Spend a day doing absolutely nothing
Get a massage
Contemplate getting a tattoo
Or another piercing
Take a cooking class
Find a steady volunteering gig
Go to a poetry reading and read some poems
Look into getting a piano
Start saving wine bottle labels
Stop eating gross candy like Nerds and Gummy Bears
Hook up the Nike running I-pod thing I’ve had since November
Get a houseplant
Look into a new bike
Call the gym and tell them to lower my payment
Fly a kite
Sleep until 10 and then spend the day in bed surfing the internet and reading
Spend an entire weekend going to garage sales
Find a swimming suit that I actually like
Wear it every weekend to the pool
Buy a raft
Go to Worlds of Fun and ride roller coasters all day
Spend the day before praying that they don’t get stuck upside down
Go to a community theater event for the cheapness and the people watching
Find a local band that I really like
Go to lots of their shows
Buy a band T-shirt
Take Gus to the dog park
Take copious amounts of photos of Gus at the dog park
Get them framed
Start collecting quotes

Wednesday, July 18, 2007


there are lines on my face
that didn’t used to be there
and my hair is sprinkled with
shining beacons of aging
that live between deep brunette strands –
until i pull them out.

and my nose and cheeks are blanketed
in freckles that used to stay hidden
until now -
this very moment of recognition.
or maybe
it’s just that i never really looked before.

quick glances in the mirror were easier
hair check
teeth check
lipstick check

but i’d always turn away
afraid to embrace
the years behind me
and the ones ahead
and the way that my body doesn’t quite look
the way
it used to.
but maybe just maybe
for the first time
i’m okay with my freckles
and the way that after a smile has faded,
you can still see hints of it
on my skin

Monday, July 16, 2007

about the car...

so the car i bought. it won't arrive until late july. i am currently driving my very cool, very mid-90s college car. it doesn't have air conditioning. it's 94 degrees here now on average. it sucks.

so, i have two dealerships fighting over me. that's right. i called one a town away and said i'd buy the one of their lot if they can match my price.

who knows what will happen. but driving home from work in 5 o'clock traffic with no AC sort of really sucks.

growing up.

i bought a car this weekend. by myself. i did the research. i went to the dealership. i refused to pay more than a couple hundred over invoice. i told them what i wanted out of my trade-in. and, i told them what my car payment needed to be. and after 3 and 1/2 hours, i got what i wanted.

granted, it's still being shipped here. so, i won't get this baby until late in the week. i did it. all by myself. i am a car-buyer.

Monday, July 09, 2007

in my silence

i've seen my heart swell to the bursting point
and then, at once, get ripped out
to remain
bleeding on the floor
streams of blood
that grow colder
each second
because this heart of mine
beats slower now
to the drone of a bright eyes song
and to the fullness of the moon
that seems to stay in the sky
too long
when all i want
is to wake up
to the promises of morning
like newness
and forgiveness
and grace.
but right now
i'm not sure
i remember the way back
so in this night, i sit
and the darkness
is too much
for even me - the strong one.

for even me.