you’ve called me motherfucker
you threw sandwiches
broke my lamps,
in the middle of grocery store
now it’s quiet
I recently decided I am definitely going to grad school, and I found a great Buddhist-inspired university that focuses on contemplative psychology which is what I was going to do.
It also offers a Masters in Creative Writing and Poetics. Is that a joke degree? I want to spend the majority of my life writing, but will I make it? Is it worth it? Should I get a real degree?
I must ask the universe. and you guys.
I think we need more coffee
I need to fourth step my fourth step.
Let the pain come in waves
As it does
When a storm is near
Let the rush overtake you
When it wants
All the time
To suppress and repress
Is asking for a larger swell
(a larger hell)
So take the small storms
As they begin
Let them in
And love them
They are a part of you too
Surfers learn to ride and race them
And so do dolphins
We are not unlike these graceful creatures
We just need a teacher
And these quiet storms teach you how to act appropriately
At funerals and such
When tensions are high
And you will probably get some decent writing out of it anyway.
Or a painting or song.
Some funny story.
Or at least a good cry.
Don’t worry if people stare
At one time, they have been there.
And they may even comfort you
With soft words
Or a tissue
They are a part of you
When you are feeling better
You will be there for them
And they will thank you
Through snotty noses
And tissue blows
And you will look at the sky differently
Than you are looking at it now
Because you have swam through the pain
It was not in vain
You can now help others
Not unlike yourself
Going through their own private hell.
I possess no peace
I’m always talking in my sleep,
Moaning curses to keep the demons from my dreams
I hear them sliding over sweaty sheets
Gelid ghouls gliding in a cruel, cold creep
Muscles frozen, my helpless body in a heap
Bible verses banging in my brain on repeat
“Halt, oh help, my soul to keep”
Dirty dagger-nails dig so deep
Snarling souls sink their wretched teeth
Lick their lips for their twelve o’ clock tea
On the drink menu for tonight: once again, it’s petrified me.
Embodied missing empathy
Like Siren snakes, they hiss Hellion poetry
Haikus heralded directly from Hades
I beg to barter,I am bound! Let me free!
From ghosts, you get no sympathy
My body: official atrophy.
My brain: insidious insanity
My spirit: endless agony.
The living nightmare that is recovery
Exhausted exhale, the sun shines through my bedroom door.
Move slowly, speak lower, my melancholic morning mourn
No reprieve, I anticipate the rapture’s unrepentant return.
To hunt me with their harrowing whores
Vexing vixens lurk to lure.
Spoon feed me their sordid soup du jour.
Oozing insides, filled with fret, my stomach turns.
Beseeching, I bellow, please, no more!
But here they come, my suffering, they adore.
To gnaw my brain
To prey on pain
To be my bane
Ravenous, they reign
I am insane!
Please leave my lane!
“Oh, shush! They say.
This is the only way
To everlasting resolution
Or you can choose the sorrowful , stopgap solution
Either make the ghost your undertaker for a little while
or forever let them eat you nightly as you wallow in denial.
The choice is yours
Now, the bottle or the boy?
Neither, I replied.
Oh neither, she replies.
Let the demons devour me now and let those parts of me permanently die.
Let the addict finally die
let the good soul finally try,
And learn to let each grieving ghost mourn its loss and pass on by…
in boulder, cold and tired,
Devouring poetry to fuel my fire
Swallowing words to irritate my ire
And like a loon, still luring liars
to help me eat the events that have transpired
and whisper tall tales that might inspire
me to move, or at least aspire
to move away from the burning pyre
lest I die in throes of unfulfilled desire
and like every lonely loon that ever loved
I return to the river to douse the flames and to mourn my doted, mourning dove
Is there anymore coffee?
God, I love cupcakes.
No solace or succor
without love or liquor
you might as well die
than deal with life dry.
I am dedicating this year to myself and my female friends.
No men, no fucking.
How everything that seems like it’s going to suck will and then we blog about it.
Day 29: just came immediately after masturbating to five seconds of lesbian porn.
It is what it is.