Nadia

You were better to me than I to you. You were the only one who soaked me in then. Wide eyed and fresh, you took my words and wrapped them deeply in you. 

I got lost on a country road. You always picked up the check. I postponed our meetings. You read my sloppy middle school journal entries that weeped about boys, my mother and homework.

I secretly wanted to be you. Unimpressed. Quiet beauty. Seeping intelligence. Silently demanding respect. Picking up the pieces where people like me have failed. The void of insecurity. 

Flawless.

I never found out anymore. Where the imperfections lied. You sleep perfect in my memory. Good night.

In the shower

he will emerge smelling of my shampoo and after shave.

I wish he was as clean as he looks.

Pluck Me Up

Sometimes life is exquisite.

Like a blink that refreshes your core,

But evaporates the moment your eyes open.

Diagnose me. 

I am not a happy mourner.

Bury my feet in the ground so that I am stuck,

Forced to endure the storm without waver. 

I'm a pretty pansy.

Pluck me up.

Drag me in 

And comfort me senseless. 

Hope breeds under my skin

and I hope it plans to surface

While I  la lee gag around my city

Head so full its heavy. 

Twiggy and Embroidered Hamburgers

Kelli and I have decided we have what it takes. We have the skills require to make our own clothes. Or at the very least the skills to read a How To book. I mean... how hard can it be to make a couple Twiggy dresses in different fabrics?Sooo....

While browsing the vintage patterns online, we found something that we just had to have. Something that reeked of high fashion! Something that we were sure all our fellow fashion conscious ladies in Hollywood would kill each other for. Something no modern designer has ever fathomed. Ladies and gentlemen I give you ....

embroideries best.

Note: please notice Dad's embroidered thumbs up, Mom's semi-truck, and most importantly, little Susie's slab of meat.

Haiti

Lying in a cradle unable to move.

Flies. Urine. Mango. 

Tattered cookie monster t-shirt.

I remember you. Don't think I've forgotten. 

Sometimes my helplessness numbs the part of my brain that holds you. 

Sometimes you come to me in daydreams only with a smile. I hold your hand and worldlessly push you on a tire swing I never saw.

Other times you invade my listlessness with your hungry belly and naked bottom.

I apologize as I push you from my day promising to return to you.

I can not help but keep the promise. 

Often my eyes are dry with thoughts of you. As though you stole all the tears long ago on the day that dusty yellow bus carried me away from your world. Other days

without warning I weep for you.

Did you think I would come back? How many mornings after did you run to the gate to look for me? How long did you wait before you went on? Did you grow to hate me? Despise me? Place me in with so many others who have abandon you. I never meant to be that my sweet Haitian baby.

I sang you lullabies at night and prayed they would carry through the ocean air to you. 

Part of me knows you are dead.

Part of me hopes it. 

Witch Sock Cigs

They were his prized possessions. 

His last taste of freedom and self.

Four tucked in is sock.

In group home uniform and awkward teenage gaunt he stood venerable as they were confiscated by my boyfriend.

A confused lonely youth fascinated by the darkest things the world had to offer.

Daniel brings them home to me.

I smoke them in honor of the teenage rehab witch.

Come one Come all

They are coming. 

My most beloved friends. 

With plump cars and peanut butter they disturb the desert night with high beams. 

Slowly their clocks begin to read my time and the fears that beat in their throats will soon be soothed by the smell of ocean and the California poppy. 

I await them. 

Eager with empathy. 

I will cradle them in my Hollywood Bungalow and we will smoke and talk our throats raw on my roof. 

They mirror my bravery and I want nothing more then to plant them. 

Deep roots in my world still shaky on its own.

We will explore the canyons and unleash our budding charisma on these hills unknown by us.

Weaving stories our children will proudly tell their peers and building calluses on our soft baby skin. 

Anticipating what make most cringe and selfishly devouring all that is presented. 

Come December our families will peek their curious heads from the Bluegrass and request our return. 

We will gather pennies for a two way ticket.

From this time forward. A two way ticket. 

Hascal

Every time I peel an orange I remember him. From that one corner of the porch where he always sat, I felt like I could see the world. Maybe even a rare peek of his.  He scared all the children besides me. Thats how I felt his love. The fear enticed me. 

His skin was grayish from decades of smoke lapping it, and mine was pink with summer sunburn. The tobacco in his barn rotted away like I knew his insides were. Even at six I could feel death with him. We sat. In our silence we spoke. Connected by blood and separated by all that was left. 

One day we were alone on the porch. I sat beside him in silence while he peeled an  orange. He handed me a slice. I took it with no words. It was like I was eating his love. Devouring all I knew he would ever give to me. He never looked in my eyes. It was as though what we shared in that moment was to big for him feel. He softened to me.

I would never know his abuse. What he yielded or what he endured. I would never fathom his demons or even witness his laughter. But one single smile he allowed. My whole life. One that I knew was honor for my eyes. One that I would tell my young family members as they looked back in disbelief. 

I found love for a man ten times my age. He was my epiphany of death, acceptance and intimacy. To know that I did so little to gain the warmth of a heart so hardened. I was enough. In silence, in presence. He said, "you're alright, kid." 

For years after his death I would play in his barn. Nap in his bed with longing and fear of his ghost. But every time we would travel down that dirt road to the place that held his memory, I would spend a moment on that porch corner shedding tears for a man I felt only I knew. 

Hollywood DMV

Dear Persian man with gold medallions,

 No amount of questions concerning the DMV will turn me on. Nor will your Armani pants and oozing lip sores. Your chest hair does not make me want to think about what you look like naked and your cologne made me choke a little. 

 Whomever told you that marriage proposals were most romantic when made in a DMV line surrounded by drag queens, illegal immigrants, and wanna be celebs and attached to words such as 'business deal', 'green card', and 'HUGE favor', should be forced to watch a Shot at Love 2 with Tila Tequila until they have to suck their thumbs and plead for their mommy. Though I suppose your friends make up the majority of its audience.

Lastly, and for the benefit of your future proposal attempts. Never before have I have sex with a man simply because he wore sunglasses inside. Not ever. 

You are like a unicorn. I did not know you existed. You are a walking stereotype. Hang your head in shame, dear sir. Hang your head in shame.

Twist and Turn Baby Burn

Mmmm. Another day.

Pain away.

Mmmm. Numb today.

Feels ok.

Chill my bones.

Please don't cry.

Squeezing tears

From my life.

Bye bye birdie.

Sing tomorrow

Another sad song

Five strings of sorrow.

Cracking leaves

Breathe for me.

Mama, please

Forget all of me.

Painted noise

Of tranquility.

Papa please

Remember me.

Lying here

Upright and warm

Another calm before the storm

Twist and turn

Baby burn

Through my boots

Sustain my roots.

Follow me.

Let's go away.

Yellow birds

In winter day

How we'll cry

How we'll play.

Closing gates

Of gardens dead.

Sweet concrete

Let's rest our heads.

Rosy eyes, supple cheeks.

Be the drug

That my vein seeks.

Scrambled Legs

Owl eyes through orange tree.

Chill my bones, lock my knees.

Painted lips in photographs.

Sex shaped brow, hollow laugh.

 

Seducing me, I play once more.

Shut me up, lock the door.

All that leaves, in shallow breath,

May keep the cold, I'll take the rest.

 

Shattered mess, we lay scrambled

Yellow eggs, content in shambles.

Wanting only this we breathe,

Dust and pain and whom we see.

Evolution

Soon I will have the most slippery back. Things will never be able to stick. My legs are too weak to carry the load, my muscles to weak to sustain. So my back will learn to loose you.

Envious

For her they are the reason for living. The motivation she needs to propel her every motion. They can mend any heart break and soothe every pain. She dreams of them and in her sleep she speaks of them. It is her drug, her comfort, her joy.

I wish I liked Jelly Beans that much.