He Gave Me Sex, He Gave Me Coffee

Like his Towels

2011-10-26T14:45:00.001-06:00

Before our lives together began he watched me.
Weekly, he came. And would run his calloused, rough hands
against my plush 400 thread-count skin,
and I longed for the day he would make me his.

Sitting alone on the shelf, I would picture
how our future together would be:
I would be there for his every need. To wrap my body
around his, and keep his naked body warm
Anxiously awaiting the chance to serve;
And he would reciprocate with a kind and gentle caress.

And so it went, our life began.
For months, and years, I eagerly served him
In the early morning hours,
When he was hurried for work
On those late nights,
he came home reeking of alcohol
stumbling blindly into the bathroom.
I would provide his head a gentle place to rest,
when it was just too hard to make it to bed.

I sopped up his messes, his spills.
From the cartons of milk
knocked from the counter by a careless hand,
to the oceans of shit that welled over the porcelain bowl,
a tidal wave of filth and stench;
I was there.

But now, I have grown old,
worn from years of eager servitude.
The wind blows fierce,
through my threadbare skin.
Nothing more than a tattered rag,
Left to lie with the dogs:
a chew toy, to be shredded in shame.

The Rock

2011-10-26T14:44:00.001-06:00

With one last heave, I pulled myself to the top of the tallest rock. Here the water and wind had carved a flat surface, with crevices shaped perfectly to catch the curves of my body. It was as though some creature past had lain here until it had worn out a body shaped groove to recline in, as it watched the clouds go past. From atop this rock I could see it all.
To the west, the nearest mountain appeared as a great beast that lay slumbering on its side. His backside arching up to the highest point, and slowly sloping down its long neck; where its head disappeared into the distance. Behind this great beast stood the powerful beauty of the mountain range; jagged peaks covered with snow year round created a startling backdrop for the small cities in the foothills.
In all other directions the land rose and fell gently, creating nooks for small farms, and pockets for town buildings. The nearest farm housed a herd of milking cows, who had taken advantage of the beautiful day and were sprawled lazily in the afternoon sun.
Having surveyed my private kingdom, I stretched out on the smooth rock, it was time to see what mystical creatures were hidden in the clouds.

Required

2011-10-26T14:42:00.001-06:00

I can hear you as you breathe next to me,
tendrils of warmth radiates from your skin.
You’re breathing: slow and rhythmic, it soothes me.
I silently pray this moment never ends.

Lying there, still groggy-eyed from sleep
not yet conscious that its dawned a new day.
An intruding sound breaks through: beep, beep, beep
The sound is near, but seems so far away.

This land that lies in between dream and wake
entices me, with your voice: calls my name.
Just a few moments more, before the ache
this place of in-between, ours alone to claim.

I open my eyes, nothing's as it seemed
Faced with your absence, I let out a scream.

Fear of Change

2011-10-26T14:41:00.001-06:00

The darkness bore down on her like an overweight lover, stifling her every breath. She hated the nights, hated lying alone in a bed made for two, hated the nightmares that came when she slept. With fierce determination she focused her will on the simple act of staying awake; it only made sense: if she didn’t sleep, she couldn’t dream. Instead, she would count the minutes and hours until things would be made right, when she would be reunited with her lover, reunited with her soul. But, at the same time, she feared it, more than she had ever feared anything in her life. What if he was no longer her lover, after all, it had been so long and things are known to change

Dialogue

2011-10-26T14:39:00.001-06:00

“Well, what do you think?” Jake asked as he and Marie stood at the coffee bar waiting for their drinks.
“I don’t know, I’m just not sure that I’m ready yet.” Marie looked around for a place to sit. She loved this coffee shop, but since school had started back, it was next to impossible to find a place to sit.
Jake and Marie were what the Barista’s would deem as regulars. Every morning, one or both of them showed up. Sometimes dressed and ready for the day, other times looking like they had just rolled out of bed and stumbled over, which was accurate, since they only lived two doors down. Today, Marie came looking prepared to stay, her laptop and school books under her arm.
Jake picked up the drinks and followed Marie to a table in the corner. “I really think it’s time, Babe, we’ve been talking about it forever, let’s just do it and see what happens. It’s something we both want.”
Flipping open her laptop, Marie paused for a minute, “I know, Babe, I do want a baby, I mean, we both do. It’s just that, well, what if we fail again? I don’t think I can handle another loss.”
He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I know. But we can try a different route. I’ve put some money aside, if you still want to try the invitro.”
She took a slow sip of her Americano and glanced around the coffee shop contemplating how to respond. The therapeutic sound of the espresso machine humming in the background, her mind wandered to this time last year, when they both sat here, having a very different conversation. It was hard to imagine that a year had already passed by. They had just found out she was pregnant, only weeks later, to go through a tragic miscarriage.
She took a few deep breaths, and said quietly, “No, you don’t know. You experienced loss too, but I’m the one who carries the child. I’m the one who can’t carry the child. You can’t know what that is like.”
They’d had this conversation what seemed like a hundred times before. They both knew there was no easy answer. No quick fix. And neither of them felt like expending the energy to convince the other of their point of view.
Jake brushed his crumbs off the table as he stood up. “It’s ok, love, we don’t have to make a decision today. Focus on your school work, I’ve got to get going anyhow.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before he turned to go.
She watched him as he dropped his cup and napkin in the trash can, and held the door open as two little old ladies walked through talking loudly to one another. He was such a good man, she thought. He’d make such a good father.

Blank Slate

2011-10-26T14:35:00.000-06:00

You wouldn’t recognize me if you had known me a year ago, Shelly thought as she sat across the table from Jeff. They were on a first date, and she was only half listening to his story about his summer travels. She knew it didn’t matter. She knew that the chances of them making it past a third or fourth date before he realized who she was and went running were slim.
Her full name was Michelle Carson. Growing up, she had always been called Michelle, but after moving away from Mt. Shasta this spring, she had realized it was easier to go by Shelly, at least until she could get her name changed completely. Too many people recognized, Michelle Carlson. There wasn’t a person in the country who hadn’t heard her name on the news or radio in the last year. At least Shelly threw them off, for a bit.
She had moved away from California as soon as the courts allowed it. There was nowhere she could hide there, not even by changing her name. Everyone knew her face. Knew her story, sometimes, it seemed, better than she knew it herself. She’d since the pictures, heard the story enough to know what had happened, and what everyone else thought had happened. She’d been found covered in blood sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the television, while her three roommates lay upstairs, having been bludgeoned to death.
The courts never could prove that she had a part in it, and she still didn’t have any memories of the event, so she couldn’t say for sure that she didn’t do it. Everyone just assumed that she went crazy, blacked out, and killed them all. So even though she had never been found guilty, no one thought she was innocent.
And so it went. She was a pretty girl. Before the “incident” as she called it, she had been startlingly attractive with fair skin, snow white hair, and crystal blue eyes. Now, even with her hair a dark brunette, she still turned heads.
As she looked across the table, she realized that while she hadn’t been paying attention, that little light bulb had gone off in Jeff’s head. Without thinking she had given the server her credit card, and when he came back, he thanked her by her first name.
“Michelle, Michelle Carlson. Why does that sound so familiar?” Jeff looked at her quizzically for a moment. “Wasn’t that the name of the girl involved in that unsolved murder in Cali?”
She sat there, waiting, and knowing that in a few short seconds he would have it all put together. And he did.
“Oh, Shit! That’s YOU?!?!”
She just nodded. When this had first started happening, she had tried to explain, tried to protest her innocence, but by now, she knew, it didn’t matter and it wasn’t worth the effort. He’d be gone in a matter of minutes, and she would never see him again.

Back from the Dead

2011-10-26T14:33:00.001-06:00

Revenge

A penny per tick, that’s pretty good money. I was already on my second mason jar; had to be almost five dollars. I probably could have fit them all into one jar, but I wanted to give them a little room to breathe. Jimmy had said they needed to be alive. There were a lot of ticks out in these woods, and if they started getting scarce, I could always go pick some of the horses or the cows. Those were the big juicy ones, but you had to be careful picking those off. If you squeezed just a little too hard, they would explode like little tiny water balloons filled with blood. That’s why I’m gettin’ the ones in the woods first. Jimmy hadn’t told me what the ticks where for yet. He said I couldn’t be trusted not to say anything. Jimmy’s my older brother. He just came back from boarding school. My parents told me not to listen to him; that he’d get me in trouble. But, I think Jimmy is the smartest person in the world. He said he’d teach me how to sleep with my eyes open this weekend.
I really hope these ticks are some kind of revenge for the stupid prick next door. Jimmy said he’s the one who killed our horse Blackie. We found her a couple of weekends ago out in the back field. Someone had beaten her to death. It looked like they had used a piece of board, maybe one of the fence pieces, because she had holes poked in her skin too. I’d never seen Jimmy so mad before. He swore he was going to make whoever did this suffer like they never thought possible. I hope he does, but I almost feel bad for whoever it is, ‘cause when Jimmy’s mad, he’s really mad. But, I just don’t know how all these ticks fit in to his plan.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jake and Molly were parked out in the field. Jake had offered to bring her out there to “look at the stars.” And while the stars were out in all their glory and splendor that evening, the only thing Molly was getting a look at was a close-up of Jake’s face as he slobbered all over her, like an overly eager puppy.
They’d only been there a few minutes when Jake felt something crawling on his leg. He swatted at it inattentively, but after a few minutes he began to feel things crawling all over him: up the back of his shirt, on his arms, and in his hair. Not wanting to freak Molly out, and more realistically, not wanting to ruin his chances of getting some action, he was trying his hardest to block out the crawling sensation and focus his attention on second base.
Right as he was unsnapping the second hook on her bra, Molly let out an ear piercing scream. “What is it?!? What’s on me!?!? Get it off!?!”

••••••••••••••••••••••
That neighbor kid, Jake, died last night. Him and his girlfriend were taken to the hospital last night. The doctors were running tests for Lyme’s disease and some other stuff, on Molly. She’s still alive, but he went into some kind of shock, and died. They say nobody knows what happened to them, but I know what it was. It was the ticks that got ‘em. After I finished gathering up the jars for Jimmy, he told me he I needed to keep them for a little bit, because he needed me to do some more work for him.
That night, Jimmy had me sneak over to the property next door where Jake’s car was parked, and place the cans of ticks underneath the two front seats of Jack’s car. Jimmy said he had a date that night, and Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who ever took a girl out, he just took her to “park.” Jimmy said it was very important that I put the cans in such a way that they didn’t roll around, because we didn’t want Jake to find them on accident. And, he said, I needed to take the light bulb out of the dome light, so he couldn’t see what was crawling on him. He showed me how to do it on his own car first, so he could make sure I did it right.
I didn’t know that ticks could kill a person. But I’m glad he’s dead. I feel bad for the girl he was with, but anyone who hangs out with Jake is either stupid or mean like him. I just hope nobody finds out that I put the ticks in the car, or my dad will skin me alive. Jimmy said not to worry though, that as long as I did it just like he said no one would ever know. And I did, I did it just like he said.

Gaurdian of the Night

2010-09-13T22:33:00.003-06:00

I don't know where we used to get our pumpkins when I was a kid, what I do remember is how excited we were when they arrived in our kitchen, and how anxious we were to get to carve them, and the way the house smelled after we had roasted the seeds. The part of town where we lived growing up was not favorable, because of this (and because it was "wrong") we were never allowed to go trick-or-treating, so for us, the carving of the pumpkin was the highlight of the harvest season.

There it sat, on the cold metal table. The center piece; untouched for weeks. Finally, it's day had arrived. My brother and I could barely contain our excitement as we whispered excitedly to one another over our cereal bowls. This was the day!! We had only to make it through eight excruciatingly long hours of school, and then, once home, our tiny little hands would set madly to work, creating our masterpiece.

And then, there we were, elbow deep in pumpkin guts, scooping and clawing and scraping at it's soul. At that point we were unconcerned with the delicious pumpkin pies, pumpkin smoothies, and pumpkin seeds that would soon fill our bellies and serve as late night treats by the fire. We only wanted it out of our way. So that our tiny little knives could cut away at the pumkin's flesh as our hands had done it's soul.

If these were not the days before one could purchase a cut out of fancy design for their pumpkin, my brother and I had surely never seen such a thing. There were no quick-assemble kits, no temporary tattoo-like designs to carve from. These were the days when an artist's work came from a paring knife and a permanent marker. And I, charged with the task of design work this particular year, sat cross-legged atop the table; my brow furrowed down, and two little bite marks forming on my lower lip from fierce concentration. The marker hovering closely over the soon to be face of our new friend.

Mine was an eye of symmetry and balance, if not of originality. With the carving skills of my brother, this creature would soon see the starry night through triangle eyes and laugh at jokes unheard through a gap toothed grin.

It took only few short hours to turn a normal, everyday gourd into a guardian of the night. But those hours held joy and pleasure immeasurable. Once complete, we sat with our legs and feet dangling idly off the front porch swing; the pumpkin-man between us. His life would be short-lived, but that didn't matter. For us, it was his creation, not his demise, that would be burned forever into our memories. And in that moment we were gods, creators of a new being, nothing could defeat us. How were we to know, my brother and I, what would lie ahead and what these moments would some day mean?

The Chancellor

2010-09-13T22:30:00.000-06:00

The plate hit the ground at almost the exact same moment as Professor Tumblin. Shattering into a thousand tiny pieces- the plate, of course, Professor Tumblin was made of all the wrong things to create a shattering effect. He merely hit the ground with an almost silent thud. But the plate! Oh, the precious, priceless plate! Gone in a single heartbeat. Sadly, the Professor's final heart beat, but that fool. That fat, clumsy fool. Now what would we tell the Chancellor?

Decisions

2010-09-13T22:27:00.002-06:00

She leaned against the oversized window, staring without seeing. In the last thirty minutes she had managed to chew every nail she had to the qwick. A couple bites seemed to have actually broken the skin and drawn blood. But she didn't even notice. When she bit through the skin, she simply moved on to the next finger. In between bites she was constantly pulling her phone from her pocket; checking the time and firing off rapid texts.
With her dark green hoodie pulled as far over her face as she could get it, and her knees pulled tightly up to her chest, she appeared almost like a small child wishing herself invisible. Every so often she would remove the headphones from her ears and peer over to check that the ticket in her hand still read the same as the numbers on the board. Only then could you see her face, stained from tears, and the pain that filled her eyes.

Pain

2010-09-13T22:22:00.003-06:00

I sat, watching the clouds gather near.

Did they know?

Where they here on my behalf?

The fog rolled in, to say it's final goodbye.

It, too, had come to mourn.

The tears that fell from the sky masked the ones that fell from my own eyes.

Take me with you, I implored,

take me away from where these strangers loom,

that I may find some semblance of comfort in your gloomy embrace.

Take me to where your sorrow is loosed

that I might unleash my howls of misery,

hidden from the passers-by with your cracks of thunder and blinding light.

Take me to a place,

A place where I am free;

Free to succumb to my despair,

Far away from these condoling eyes.

Be Who I Need

2010-09-13T14:12:00.002-06:00

Be the one who makes me laugh
The one who calms my fears
Be the one who shares my joy
The one why dries my tears
Be the one who's here
To hold
To touch
To feel

Should's and Should Not's

2010-07-11T16:01:00.002-06:00

I should be happy.

I should be thankful.

I should be smiling all the time.

But I'm not.

I feel frazzled, stressed, empty, and alone.

Sometimes

2010-05-26T22:31:00.003-06:00

Sometimes you meet people who leave you with nothing to say, but a smile on your face. They come into your life in the most unexpected ways, from the strangest places. And yet, they fit so seamlessly, it seems they must have always been.

Sometimes you meet people who take you back to another time. They bring such happiness to the present, but also a sadness for the past. Sadness for a friend lost, a moment gone.

Sometimes you meet people who are in and out of your life like a flash of light. But in that flash, they change your life. Like a bolt of lightening, their memory is seared into your soul, haunting the rooms of your heart.

the boot

2010-04-29T14:11:00.001-06:00

Today's lesson is: How to Throw Money Down the Drain

Step 1: live on a street with a 1hr parking limit from 8am-10pm.

Step 2: remain unaware of this tidbit of info for the first couple days of living there

Step 3: be sure to oversleep at least once or twice.

Step 4: fail to realize that every parking ticket doubles in price with each ticket you get until you have accrued at least 3.

Step 5: also fail to realize that each individual ticket doubles in price if you fail to pay them in a timely fashion.

Step 6: get your car booted for failing to pay the above mentioned aquired tickets totally approximately $400.

Step 7: don't forget the $100 boot fee, and the $90 parking violation fee that will be added when they boot you.

Step 8: congrats. They own you now. Pay up. Or....saw that bad boy off your car. (I don't recommend the latter option...it makes the po-po's angry)

If You're Going to Do Something....

2010-04-22T09:30:00.003-06:00

How many times have I heard that phrase?

"If you're gonna' do something, do it right the first time"

What is the lesson to be learned here? I suppose it is that you should always give whatever you do your best effort. Sadly, that is not the lesson I have learned. What I hear when someone (my mother) says that phrase to me is this: Just don't do it.

I don't want to do it. I'm not going to give it my all. So why give it my any?

Sadly, in school, not giving it my any results in a big fat F. Giving it my all usually results in an A+++, but sometimes I just don't feel like giving it my all. So I give it my some.

The paper I just submitted yesterday is a prime example of this. It started off strong and witty, and that is were is stayed....at 2 1/2 paragraphs. The topic was a famous rhetorician. The length was 3-4 pages. I turned mine in 4 days late, at barely two full pages.

Who accepts a paper that's four days late you say? My teacher, when I have a doctor's note. You would think with the extra four days I could have made that paper outstanding. But I didn't. It still sucks.

I fully expect, one day, to receive an email from a teacher telling me exactly how shitty my paper is. I imagine it would read a little something like this:

Dear Lazy Student:

I don't know what this piece of crap that you turned in in place of your assignment was, but I am sending it back to you. I do not want any documents as worthless and ill written as this consuming space on my computer, or tainting other worthwhile documents. My goldfish has submitted more creative work than this. If you intend to pass this class, then you should fully intend to do the work assigned to you, at the level at which you are capable of completing it.

Signed,
Irate Teacher

Until I receive that letter, though, I imagine, periodically, my teachers will still open their assignment dropboxes to find me giving it my some and not my all.

Just beyond the horizon

2010-02-28T21:16:00.002-07:00

It flutters and flits;
I reach out to grab it and just barely miss.
Always out of reach,
constantly unable to grasp.
It lands softly in my hand,
but fleeting,
like the moment,
never lasts.

the girl i left behind

2010-01-21T21:13:00.001-07:00

Coming.....

A lack of words

2010-01-02T12:19:00.002-07:00

Recently, I was having a conversation with someone where I was trying to relay to them that there was a cinnamon roll without icing with their name on it. Not a difficult concept, right?

Except that when I went to say "I left the icing off a cinnamon roll for you" my mind went completely blank at "icing" as in...blank. Void of all thought. I could visualize the cinnamon rolls on the cookie sheet in the kitchen, and see the one without the icing sitting on the right side, but no words would come. So I just stood there, staring at said person while they waited and wondered if any more words were going to come out of my mouth.

Finally, after a solid minute or two, and what seemed like an eternity of mental anguish, I found the word I was looking for. ICING!!! Wow.

When I lose my mind; and I will, and I'm okay with that. But when I do, and my whole world becomes a lifetime of mental anguish, struggling to find words, please, I beg you all, put me out of my misery.

Death of a body part

2009-12-29T22:51:00.000-07:00

I should have known it then, should have known what the pain meant. They say when two people are close your body knows when something is wrong. But I didn’t. It took six long weeks to figure out why I had gotten so sick, to find the source of the pain.
That night I went to sleep, just like any other night. Only this night I woke just a few hours later to excruciating pain deep inside of me. It took me awhile to even figure out where the pain was. My whole body seemed like it had been set on fire. My muscles, my stomach, my chest were all screaming with pain.
My first instinct was to grab the heating pad. Being accustomed to muscle cramps, as I’ve experienced “growing pains” since I was just a small child, there is always at least one heating pad beside the bed. At first, it seemed to help, but the relief lasted only a minute.
Crying out from the pain, I quickly ran to the bathroom and lost my dinner. What a wonderful dinner it had been too! Homemade pot roast, served with carrots and potatoes; atop a bed of freshly steamed rice. I had made it as a surprise for my sweet, sweet boyfriend.
Surely that must have been what made me sick? But when I checked with him later, he had suffered no discomfort. This was a dish I had made hundreds of times, if it wasn’t that, then what could have made me so sick?
Only now, these six weeks later, do I understand what was happening to me. You see, shortly after I had gone home for the night, and crawled in for a good night’s sleep, my sweet, sweet boyfriend slipped on his shoes, and left his house.
Now, these six weeks later, I know what caused the pain. It was my heart shattering into a million pieces. It just took these six long weeks, for the news to reach my brain.

Home

2009-12-29T22:48:00.000-07:00

I sit by the pit out on the back porch
The fire blazing strong and hot
My sweet, sweet girl lays her head on my feet
Just far enough back, not to get burned
Indian style,
Hands and face buried in her fur
This is where we meet.

I know she’s mad, she keeps her eyes turned away
I can’t blame her
I’ve been gone for far too long
While my intentions were good:
I went to find us a home
Leaving her there, for any time….
Leaving her alone was wrong.

The Stranger

2009-12-29T22:45:00.001-07:00

She wasn’t gorgeous. Not the kind of girl you’d find on the cover of a magazine. But there was something about her that made it hard for both men and women alike to look away. Something in that smile, in the way her eyes seemed to read deep into your soul. Average in height, average in dress, there was nothing average about her. Her long wavy brown hair, sloppily thrown into a ponytail, her sparkling green eyes lighting up the room, she rarely ever took the time to apply any makeup, just some moisturizer and chap-stick and she was out the door. Those who knew her, though, knew when she chose to dress up, dress like a girl, that she had a killer body to go with those intense green eyes. When she chose, she oozed with femininity.
But it was almost as though she wanted to down play it; as though she didn’t want people to see her sensuality. It wasn’t hidden in an insecure manner. But you had to wonder sometimes if she knew it was just too much, that people couldn’t handle it, or if it just didn’t occur to her to play on what drew people to her.
She was everyone’s best friend, but was without one of her own. Though people constantly confided in her, she never did the same. If they had stopped to think about it, they would have realized this girl, their friend, was little more than a familiar stranger in their lives.

Wander

2009-12-29T22:43:00.001-07:00

I think I should like to be someone very different than me.
For a week,
For a day,
For a while
Just to see where I might go, just to see where it might lead.
But that can’t be.
No matter where I go, no matter who I meet
I am never anyone different
I am only me.
I love with all my heart, and break the ones of those around me
I want a house
I want a home
I want to wander and be free
I cannot be held down to one place for very long
Though I’ve tried to be that girl
With all my heart I’ve tried
But the call
The call to search
To seek
To wander
The call is just too strong.

Upon Waking

2009-12-29T22:41:00.001-07:00

As I lay there, with my eyes tightly shut, and the pillow over my face, I can still feel the stupid beams of sunlight coming in from the window; the window that has no coverings. I am not a morning person. And I do not like blinding sunlight to wake me up. If I had my way I’d sleep in the cave room downstairs. There are no windows down there, just total darkness. But, if I were down there, I wouldn’t be in this deliciously comfortable bed: the nexus bed we call it. I love waking up in the morning, and rolling over to his side of the bed once he’s gotten up. I love knowing as soon as he hears me stir he will come in and bring me a nice fresh hot cup of coffee. Coffee too hot for any human to drink, but it smells delightful, and once is cools down a little it is wonderful. It’s okay that it’s too hot to drink, though. Because when he comes in, he will also hold me, and pet on me, and rub my back, and ask me four million questions that I will only answer with blinks and nods, until I finally threaten to stab him if he asks one more question. Then, we will laugh and drink our way too hot coffee together.

The One

2009-12-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

He haunts my dreams and breaks my heart. Sneaking in during the night, watching with those eyes. Those eyes that used to know me so well. But he stays there, lurking in my dreams, hiding in the shadows; never reaching across the divide when I awake. The dreams always hurt. They always begin and end the same way. There is no happy ending. There is no prince charming come to make it right. Just two tainted and flawed individuals, lost in love, lost in a world that divides them.

Even after I wake, he haunts my head and torments my heart. Following me around for days; asking: “What if? What if? What if?” Until I just want to go back and dream the same dream over and over, and live a world of endless slumber. It’s my only chance to be near him. The only way he gives me rest. And in the end, I let my dreams become my reality, and my reality…just a dream I float through until I can sleep and be with him again.

Countdown to Blastoff

2009-12-10T09:06:00.004-07:00

Do you ever have reoccurring images from you child hood that you can't even begin to explain why you remember? One such memory came back to me as I lay sleepless, waiting for the sun to rise. The time: very early 90's. The location: Huntsville, Alabama, more specifically: the Space Center. My classmates and I were on a field trip, and we had all been instructed to go use the restrooms before we boarded the bus for our 4 hour drive back. That's when it happened.

A couple of my girlfriends and I were waiting patiently (interpret: goofing off) in the bathroom for our turn to go when we heard this woman counting. Counting down. Out loud. In a restroom stall. To this day, I have no idea what possessed her to countdown. I don't know if this was her normal routine, or if she felt inspired by the Space Center, or even who she was. But I do know this: when she completed her countdown, she did indeed have lift off; and my friends and I ran laughing hysterically from the bathroom.

barely breathing

2009-10-07T18:23:00.005-06:00

Every breath labored
Weaker than the last
Each exhale leaves me shaky
Consumed by thoughts from the past

Drink the magic potion
Focus on the glass
Drink the sweet sweet poison
Soon this too shall pass

Warmth spreads throughout me
My heart rate begins slow
At last the pain is fading
If this relief will last, only god knows

Plugged in Plum

2009-08-20T09:17:00.002-06:00

I paint my nails for you, so I can offer out my tattered heart with perfectly manicured hands. But Ill take it back, and hoard it close; before you have the chance to refuse. You see; it's not much. And it's not pretty. But it's the only thing I've got to lose. But it does no good, to hold on so tightly. To try and keep it safe from harm. I can feel the strain against my grasp. It doesn't want me. It doesn't want safety. It only wants your arms.

Don't leave me alone

2009-01-24T22:19:00.000-07:00

Each day starts out the same.
A glimmer of hope, and a smile.
But as the day goes on,
both glimmer and smile begin to fade.
Then comes my moment of bravery.
When I face the world head on,
but the world doesn't see me
my bravery dies,
And I always end up alone.

How It All Started

2008-08-24T12:15:00.000-06:00

I had just finished up the last class of the day, and as I walked down the broken pathway towards the field house, I was dreading the parent teacher meeting scheduled with Robbie's dad. What could I have possibly been thinking, to schedule him on a friday afternoon? Not a good way to start off the weekend. Best get it over with as quickly as possible.
There they both stood. Robbie, with all of the makings of being just like his father, looking more defiant than normal; knowing his dad always has his back, no matter how right or wrong his actions...and they were very rarely right.
Robbie had started yet another fight on the school premises with an underclassmen, bringing about this most recent of many father, son, teacher meetings. When Robbie first entered my class, I had been dismayed that the previous teachers kept passing him to the next grade with his obvious lack of comprehension on almost all subject matters. But now, I fully understood, for I, myself, could not wait for the school year to end, so that I could wipe my hands of this whole mess.

If I Could Get My Hands On You

2008-08-21T19:28:00.001-06:00

I want to feel you come alive under my touch. I ache to come alive under yours. If I could just get close enough to feel you, I swear, I'd never let you go. I'd spend hours slowly memorizing every inch of your skin.
If I close my eyes now, I can feel you. Feel you under me, and over me. On me, and in me. It's a dream from which I never want to wake.

I'm only yours for a little while

2008-07-22T14:42:00.000-06:00

Till the sun won't set in the west. I'm only yours for just a short time. Only until I breathe my last breath. Don't take this time for granted. Don't think there's always tomorrow. I'm only yours for eternity. I'm only your's for a little while.