Everything eventually turns grey
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
Some things cut deeper than we expect them to.
I knew my love was deeper than she ever knew
And I etched it into my skin to prove
That some things cannot be forgotten
No matter how much we want them to
There are trails and tracks of broken pieces
That I have sifted through to find myself
Here at this moment
I can honestly say that I am no more good
Than I was then or ever thought I could be
But I am more blessed because I know
That some things are more than holy
And those are the things worth clinging to
I catch myself now and again
Ebbing and flowing like the night
I told my mother I wanted nothing more
Than to see the sun bouncing up off the water
Like a billion tiny beads of silver
I’m still stretching westward
I’m following her path toward the sunset
And I’m hoping that she will remember
That I am still here
And I’m still dreaming
And my wishing was not idle when I said
I will go with you
Some things are going to be
Like the beginning of my forgetting
And the constant trembling of my hands,
It is inevitable that I will
Always be longing for something
And constantly seeking something
Bigger than you or myself
12 November 2009
it's what i do... i dream
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
To my mother,
Who pretends she is not dying
to my heart,
my pieces of skin
to the child I left behind
and the one I always dreamed of
to the love I always thought I lost
and the ones who lost me
to the one who shares my story
and my gift for telling all
to the one whose promises I kept
and whose heart I broke
the girl who always looks at me
open-eyed and open-hearted
like she can see straight through
to everything I’ve been hiding
from the boy who still calls me his
and the ones who never got the chance
to my friends who never made it
to my period of self-acknowledgement
to my family who never doubted
the fact that I could make it
to my dreams
that never stop coming
no matter how much I tell myself
they can never come true
to the truths I left hidden
and the lies I wrote to you
to the songs I keep writing
even when they don’t make sense
to the girls I keep remembering
even when they couldn’t recall my name
to the one who promised me everything
and the one who took it away
to my aunt who waited sixty years
to finally admit what we already knew
to my uncle who lived 83 years
to show me how to live graciously
to the singers who always know my heart
and the poets who always know my tragedies
this life is for you.
This life is your proclamation
That you were here
And breathing
And living
And loving
And this life is yours for the making
This heart is yours for the beating
And yours for the taking
And ours for the molding
Because this life is all about the mold
About using our hands and our song to
Break out of our mediocrity and
Believe everything true
This is your gospel
And you can tell your story
Any way you want to believe it
Because I believe in you and us
And the thoughts you left unwritten and
The ones you gave me to write for you
And this life is especially for you
It is yours
Normal, IL
To my mother,
Who pretends she is not dying
to my heart,
my pieces of skin
to the child I left behind
and the one I always dreamed of
to the love I always thought I lost
and the ones who lost me
to the one who shares my story
and my gift for telling all
to the one whose promises I kept
and whose heart I broke
the girl who always looks at me
open-eyed and open-hearted
like she can see straight through
to everything I’ve been hiding
from the boy who still calls me his
and the ones who never got the chance
to my friends who never made it
to my period of self-acknowledgement
to my family who never doubted
the fact that I could make it
to my dreams
that never stop coming
no matter how much I tell myself
they can never come true
to the truths I left hidden
and the lies I wrote to you
to the songs I keep writing
even when they don’t make sense
to the girls I keep remembering
even when they couldn’t recall my name
to the one who promised me everything
and the one who took it away
to my aunt who waited sixty years
to finally admit what we already knew
to my uncle who lived 83 years
to show me how to live graciously
to the singers who always know my heart
and the poets who always know my tragedies
this life is for you.
This life is your proclamation
That you were here
And breathing
And living
And loving
And this life is yours for the making
This heart is yours for the beating
And yours for the taking
And ours for the molding
Because this life is all about the mold
About using our hands and our song to
Break out of our mediocrity and
Believe everything true
This is your gospel
And you can tell your story
Any way you want to believe it
Because I believe in you and us
And the thoughts you left unwritten and
The ones you gave me to write for you
And this life is especially for you
It is yours
it's what i do... i dream
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
it's what i do... i dream
I want a lover I don’t have to love
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
I am nothing more than numbers and figures
A matrix-like replication
Of something less than charming
And I’ve been adding up my
Handsome little failures
And hanging them so I could see
The ink-blot stains of everything
I once thought I could believe in
And I’ve been counting… down.
I told you I would come home again for you…
I didn’t always mean to be
A robotic production of false hopes
And unreached high expectations
I’ve got secrets too
I never told you that summer
That I have always had a knack for letting go
I’ve gotten it down to a scientific
Progression of perfect lies and saved faces
And I never think ahead
Before impulse takes control
You know more than anyone that
If there could have been some form of redemption
There is only one person who could save me
Save me
Before I forget that motions and
Emotions are the same thing
And drip from my soul into my hands
Into every letter I’ve ever written you
Lies or not,
I meant every word I said.
But I treat hope like trust and
When it’s broken it’s irreparable
So you can call me pieces
If it makes you feel as though
You can finally have something of me
To hold onto
I’ve cut myself more times than you can imagine
To see if there’s something in there of you.
I’m still searching
For something for you to remember me by
When I finally forget that I am breathing
For a reason
And hold myself and my breath
So tightly
I’m tired of escaping
I’m tired of dreaming of places
I’m destined to never see again
Like the inside of your palms
And the palms in the west.
My hands are always face up
If you still need to take hold.
Or grasp something besides
Impossibilities.
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
I am nothing more than numbers and figures
A matrix-like replication
Of something less than charming
And I’ve been adding up my
Handsome little failures
And hanging them so I could see
The ink-blot stains of everything
I once thought I could believe in
And I’ve been counting… down.
I told you I would come home again for you…
I didn’t always mean to be
A robotic production of false hopes
And unreached high expectations
I’ve got secrets too
I never told you that summer
That I have always had a knack for letting go
I’ve gotten it down to a scientific
Progression of perfect lies and saved faces
And I never think ahead
Before impulse takes control
You know more than anyone that
If there could have been some form of redemption
There is only one person who could save me
Save me
Before I forget that motions and
Emotions are the same thing
And drip from my soul into my hands
Into every letter I’ve ever written you
Lies or not,
I meant every word I said.
But I treat hope like trust and
When it’s broken it’s irreparable
So you can call me pieces
If it makes you feel as though
You can finally have something of me
To hold onto
I’ve cut myself more times than you can imagine
To see if there’s something in there of you.
I’m still searching
For something for you to remember me by
When I finally forget that I am breathing
For a reason
And hold myself and my breath
So tightly
I’m tired of escaping
I’m tired of dreaming of places
I’m destined to never see again
Like the inside of your palms
And the palms in the west.
My hands are always face up
If you still need to take hold.
Or grasp something besides
Impossibilities.
it's what i do... i dream
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
I’ve been a lot of things
I’ve pretended to do a lot too
I’ve taken notes
And maybe tried to be a leader
I’ve been a drunk
A swear word expert
A wannabe poet with
Little to no subject
Besides regret and love
And a little bit of peace
I’ve taken pieces of myself
And taped them onto dorm walls
And tried to make it home
Again
I’ve put on the face of caretaker
And tried nursing my roommate
Back to safe
I’ve been the stumble bum
Falling down stairs to
Make it seem like I was just as cool
As everyone else
I’ve saved face a few times too
By masking myself
To be someone else
Like the time I told everyone I was a swimmer
So many times that I believed it
Even though my pet snails could beat me
I’ve been a wanderer
I still am
I’ve seen more coast than I’ve seen home
I’ve made more nonfriends than real ones
But I always make it a point to tell them
I miss them
‘cause I’ve been unloved
And I know how important it makes me feel
To know that someone I don’t
Quite remember misses me
I haven’t unpacked since I came here
I’ve lived out of suitcases for so long
I can’t really remember what
Dresser drawers are for
I’ve changed my number so many times
My friends just know it’s easier
To leave a comment on my facebook page
Than to track me down to hear my voice
I haven’t spoken for myself
In so long I forgot what it is to be
And I haven’t been…
I haven’t been loving
Or genuinely kind
Or remembering to let you know
That I still see that beacon
And I still love the shore
And I still long to see your face
And let my face hit the sun
I’ve been so many things
And I’ve lived in so many homes
That I paid for, but they weren’t mine
I’m that recluse that you never hope for
I sit in my room and pretend that
I’m getting things done
When the only thing I’m doing
Is trying to teach myself how to speak
How to shout out
How to live on nothing
And believe in everything
I’m still hoping that I’ll meet someone
Who’ll tell me that it’s ok to feel lonely
When you’re surrounded by people
And that my search for poetics
Isn’t a vain attempt to announce myself
And that my quest for true art
Isn’t an excuse to close myself away
I’ve been a prayersayer
And I miss taking my thoughts to someone else
And leaving them there
And I miss that silence, that knowing silence
When the prayer is done
And it may not be delivered
But it’s no longer mine
I’ve been mine and no one else’s
And selfish
Normal, IL
I’ve been a lot of things
I’ve pretended to do a lot too
I’ve taken notes
And maybe tried to be a leader
I’ve been a drunk
A swear word expert
A wannabe poet with
Little to no subject
Besides regret and love
And a little bit of peace
I’ve taken pieces of myself
And taped them onto dorm walls
And tried to make it home
Again
I’ve put on the face of caretaker
And tried nursing my roommate
Back to safe
I’ve been the stumble bum
Falling down stairs to
Make it seem like I was just as cool
As everyone else
I’ve saved face a few times too
By masking myself
To be someone else
Like the time I told everyone I was a swimmer
So many times that I believed it
Even though my pet snails could beat me
I’ve been a wanderer
I still am
I’ve seen more coast than I’ve seen home
I’ve made more nonfriends than real ones
But I always make it a point to tell them
I miss them
‘cause I’ve been unloved
And I know how important it makes me feel
To know that someone I don’t
Quite remember misses me
I haven’t unpacked since I came here
I’ve lived out of suitcases for so long
I can’t really remember what
Dresser drawers are for
I’ve changed my number so many times
My friends just know it’s easier
To leave a comment on my facebook page
Than to track me down to hear my voice
I haven’t spoken for myself
In so long I forgot what it is to be
And I haven’t been…
I haven’t been loving
Or genuinely kind
Or remembering to let you know
That I still see that beacon
And I still love the shore
And I still long to see your face
And let my face hit the sun
I’ve been so many things
And I’ve lived in so many homes
That I paid for, but they weren’t mine
I’m that recluse that you never hope for
I sit in my room and pretend that
I’m getting things done
When the only thing I’m doing
Is trying to teach myself how to speak
How to shout out
How to live on nothing
And believe in everything
I’m still hoping that I’ll meet someone
Who’ll tell me that it’s ok to feel lonely
When you’re surrounded by people
And that my search for poetics
Isn’t a vain attempt to announce myself
And that my quest for true art
Isn’t an excuse to close myself away
I’ve been a prayersayer
And I miss taking my thoughts to someone else
And leaving them there
And I miss that silence, that knowing silence
When the prayer is done
And it may not be delivered
But it’s no longer mine
I’ve been mine and no one else’s
And selfish
11 November 2009
it's what i do... i dream
November 11, 2009
Normal, IL
I know your parents’ anniversary
I know it unlocks your home
And I know that I’m not welcome
Oh I know that if I really waned to
I could still knock on your door
And your mom would tell me
That you’re not home
But the couch is new
And that Kobe didn’t make it
Through the winter.
She’d tell me that you’ve been
Looking for a new gardener
And your neighbor still says
I’m the bomb dot com
And her daughter is growing up
So fast
It was so fast, the way
Out futures turned.
The day I decided that I couldn’t stay,
I turned off my phone and
Wrote you a letter
On the floor of my
Not-yet-furnished bedroom
I was ashamed
Because everything about me
Was screaming poverty
And you were always rich
In everything
From your life to the way
You considered death
And love
It was so fast
The way my fingers flew across
Four pages of
Perfectly scripted lies
To tell you that I couldn’t love
Withot you
But I had to try to live
I let your memory slip
And tried to let you go
In the arms of a boy
But my mouth never stopped
Shaping your name
And I’m pretty sure he never
Got used to the idea of
Being called Victoria
So I let him go too
And I let you find me
I gave you the satisfaction
Of telling me I was wrong
I was most wrong in the act
Of letting you edge in
Of giving myself hope again
For something that never was
I don’t regret not knowing
If there could have been
Something more than skin.
Normal, IL
I know your parents’ anniversary
I know it unlocks your home
And I know that I’m not welcome
Oh I know that if I really waned to
I could still knock on your door
And your mom would tell me
That you’re not home
But the couch is new
And that Kobe didn’t make it
Through the winter.
She’d tell me that you’ve been
Looking for a new gardener
And your neighbor still says
I’m the bomb dot com
And her daughter is growing up
So fast
It was so fast, the way
Out futures turned.
The day I decided that I couldn’t stay,
I turned off my phone and
Wrote you a letter
On the floor of my
Not-yet-furnished bedroom
I was ashamed
Because everything about me
Was screaming poverty
And you were always rich
In everything
From your life to the way
You considered death
And love
It was so fast
The way my fingers flew across
Four pages of
Perfectly scripted lies
To tell you that I couldn’t love
Withot you
But I had to try to live
I let your memory slip
And tried to let you go
In the arms of a boy
But my mouth never stopped
Shaping your name
And I’m pretty sure he never
Got used to the idea of
Being called Victoria
So I let him go too
And I let you find me
I gave you the satisfaction
Of telling me I was wrong
I was most wrong in the act
Of letting you edge in
Of giving myself hope again
For something that never was
I don’t regret not knowing
If there could have been
Something more than skin.
it's what i do..i dream
If I wanted to say to you that I wanted to hear your voice and hear you laugh on a Sunday morning in spite of all the damage…
November 11, 2009
Normal, IL
There are pieces of skin
And hope
That I have left littered
At your doorstep and in your
Mailbox
To keep safe, away from me
‘Cause I’ve been scratching
Surfaces lately
And noticing things that
I’d forgotten
The way your hands never
Stopped moving
And you hated to smile
So I thought that I could never
Make you happy
And I was quite possibly right
About the time we sat in your
New car for an hour
And decided hat there must be
Something there
You could never stop touching me
So there had to be something there
But I knew that it could never
Be enough for you to
Simply have me near you
So I hid myself and my hands
And I never touched you again
This is what I grew to know:
It takes so much more to pretend
That one dimension of living
And no semblance of
Loving
Can save us
I’ve saved your memory
For longer than I’ve loved you
And I’ve modeled myself into
That girl way too many times
And I tell myself that every
Girl isn’t close to who you were
And I lie and make myself think
That everyone I love is just your mirror
I keep leaving myself behind at your doorstep
Every year
When I scuttle past
Even though I know you’re never coming home
Again.
November 11, 2009
Normal, IL
There are pieces of skin
And hope
That I have left littered
At your doorstep and in your
Mailbox
To keep safe, away from me
‘Cause I’ve been scratching
Surfaces lately
And noticing things that
I’d forgotten
The way your hands never
Stopped moving
And you hated to smile
So I thought that I could never
Make you happy
And I was quite possibly right
About the time we sat in your
New car for an hour
And decided hat there must be
Something there
You could never stop touching me
So there had to be something there
But I knew that it could never
Be enough for you to
Simply have me near you
So I hid myself and my hands
And I never touched you again
This is what I grew to know:
It takes so much more to pretend
That one dimension of living
And no semblance of
Loving
Can save us
I’ve saved your memory
For longer than I’ve loved you
And I’ve modeled myself into
That girl way too many times
And I tell myself that every
Girl isn’t close to who you were
And I lie and make myself think
That everyone I love is just your mirror
I keep leaving myself behind at your doorstep
Every year
When I scuttle past
Even though I know you’re never coming home
Again.
it's what i do... i dream
Lovin is all I got
Normal, IL
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I don’t have a whole lot to offer you
Normally I would come bearing gifts
And promises
And I would tell you that I could give you the world
Girl
And help you make all your dreams come true
But today…
I found three pennies that I can rub together
To give you luck or wishes
Whatever you prefer
I have everything I own and everything I dream of
I have lullabies for nighttime
And my voice might creak and groan
My hands are yours to keep
They’re always cold and kind of small
But you could make them and mold them
Into whatever or wherever you want them to be
I have memories
I have this--
It’s been beaten more times than you can imagine
And there’s probably stains from pasts you don’t want to know about
It has a terribly old soul and you
Probably won’t want to check under the folds because
There are spaces covered with marks I used to give myself
and probably some that look like this one girl’s fist
I know that there are rips and tears and
It’s probably water-damaged
It’s not worth much
It’s my best though.
I have this place for you too
I removed the etch-a-sketch
And replaced it with sketching paper
And a felt, permanent pen
So I could feel every word being imprinted
So maybe
When you start writing all the answers
To the questions I never asked
But you know I’ve been dying to know
And have these, all these question marks
I have been saving them up for rainy days
And wandering
And they are yours.
Normal, IL
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I don’t have a whole lot to offer you
Normally I would come bearing gifts
And promises
And I would tell you that I could give you the world
Girl
And help you make all your dreams come true
But today…
I found three pennies that I can rub together
To give you luck or wishes
Whatever you prefer
I have everything I own and everything I dream of
I have lullabies for nighttime
And my voice might creak and groan
My hands are yours to keep
They’re always cold and kind of small
But you could make them and mold them
Into whatever or wherever you want them to be
I have memories
I have this--
It’s been beaten more times than you can imagine
And there’s probably stains from pasts you don’t want to know about
It has a terribly old soul and you
Probably won’t want to check under the folds because
There are spaces covered with marks I used to give myself
and probably some that look like this one girl’s fist
I know that there are rips and tears and
It’s probably water-damaged
It’s not worth much
It’s my best though.
I have this place for you too
I removed the etch-a-sketch
And replaced it with sketching paper
And a felt, permanent pen
So I could feel every word being imprinted
So maybe
When you start writing all the answers
To the questions I never asked
But you know I’ve been dying to know
And have these, all these question marks
I have been saving them up for rainy days
And wandering
And they are yours.
10 November 2009
it's what i do... i dream
My girlfriend is a big case of writer’s block. I love her still though, even though I have to work harder and dig deeper into the archives than I ever thought I would have to. I keep trying to think to those days before I met her, what kind of state I was in. obviously, I can only write when I have sunk so low I can hardly see the bottom. I find it hard to swallow that my best writing comes at the worst points in my life. I think that now is the time to focus… so
I never finish anything.
Like learning to dance
Like writing in my journal
Like planning for my future
Like giving you all of me
I’ve always had this tendency
To leave the last piece for myself
Like the selfish lovedoll that I am
I always thought it would be enough
To sit with my legs crossed
And my mouth shut
Pretending to be the wife you always wanted
I’m selfish like that
So ridiculously frugal with my love
That I never took into consideration
The fact that every smile I gave
And every kiss I signed to you
Only made you want that last little piece of me
I never finish anything.
Like learning to dance
Like writing in my journal
Like planning for my future
Like giving you all of me
I’ve always had this tendency
To leave the last piece for myself
Like the selfish lovedoll that I am
I always thought it would be enough
To sit with my legs crossed
And my mouth shut
Pretending to be the wife you always wanted
I’m selfish like that
So ridiculously frugal with my love
That I never took into consideration
The fact that every smile I gave
And every kiss I signed to you
Only made you want that last little piece of me
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