Saturday, December 25, 2010

Whatever you say.

The great composers, naked
A lineup of mug shots
Exposed for Sir Death to stare at
Their pride tacked to the gates of hell
Their testimonies lie
The truth is,
Half of them hanged themselves.
And the other half were driven to insanity,
And stoned by the citizens
It's a revolutionary world, sons
The blue turns on red
But nothing. ever. turns. purple.
Nothing. ever. changes.
And if everyone had a choice between death
And their prides tacked to hell's gates,
They'd choose death,
So they can go Down Under, if only to reclaim their prides before they burn
The world is a hole
Death is the bottom
You'd best have a parachute
And a million dollars' worth of goats and chickens for the poor won't get you out alive,
But I've heard if you strip yourself?
It's a better ride
And a softer landing?

In which I hate P.E.

Back in the day when I actually went to school, and I therefore pulled myself through P.E. at somewhere around 200 pounds, our gym teacher told us that physical fitness was all about lung capacity. That's not true, though, because I played the tuba, but I couldn't run a mile under 16 minutes.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Day time.

My mind is dry.
I just have to say, my life is about to get incredibly busy, perhaps only for a while, depending on whether or not I quit what little "school" I'm involved in.
And I'm scared.
But I feel like all that's happened was really meant to happen, and these opportunities are God's good and perfect will for me.
I enjoy keeping busy, but in this season of life, I feel the need for a substantial amount of "me time".

Also, I think I was demon-possessed the other night. But somehow, it's not that big of a deal, maybe because I haven't thought about it much. Because when I think about it too hard, I get really scared, but I know that I don't need to be afraid. Jesus is stronger.
I think I sort of dissociated it, because I didn't want to be so terrified of it.
My mind holds too many "becauses".

I wish that when I typed harder, it would somehow show up, so that when I typed I hate being fat, you wouldn't think I was bitchy and self-centered, but rather just a troubled child with a messed-up mind.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Paul Harvey and Fritos.

I'm doing much better. But there are so many moments I feel like I'm losing control, and have to go back over the day's calories, just to make sure the number is still in my head.
Just to make sure I haven't forgotten.
And I can try to drive the monsters away with truth, but sometimes it doesn't work, which doesn't make sense, because I know the truth is stronger.
I still don't really regret anything.

Oh, yes?

The funny thing is, at 11:30, "sweet baby boy" decided he would leave home.
My mom is on the phone with the police.

Friday, December 17, 2010


Yeah, cinnamon burns
But it really hurts
When he doesn't learn
What the difference is
Between black and white
Length and height
It'd probably be useful information, because all he tells is
Tall tales
Big sails
That took him places
He wasn't supposed to go
Mama, we're out of thyme.
Because the moment he took the word "bitch"
And used it on you,
He decided he was grown up
And I've been sewn up
About a million times
But every time
He drops
I get ripped right open again
Not because he is the mascot of a donkey's rectum
(Ass. Hole.)
But because he
Never stops
We tell him every time,
Honey, that's not allowed here
But if I hade a dime
For every "fuck" his lips have ever formed,
I'd be swimming in money
And dripping with honey,
Baby boy
Won't you come home

Thursday, December 16, 2010


If we were bluebirds flying.
If we were to fly away.
I wouldn't care about tomorrow.
I'd just speak to today.
Melancholy, tomfoolery, and
sweet, sweet joy.
I'd be happy to cry.
There's a mouth waiting
For a smile to employ,
And when we were destroying,
I was a little bit afraid
I wasn't part of me, but
Something, somehow made
Everything change
And now I'm a cloth doll
But indestructable
To hold when you're alone
So if I'm the only thing you own,
It's worth holding on.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010


All he wants is
Drugs, sex, rock n' roll
We just want him
To grow up nice
Be loved, loved
And love, love
The right people
Don't trash the steeple
There's a road under your feet
And it isn't until you've walked a long time
You appreciate your shoes
But him? No.
He's been in flip-flops from the beginning
And he will be until the end
And that callous has grown
Between his two first toes

Saturday, December 11, 2010

I am crinkly wrappers.

"I dreamt of cats all over my room, pawing me lovingly, licking me with their rough tongues, tickling my nose with their whiskers. And then, all at once, with the sigh of a far-off symphony, they all dropped dead. I had to bury them all in Jackie’s backyard. She wasn’t home, so I borrowed her orange shovel and dug until there were blisters on my hands, and then dug some more until there was no skin left, just bleeding flesh, raw like a tongue. I dumped all the cats in the big hole, and covered it back up. Immediately, a garden of red roses grew over it, spiny vines tangling themselves above the dirt. It looked so dry. I watered them, but they never turned moist and healthy, so I left the hose on, and eventually, the dead cats floated to the surface. I was so afraid of Jackie, I ran home, leaving the cats floating, to rot under the rosebushes. Jackie called the police. They came and drove me to Jackie’s house, where I was told I had to collect seven cat ears, fry them in Tabasco, and consume them as punishment. As I pulled the rotting ears off, feeling the furry skin tear under my fingers in a disgusting sort of vibration, I woke up."

See, this is what I write.

Thursday, December 9, 2010


It's still hard to know what to do on the good days.
But then I see people who function in this world, and maybe they have a hard time, but they can just be, and be themselves.
I wish I could be like them.
Everything makes me so weary.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010


Crumple paper
Love notes
Because the author
Is your mother
Dirty, sick, ugly, fat
Besides, you've got another
But you hate her too
'Cause she left you
And now you're stuck with this
So no touch, no feel
Unless we fight
No love, no hug, no kiss
Fires burn brightly
The heart of the matter
Is you're an asshole,
She's a bitch,
And I'm the mad hatter
Ha. Ha. Ha.

P.S. I'm just a decent person with a horrible heart right now. Let me rant.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Purple elephant.

Little things
Mess, mess
My mind
I confess
I don't know why
I don't know how
And if I did?
I wouldn't never.
Break me
Make me
Fake me
I am an itsy bitsy spider
Crawl up your big oak tree
Tear off all your bark
And let you bleed to death
I am a quiet
A quiet love
And I'm not exactly sure
What I'm capable of
But I know you
I know you.

Sunday, December 5, 2010


The more you inquire of her, the more she'll inquire of you. So how do you heal?

All things blue
And beautiful
All creatures
After the Fall
Every time you
Touch me
I feel like a doll
Raggedy Ann
My best friend
And I am a monster
I am a monster
I am a monster
Andthe grass grows
When the sun beats on it
And the rain makes it soggy
And the dirt lies on top of it
But little hands can pull it from the ground
Weak fingers break
I have a disease
And it's not contagious
But it never goes away
So stay away
Stay away
I am a monster
I am a monster
I am a monster

Friday, December 3, 2010

Downt think I dont no whutcher doeeeng. I nooooo yuuuu, yu liddle thinG.


Lava flows
Like red roses
Beating drums
Pockets full of posy
Spin, spin
Get in
Run to where
The road begins
And there
Lies the graves of rainclouds
The great composers
And Houdini
So it must be like Alcatraz
Because he hasn't escaped
Go, go, go
Fly like paper
Airplanes, fly
Fly like birds
Jay jay jet plane
Scoop them up and rain
Rain bird
Feathers, blood
Fuck you
And try to change
Change, change me
Cash, cash, me
Credit, no
Debit, yeah
It comes from the same place
You and your pockets
Save face
You're a disgrace
So go, go, go
I hate you
Like nothing
Like nothing
Only because you think I do
No, I really love you
I just hate the things you do,
Like paper planes flying
Can't control where they land
And I'm trying
To hold you in the palm of my hand
I'm trying, I'm trying
The best that I can.
No. No. No.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Some things.

Your uterus of origin has nothing to do with your family.
If we aren't your 'real family', what are we? Your fake family?
When do I wake up?

Oh, P.S., you can start telling the truth now. I don't know what you are.