"Who says I can't get stoned?"

yyeeeeayeyayeayeyaaaaayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayaaaa.

february 27th, 2009

he says things that are spiritual in nature like,
"she looked into me, saw me, i know she did."
But these things, said too often, lose magic.

I am no magician.

But I've experienced some:
pulling into driveways as the song slowly fades, a seamless weave of time and tune.
A winter's day that hints at June.
Who's to say whether or not the rain will come?

I am no weatherman.

But I've sensed the coming downpour, seconds before it breaks the clouds and I've thought snow ahead of the falling flake.

Do I believe in coincidence?
Must there be a reason for the seasons, and
who can explain why we yearn to run barefoot in the warm summer rain?
or why we're tempted to walk in the tracks of a train?

I am no conductor.

But I've driven myself mad with regret, only to forget that
"i looked into you, saw you, i know i did."

empty.

I go walking in my sleep
to a place where the script doesn't meet my needs, so they change.
I heard my teacher say, "This is important. You'll need to know this. Maybe it would be wise to write this down or put it somewhere where you'll remember it."
And then he told a story about sushi and love. When I realized that his lines, straight from the script, were permanent I got all nostalgic about that time we went for bad sushi and I didn't like it - but I ate some of it anyway, and even took the rest of it home with me in a to-go container.
I never ate it later.
As the screenplay continues, line after line, I stop typing. Space, space, space, space I stop typing.



I'll need to know this.
I'll write it down.
I'll sabotage everything I ever thought I'd figured out.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
This is what happens when I don't eat.

skittles

When I really concentrate, I can taste the rainbow.
I don't even have to close my eyes!
Are you jealous? Don't be.
Are you interested? Listen.
All you have to do to taste it, too, is concentrate.
Don't take anything... don't take anything too seriously, silly
it's only a game - BUT in order to win, or feel as if you're winning, you have to pay really, really, close attention and repeat after me:
I can taste the rainbow.

What if I did not?

Questions fall from his lips like the last leaves of autumn,
hardly even pressing ground.
Our ears press into the ground while the earth animates what is behind our eyes. I like it hear. It has been one year and I
don't have much to repent for -
just the guilt that accompanies not having any answers
for you
before
I left.

ew, love is gross!

She squirmed in her seat as the projector clicked
photos in front of her face, and the other faces, but mostly only her face... she only knew her face. Actually, she couldn't see her own face, but from what she could feel she imagined it looked the way she imagined it would look.
Shocking! Each slide more shocking than the next! Shocking!
Blackout.

late parades

The only gift I have to give is wasted
time. It is, yes it is, too late to take back what I wrote yesterday.
As soon as it peppered the moleskine it came to life in a destructive
beginning. And it was good.
It paved an understanding of seasons: it's almost apple.
Apple crisp leaves - crunch.
The sour proximity of the first snowfall, so soon.
All I ask is that you return the favor, send me some spare minutes
of your
time. Anything, check under the couch cushions, just make it quick -
I don't think I can..
I don't want to wait
for the mailman.

wordflow

buy a day, pay in catch coins, cheeky change, yes.
i missed. i'm missed. you, miss? spokes spin, tick-tick-sick
i see the soccer team, trotting two-by-two
i missed a goal, i miss goals, i miss the goal-
keeper. keeper friend: that's what you are.
stay in line with me, two-by-two. you are the goal keeper
you are my goal keeper
and my keeper friend.

barntrees

Come into my world.
The grass is soft and the shade trees perch in places here and there.
I can be here while you can be there... this works. I promise.
Outside of my world is the little blackbird, a pencil and a spoon. Also, you.
You keep coming and going as you please, leaving the door open.
This isn't a barn. It only looks like one from the inside out. Not
from the outside, that is. Red-handed, Rugrats red, painted white. The stains
on your hands and knees from the soft grass give you away.
You're inside now, Go change.
and close the door behind you, gently.

metallic ride

Is there anything beautiful
about subway train poles? Back and forth
we grip. I wear gloves in the summer, I am sick. You
wear gloves in the winter, too, but you are just cold. We are moving and we can't go back.

Tell me what you think about miracles.
Has one ever happened to you,
or someone
you know?

Instead, you stand clear of the closing doors, your gloved hands a gentle woolen
barrier. Welcome to: Feedback.
All we ever do is talk about 4 things over and over again.
When you see something, say something. That is enough.

this is it. self-sabotage

When she slips in the shower I slip away from her,

leaving her uninspired.

She has no idea that she has no ideas.

Until she sips on her morning mug, 

brewed battery black, 

and the ideas she doesn't know she doesn't have don't come.

And while her pen hovers over the page,

a nervous parent,

caffeinated words jitter into corrosive lines.

At this time, the grandfather clock whispers to our bellies.

I apologize for leaving her empty-headed, the grand piano watches in silence.

After we feast on green grapes and ginger snaps

she is full of me.  Her pen spills.

self-sabotage is a serious addiction: draft two

sometimes i slip away from her as she reaches for the green grapes

her stomach grumbles as lips purse around sour sucklings

she cant possibly communicate and masticate at once.

hordes of decorated humans speak aloud about 

the weather

and the traffic

a careless hard-boiled egg toss of phrases;

what a shame, all this rain

she has no idea that she has no ideas

sated bellies settle after the hors'derves   (sp?)

i apologize to her

we cheers with glass after glass of fermented reds

we nibble on grape after grape from the fresh fruit plate

until finally the feast of words ensues,

she is full of me

and filling you.

following, check

what are you doing?

you must tweet at a time like this!

no need for tic tacs when you communicate

through

touch tones and texts

no touching, no context

we are going no where

we are going insane

we are going internet

the now networks cater to Generation immediate gratification

i have it in the palm of my hand

i have it in the pocket of my jeans

i have it in the purse on my shoulder

i have a palm, a pocket, and a purse -

but i have no idea what i am doing.

what are you doing?

commet modernation

i miss being really really young.

kids menus and booster seats, OH to be

smaller sitting higher eating less and getting away with more

childlife.

it's been some time

some time it's been

let's make some noise

deep from within

almost a squeal

not quite a yelp

rurf muff rawrf - -

if they say "hey babe,"

just stay away...

we should paint the sand different colors

to let the world know where we've been

here, there, everywhere in between

sand dunes and looney tunes

i saw your face in the clouds

the man in the moon told me not to trust you

so i told him to make me

a

peanut butter and jelly sandwich

and he said "hey babe,"

and suddenly i was no longer hungry.

sestina edit

i do not like waiting to gather speed

patience requires that my attitude turns

over like a coin, facing away from a focused direction  

as i slowly break my concentration to feel

myself settle into a steady cruise-control

toward a destination i sometimes pretend to call home

every time i leave said home

the time i spend away tends to speed

and swirl into a small concentrated pocket of an out of control

instant. i think, where am i now? and as the world turns

i find myself signaling left and right but can only feel

left alone without rights or reasons, without direction

this is when i know i have to ask for directions

otherwise i worry i wont find my way home

darkness, my hands navigating the walls to feel

for a light switch, no luck, my heart rate speeds

my palms sweat and then suddenly the light turns

on, my luck turns over, and once again i am in control

the coin toss can be a measure of control

or a signal that i lack direction

but i understand how to slow down before making turns

and i try to leave footprints to follow back home

so what usually varies is my speed

and if, how, or what i will feel

so i clench the steering wheel, it feels

firm beneath my grip and i am in control

i press the pedal, increasing my speed

and i slap the lever, using my directional

signal the second left, the brown and white house

upon completing that familiar turn

just how many times have i made that turn

but this time, the different sensations i feel

convince me that this is no longer home

the carpets, kitchen counters, remote controls

it all hits me at a dangerous speed

i turn my back on what was home to finally feel

as if i am in control of my direction 

and the speed at which i travel to my destinations.

sestina

i do not like waiting to gather speed

patience requires that my attitude turns

over like a coin, facing away from a focused direction  

as i slowly break my concentration to feel

myself settle into a steady cruise-control

toward a destination i sometimes pretend to call home

every time i leave said home

the time i spend away tends to speed

and swirl into a small concentrated pocket of an out of control

instant. i think, where am i now? and as the world turns

i find myself signaling left and right but can only feel

left alone without rights or reasons, without direction

this is when i know i have to ask for directions

otherwise i worry i wont find my way home

darkness, my hands navigating the walls to feel

for a light switch, no luck, my heart rate speeds

my palms sweat and then suddenly the light turns

on, my luck turns over, and once again i am in control

the coin toss can be a measure of control

or a signal that i lack direction

but i understand how to slow down before making turns

and i try to leave footprints to follow back home

so what usually varies is my speed

and if, how, or what i will feel

and if you can understand just how i feel

because we drive each other crazy for control

in this relationship we cant seem to agree on a speed

or even a direction

could we settle, together, in a home

what remains after the leaves fall and the seasons turn

now i believe it is your turn

to explain to me just how you feel

because i cant make your home my home

and i cant determine what is real, control

the cruise, take direction

because we are barreling toward nowhere at an impressively dangerous speed.

or maybe there will be time to turn around, face home

and feel at ease, realizing we can always travel

in control, with direction at a steady speed.

 

ew, that gum was gross

i was going to write a villanelle

or perhaps a sonnet

and as i got lazier i thought about writing a haiku

or just a lonely couplet

and then,

i thought

fuck it

i am ill

senioritis stole my brain cells

and all i want to do

is 

abso

fucking

lutely

nothing

and i almost dont even feel guilty about it.

every man has come out of a woman

the nape of your neck

sometimes

screams

sex

but someone answers.

taboo!

what the fuck?

please, go home;

put on a turtleneck and -

read 

many

books.

a feeble intern is barren by habit

maybe it's the weather

or maybe it's hormones,

but it's definitely time to go to Canada.

you should always wear a helmet

if you don't know what you're doing,

especially in purgatory where teachers mess with minds.

you know when you just get that feeling

that this is the time you'll get caught,

well, make sure you remember to release your emergency brake.

perhaps we should go outside

and walk around barefoot until our soles blister

to match those inside.

it hurts so much to sit on hard chairs

the body aches with boredom,

and the hint at impending esophageal cancer. 

is it messed up to believe that you're certain you will be

the token sick friend,

of whom everyone asks, why her?

do you wish it or do you believe it,

because there is a difference -

there is a very, very, very vast difference.

i am working on a series

i am working on a series

the makings of it are sloshing in between my ears

lapping upon the ankles of two wide-stance piers

swirling through seashells at both ends

held up to my face by my honest friends 

who understand what moves me,

& what swirls around in between 

my ears. against the seashells in your hands on my face -

listen closely, you can here the ocean from hear

if you press

but you cannot taste an ocean's salty tear 

unless 

you blink a gentle wave upon your cheek, 

let roll a damp trail, 

taste the first word on your tongue,

and turn it into an entire summer series.

whisper where, whisper there

sometimes i believe i can whisper from where i am

and you will hear me from where you are -

this is not ridiculous.

the grass sways with sighs, tickles thighs

sending postcards through pollen, 

and passionate words trapped in firefly jars.

sometimes i trust that you will wonder where i am

and i will know that you are wondering -

where

am

i? i

am

where

the sky meets the sea in a ripple of watercolor

where

the roots meet the tree in a tangle of terrain

i am the rain.

play-a-round

her life is everywhere -

she is a ping pong ball.

she has hit every possible corner.

whatever, though, she enjoys it - 

she enjoys herself.

his life is nowhere -

he is a bowling ball.

he lamely rolls into the gutters.

whatever, though, he wallows in it-

he wallows in himself.

their life is somewhere -

together they are a billiards ball.

the ultimate compromise - hitting edges and rolling into pockets.

whatever, though, they love it-

they love each other's self.

and the game says that no one 

can possibly pass their pool table by

without playing-a-round; take a shot. shoot.

metallic ride

is there anything beautiful about

subway train poles? to touch

i wear gloves in the summer, i am sick.

you wear gloves in the winter, too. but you are just cold.

hold on, you may experience abrupt stops

tell me what you think about

miracles,

has one ever happened to you or someone you know?

please watch your step.

how much more is there to learn about

random etiquette

behavioral norms

standard of being

regular existence

welcome to : status quo

what does that even mean?

please stand clear of the closing doors.

all we do is talk about

four things over and over and over again

because somehow that's all we ever want to discuss

it is enough

what is ever enough?

it is enough 

to talk back and forth and back and forth and back and forth

it is called feedback

it is called i got your back

it is called you never called me back

never expect anything back 

we are moving and we cant go back 

our next stop is

sapling kipling knapsack

i am going to sleep to have nice dreams.

good luck! 

thank you. i love you,

it 

feels so perfect.

it 

truly moved me

you 

have to see it.

now how are you?

my phone is inaccessible

i would have called to tell you that

you remind me of someone great.

we better not have school tomorrow

wont it feel perfect to

wake up to a nice breakfast,

coffee and a cigarette,

snowflakes

and almost everything at once feels

perfect.

the keys to fabric interior

stare at snowfall

look, light lessens into an evening of

whatever you make it --

clean out all the gum wrappers and frozen water bottles

from the floor of your car, finally

our movie ticket stubs and those forgotten chapsticks 

         were rolling around in the backseat 

[we]  were rolling around in the backseat.

purple yoga mat, pastel blue rain coat

huge bottle of seltzer, navy nail polish

car is clean of contents and

our table of contents reads

fresh breath, 

hydration, 

entertainment,

company,

relax, rain falls, fizzle of passion, painted in a soft embrace

lips lock, hands lock, eyes lock

could    this    be       love lock?

but it's getting late so you open the door to let me out and

the 

car 

locks.

spreakly

when i speak

i want to spit

s p a r k l e s

into your eyes

and i don't need a reason why

but i'll tell you it's because ever since we met

i have known you were special

and i only spit sparkles into special peoples eyes

and i don't need a reason why

but i'll tell you it's because knowing you is like putting purple, symmetry, the rain, cursive, long eyelashes and puddle stomping in a room with big windows and watching them all cuddle.

sophoclesticated

i wake up this morning and i think to myself,

'I am ready.'

The Now is just a series of hallway passings.

En route i see the same

i take a different

i see the same

but feel different.

The Now is only a fraction of connection

a snip-it of interaction &

a glimpse of reaction

we sense it

some avoid it

some revel in it

but we all sense it.

The Now is just a series of hallway passings.

i wake up this morning and i think to myself,

'Are you ready?'

but only when

i'll hide in the corner of the sky

so you wouldn't even see me if you squinted extra hard

and furrowed your brows

and shut the world out with a visor made from 

your little hands cupped over your little face

your same hands that knew me and my hands

our hands were almost as good of friends as we were --

but when you looked up at the corner of the sky, if you did actually see me,

you could mistake me for a star.

will you, please, mistake me for a star?

i don't want to be found, just admired from afar 

and wished upon

i imagine it would feel brilliant

your eyes ablaze     &

you are mesmerized by a corner of the sky

i am hidden in;

you ask if that's going to change

i say yes,  when morning comes.

meltinyermouth

once i took a green m&m

and pretended it was wearing white stilettos

it looked sexy,,,

and then i ate it.

in human life, m&m's don't have chins

or feet to wear stilettos on either, but

television tactfully taints the truth, so

we either want to be like them 

or eat them.

2009er

i dare it to be 2009,

but do you know just how to party?

to party

let's party

who is having a party

party hard, but

we partied softly, does that mean

we didn't party at all?

party unexpectedly

you only really enjoy 

the unplanned part of planned parties

play with p's

pajama party

pants party

no pants party

there's a party in your pants?

and i'm invited?

how original

i dare you to graduate.

whatever's eve

the ambiguous "they"

say you never forget your firsts

not only, but also 

you always remember your bests

make monday my holiday

treat tuesday like a memory

but never wait for wednesday 

unless it's only because it's a wednesday: the eve of a potential holiday.

countdown to whatever's eve and celebrate days as if they were holi-days

10 seconds left to feel

fab.you.lust

dreamland july 2008

get on the bus its only 50 cents but I let her keep the change --- change your clothes and your mind --- your mind about how you feel --— can I write anything different please — and I must continue moving forward 

lets delve into dream land, land land land land everything is land language land ghost land grassland — last night I had a dream about lipids and love - lost friends and toasters- lonely highways and northern valley - lets reflect - sammy weiss its SAMMYFEST your birthday like a national holiday here is your party lets have the campfriends over - spaghetti dave stars in my dreams lately, why I don't even enjoy your wavelength all too much you're a sweetheart somewhere - so ive known you for seven years but you don't seem familiar we shared memories and I forgot them all - and so we talk like strangers and I need to escape the uncomfortable situation just because I smell baked goods and I make my way into the party room it’s GUND but it’s not GUND you know how that works in dreamland and there are talbes of pastries and I choose wisely placing pasteles en mi plato and my mothers eyes are watching - I don't neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed to eat this I don't neeeeeeeeeeed to touch that - you don't neeeeeeeeed to tell me but I secretly want you to because its what im thinking inside ---so I stuff a cream puff between my teeth and swallow it with pride YEAH I KNOW THAT'S IN MY THIGH but that's where it belongs for now — so I return with a platter of calories just to piss myself off and then I hear a voice in my head telling me ROMANCE IS THE ANSWER there ARE people who make you feel beautiful all the time and theyre the ones you want to marry? No, not marry, just BE around a little more than usual, to connect like legos snap snap ahh its creation, love ladders and sex towers and colorful columns of relationships- no I don't want a realationship that is what I tell myself constantly frolicking in a field of signles THAT'S MY CHOICE will I ever get married? I cant decide what to eat for breakfast I cant decide which notebook to write in first I cant decide black or brown I cant decide to make my bed or close my closet firrsttt but I CAN decide I want my choices- I am selfish, so selfish to share myself with everyone — how am I being selfish? I wont let you have all of me because I want to know him, him, her, and them NOT JUST YOU and not because you are you but because I AM ME— so those people exist and I think I found one here—I could be lying to myself but even so what does it matter? Julia said its WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER ANYONE and what I have to offer is my honesty my feelings a little part of my heart that I can afford to give away? Can I a f f o r d it is the question we don't think we can get what we cant afford, but I believe i will heal scabbing over and scarring still there as a reminder that I shared myself with you and you took it truly—so I want to connect with someone and dreamland is where its at — here I am with this boy,  nooo not with him,   I get a textual message that says it all — rikki you always go out of your  way to find the bad boys the ones who don't treat you right the ones who don't listen hard enough or dig deep enough or touch tenderly enough or talk softly enough or say what they really mean and you think theyre from Vermont or short hills or NEW YORK CITY but really I am here from Memphis Tennessee you've never even said those two words together but we should be—so I tell him to come- with a toaster- and this time he does- this time he shows up with what I ask and with what I didn't expect- an open heart and a still warm toaster and together we run in the rain and wash the burnt bread particles out of the crevasses and we press into each other locking eyes so close that our eyelashes slip into each other in the way bristles interlay filling the gaps that are meant for others, and our eyes open WIDE and our hearts open WIDE and our legs open WIDE and we are one single body with two separate heart beats that mirror each other in a melody that screams CONNECTION, it sounds like love, it feels like love, can this be love? If not, what is? and if so how can I make it last as long as forever? and then I remember the memories- the memories make me save myself- I can close my eyes and feel the press as our hip bones attract like the middle magnets in our bodies- our lips just barely touch and we give each other breath—out of me into you, out of you into me- one single being two separate minds one single moment two separate memories- it feels like honesty…

ripplefruit

calendar mornings

grapefruits waft into the bedroom

fresh scents and a clean pair of Hanes

no filters to strain sand castles

they just build themselves

the perfect dampness 

sturdy enough for lovers legs

to layover, loosely entangled in a labryinthe of extremities 

toss toss - then

a wave of panic returns to sender

point a finger at finding fault.

sandy bed sheets, salt water tears ripple down

tight cheeks, kissed by tight lipped goodbyes

so long, long legged boyfriends and bare feet-

it all ends when the beach freezes over and the castles fall.

(...

i am (cant stop) writing

a story (never ending) 

in this (unopened) moleskin journal

it's called (untitled) 

it's called something i haven't shared with myself yet

and when it comes out (on bluray and DVD)

, i mean is published

no name is going on the cover

but this one (mine)

pen name. pseudonym. something along the lines of

(read in between the lines and)

pressing matter in between the pages of print

i author

a novel

the author

no matter,

i sign every copy with (myself)

clicky pens from the doctors office

stolen, innocently, from front desk cups

(because those write the smoothest)

by me.

doggy eared, musty pages.

she doesn't like library books

because

too many other people have touched them before

and

she doesn't know for sure where they have been.

that mystery is my favorite part

i wonder who had you on october 12th

and renewed you continuously through december?

who doggy eared your page 23

and underlined the words "infinite" and "unforeseen"?

whose hazelnut decaffeinated coffee stained your rippled cover

where did you rest the longest, ignored, untouched, isolated

who cared for you the most, attentive, touching, turning, listening

what hungry puppy sank his teeth into your binding

-food for thought

what woman grasped you tightly on a moving train

-novel nourishment

what man tossed you into a bursting briefcase 

-professional prose

what child turned you, curiously examining

the pages, the letters, the words, the smells

the musty, doggy eared pages of shared language.

she doesn't like library books because     ?     she cant read.

oh d2 travel games

compact mirrors

and travel tic-tac-toe

in a small drawstring bag.

when i saw you, your neck bare 

between where your hairline ends and your shirt collar begins

i just wanted to trace x's and o's on your smooth skin

no etching, no printing.

just tracing, lightly -

we are playing an innocent game of deception

it is compact tic-tac-toe on the flesh of you

and a travel mirror for the flesh of me to see

when i worry about the flaws that they don't notice

unaware that they are the imperfections you adore.

obey him as you would me

it is always 

'wunderful' 

to get results.

fated coincidences are not really coincidences at all

they are just a combination of 

perfect timing & blessings in disguise

sometimes preventing accidents waiting to happen

or mistakes about to be made

or regrets ready to be regretted

thank god for small favors

popular quote of the moment:

"everything happens for a reason"

but to say

what is is what should be, and what should be will be

is a tad more playful,

a smidgeon more controversial, 

a bit more convoluted,

but thank you for making this choice clear as tomorrow's fresh winter morn.

bibliotologyeca

too easy to feel out of control

with this overabundance of 

the potential

to control - -

let human beings be teased with

the ability to make choices

but tempted by the mistake to make 

the wrong choices.

to obsess over what is out of our hands

is one thing

but

to obsess over our hands, our noses, our hair, our bodies

is another - single scar to bear for eternity 

unless 

we choose

to control or

we choose

to ignore  or

we choose

to be content, find pacification, feign confidence

to eventually feel fine, forgive fate and free ourselves, uncontrollably. 

skitherapy

nothing cures an ailment

like lands of winters wonders

just two hours to freedom of frost, flakes

frosted flakes, the sugary exception

or perhaps just

isolation in ice-olation

snowcapped sorrows

don't hurt so hard because the cold

numbs

the outer so the inner can 

heal the heart

and burn away the bruises to build

a better you.

success 2013!!!!!11111

superficial intelligence

facebook status education

social simulation

redefinition of 

success.

rejection is what?

error and opportunity

there is no error in opportunity

thank you,

university of pennsylvania

eat my shit when i'm famous.

for josh

matter

she says and/or he says, i think, you think, is defined 

as:

a particular kind of substance

something that occupies space

things put down in words

thing sent by mail

something of consequence

significance, importance

difficulty, trouble

ground, reason or cause

philosophy

is it a matter of life and death?

as a matter of fact,

does it really matter

what's the matter?

well, for that matter,

no matter what,

you matter.

'you are hard on your shoes'

hands

handwriting

handprints

foot

footsteps

footprints

can she

can i

can he

leave a trail of tears

can we

make a mark

that

lasts for

years&years&years

then

when 

the sky clears and the stars step on the earth and

soles of their shoes mark the souls of our moods

it's astrology, yes, but watch!

as they make what we make in -

printmaking    &    photography.

delete

i'm prepared to feel

one of two:

settled

vs.

hopeful

there are other 

battles

sleep vs. snooze

sweat vs. study

so,

i say ski or stay this saturday

for friday's news is not nearly

as important

as i am.

leather wedges

parallel structure
just feels good.
deja vu & dreams
slip into a slip
a freudian slip
freeze dance!
and then heavy thick blankets
whomp.

tenth at the ham

click in 

tune out

ride up

ski down

first run of the season

trails behind the last of last

and the snow sounds the same

its a sound that soothes - swish - 

i smile behind my coat collar

clench my poles and fly

wind in my hair, breeze in my face

skis under

clouds over

soaring through the empty space in between.

birthday

i like

parties

presents

people

pancakes

pot

pictures

paint

plaid

patterns

picnics

parades

pudding

plastic cups

plastic spoons

plastic utensils in general

pepper spray

pinatas

penguins

puff pastries

puff, the word

pink poodles

poodle skirts

pretzels

preppy grandmas 

poop, by lily, in front of the -

prada store on miracle mile

pimples on pretty people

poles... ski poles

precious metals

precious cargo

precious, the word

piddle

paddle

playgrounds!

play dates

pressure points

prisms

pillows and

puddles.

but not necessarily in that order.

Act X Scene Y

what would happen though

if we didn't act

what would i do? you do?

ok

we 

would 

walk around ridiculous, speak ridiculous, and live ridiculous

and it would feel

free

would it?

would it feel free?

or would it feel like we were acting

free?

no

no

because i have felt it before

and so have you

it's really free

honest

for a second.

the next you're like

OH I'M FREE

so then 

we think we are free

and then we lose

freedom

from thinking a word that defines us

yes

that's why it cant last longer than realizing it.

julia rikki

dear j, it's love.

i also realize that so much is happening all over the world while i am opening the fridge

and that's the reason why it hurts the most

and i just want to walk out the door

but i don't have anywhere to go

and although i like to think that i don't need a destination, i'm just used to believing i do-

i don't want to live here anymore

i am better than here

and so are you.

synotyms

there is a dictionary of words 

that can only refer to

almost anything.

(n.) blorn

I found a blorn in the back of your closet.

(v.) to quazzle

He quazzled whenever he had nothing else to do.

(adj.) juffled

She looked juffled almost all the time.

(adv.) tawkly

When silence plagued the party room, the tawkly, juffled boy screamed something fierce.