so...

i love you i love you i love you i love you

Mark.

we were strangers, but acquaintances.
i have some old footage from highschool of him in 6th grade
making some lame pick up about how he lost his number... so could he please have mine.
i was a senior then.
he, a kid. a boy. blue eyed and smiling.

today i found out that he died.
he was on break and was in a snowboarding accident..
they said two nights ago in the recovery room
his heart sped up rapidly and his breath quickened...
as if his brain were firing too rapidly all at once.
and then like that- his heart stopped.
and they couldn't start it again.

i sat and stared for a while,
thought about the last time i saw his sister,
pictured his family in the hospital room on tuesday night.
i thought about all the people who lost sons or brothers or family in haiti.
i thought about my heart.
about the massive amounts of healing that the living need to do to survive.
and then pictured his 6th grade cameo on my silly little camera.
and i cried.
maybe because we were acquaintances,
perhaps because we were strangers.

we walked like giants

I remember the way the air was cool on my skin and
how the energy of the room felt in the moonlight.
How new and full of wonder it was.
That song was playing...
from that scene in le chansons d'amour where the two boys kiss for the first time
and it was so beautiful and sweet that we wanted to cry.
Lave, he sings, lave ma memoire sale...
and I remember leaning in to kiss you,
in the quiet space of the room at night
when being awake is like being afloat sleep.
But your lips didn't fit to mine.
I wished they were less hindered and cautious.

........

I remember being smitten.
Talking endlessly endlessly insomniacs we...
about our happy foursome, our amoeba effect.
Healing one another, collecting yogi tea sayings, reading Rumi.
Sugar cookie tea and milk in cozy dorm rooms.
Writing platonic love songs with one another.
The thrill of new and lovely people... the kind you think you will keep forever.
Spooning for days, mood swings and romping around.
But the sooner the flame burns brightly,
the closer to embers they become.

........

Wave after wave of new and exciting people wash in and out.
Shore is filled with small glistening treasures each new wave brings.
Ebb and flow as the tide, ever circling ever seeking ever changing...
we smooth one another with each passing year
and its nice to look back on those who have come and gone..
and on those few who have stayed
and will stay
for (I hope) a very long time.

purple

I am hazy, lazy eyed and buzzing.
Staring slowly at the ceiling hoping
I never come down.
Arnica and lavender rise from my skin.
This. this is purple I'm sinkin in.
Strains of music float around me,
enveloping, endearing themselves to my form.
And in this moment my breath is reborn
swirling in and out of dust particles,
drawing circles like sandcastles.
pulling sandcastles to tide.

Salt and Mothers.

I hate you sometimes.
I really do.
I hate that I always feel like it's my job to heal things.
It is not my lot in life to fix everyone's mistakes.
And you never really asked me to... but
somewhere I blame you for this burden.
I know that it isn't really your fault.
You grew up with the same kind of need,
the desperate need to please and prove.
But sometimes I watch your pride for me
like I watch a thinly stretched balloon-
expanding, with me cringing in its wake.
Because I was your dream child. I was perfect.
I performed the role you wanted me to be to a tea.
But now I'm getting a little older,
and sometimes when you are smiling at me
I am cruel and say salty things that go straight to your rawness.
Salt has a healing power if you can endure the burning sensations.
But with you it always backfires,
I end up choking silently on tears that taste like the dead sea.
I feel sorry for you,
I get so terrified at the thought that you might be lonely or sad
or worse- that one day you'll be gone.
Because you do everything in your power to show me you care.
You do all you know how to do to express your love.
And I wrestle with the possibility that you may never understand.
I thrash violently at the realization that my life is not
for changing you-
but for change in me.

... I love you because
I have the capacity to hate you.

coeur de pirate

I roll with the train tracks,
and pause to catch strains of sun that shift and plummet on my skin.

The window shows me the day passing over the land,
and dreams come quickly here.

I am a dreamer,
it's what I do.

I stay inside and wonder at the romance of my mind...
learning the secrets of loneliness and depth of imagination.

I have the coeur de pirate... in my dreams.
The gentle chug of the train pillows my ship, and I am lost.

Her body is tattooed with maps of unknowable places and faces.
She engulfs me, rocks me steady.

The horizon before me stretches like golden blue canvas.
It hurts so good.

I am secretly afraid. Trembling at every breeze, every wave...
I don't know how to not steer the course...
I don't understand that.

I realize...
it isn't enough just to dream.
But it's a start.

Isaiah

i watched his wide eyed love for me-
so open and full and warm.

he looks just like his mom,
big, beautiful brown eyes.

his little coos of happiness or disdain
rate the world around him as he bulldozes through it.

the best part is when he knows he's about to do something
that would categorize under the word "no."
he looks straight at me as he goes for it-
daring me (with shockingly false innocence) to comment.

I once had a friend whose whole theory behind
the cuteness of babies boiled down to one thing:
"it helps you fight the urge to kill em."

yikes.

... but kinda true.

sense

To lust long in curves,
In smooth, lean and arched.
To want one with words,
Still leaves my lust parched.

Or dreaming in violence,
In colours, sweat- stained and blood.
And love lorn in silence,
A heart caked, cracked in mud.

Then pulse like aggression,
Deep stroke made in flesh.
Feel close my impression
Of mouth to heat mesh.

Warm whisper is wanton,
Her sweet peaked and high.
Desire's a fountain
she twists betwixt thighs.

Kill me with raw beauty.
Your mouth ushers many.
But watch me, oh watch me
Await at the ready...
Aim...

Impatient seduction
No sleep stirs her dreams.
A body's convulsion,
unstitching of seams.

Abreast of her body,
Breech muscles for air.
Tight knots in my belly,
My hands in her hair.

Last kiss- fervent hymnal,
So say sweet goodnight.

Lest we find they've been tainted

By morn' sunbeams of light.

and then there were...

5
five
cinq
vijf
fünf
한국어
cinco
По-русски
cinque
日本語

Paint You

" i'd like to paint you, but there are no colours,
because there are so many in my confusion,
the tangible form of my great love."

- frida kahlo

i've lost myself today.
i've been borrowing alter ego's and someone else's words.
so i'll let frida speak for me today.
and i'll give you freja's face.

cus sometimes, other people can convey better what you feel than you yourself can...

bye.

goodbyes are hard.
i've always hated endings... even happy ones.
i try to be fluid.
i try to be ok bout it.
so i listen to awful pop music.
and remember details.
and think about girls i want to kiss,
tattoos i want to get,
songs i wanna sing,
and i dance it out.
it helps.
for a little bit.

a good year

"what a way to start the new year.
an unrequited dance party, a sprained ankle, a two show day, an injured actress..."

"but you know why i think it's gonna be a good year?"

i look at him standing there in a giant pod costume...

"why?"

" because last year, the very first thing i did was walk eight steps out my door and into a pile of dog shit. and i just laughed because i thought it was hysterical. but because of my attitude about it, i said to myself- this is going to be a great fuckin year... and it was."

He smiled at me as i wrapped the soft, yellow scarf around his costumed head.

Yeah, i thought. I like that.

be gentle, she's tender...

there's a tightness in my chest.
it makes my heart pound.
makes my mortality so much closer.
but, i'm getting used to it now.

that's a lie.
sort of.

"the emotion is valid,
let it pass."
i watch it fly by,
it whooshes out the window...

along with gravity
and oxygen.

maybe there's no getting used to this-
my unending unraveling.
there is growth, though.
and strength and self love...

and beauty
in every little thing.

tightness. like holding a baby close to my chest.
like hugging someone who loves me.
makes my mortality sweeter.
makes my tenderness easier to bear.