Crayons. The frozen Kind.

To the self???? If I am not HERE, then where am I? Should I choose not to belong to you, then to whom should I belong? I do hear your whispers while I am sleeping. I know how clumsily your hands fumble underneath the sheets. Each is experience is new, and I only want to experience it with you. BUT I don't creep around in dark corners. And beckon information that doesn't belong to me. You are then, cold and a coward. And in your eyes I can see all the lies that you think of me. Being double teamed in a dark alley behind the local Krispy Kreme....moaning like a whore. And why shoud it shock you? You've obviously seen me here before. And though you may turn the other cheek, your absence turns out to be a blessing in disguise when I come home to an empty house with Matt's cum still dripping down my thighs. And indeed only human, bound to make mistakes. I can feel your heart beat and I can hear it when it breaks. I can feel it beneath you skin, the skin you carry my secrets in...trembling above me, imperfect and lovely.
The double standard? What you think of me and what it amounts to, really... completely different. But remember, reality sets you free. There is something you don't know about me.
I am not afraid of you, I was more afraid of me. B/c I knoew that when tomorrow came, I didn;t know who I could be. I hid my heart, and you wore yours on your sleeve. But don't remind me of things past, it's just the excuse I'd need to leave. You say that love can be unconditional, but you don't remember what I could do...not that I want to. But it's not for me to choose, between right and wrong...lies that grey. And I feel like I am stumbling through my life, mixing my black and my white. Unable to distinguish my days from my nights. And I hope that someday you will be able to see me, see through me, leave me, leave me be. You can't see, b/c you don't want to know the truth. You gave me everything, anything that meant something, to me it's something for nothing. I'll take it as long as it's free.
I always eat babies this time of night. Or...at least I would, if had some crayons. Frozen.

Ode To Ruth and Saltine Crackers!

I am happily ingesting my dinner for the night which cnonsists of saltine cracker and ketchup packets. And no...not CATSUP. I don't eat that shit. And I am remembering the moment I realized that I loved you.
It was Novemeber...maybe. Sometime ago, I can't seem to remember when exactly. Time doesn't hold any meaning for me anymore. Events do not play out in chronological order for me. You had left three months prior to spending another night in my bed and diappeared with out so much as a whisper. Then, one night at the Mercury Cafe, during a poetry slam, I see you take the stage standing right in front of me. Three months had passed and not a word, and all I could think was; "Of all the shit Cafe's in Denver, you had to walk into mine."
Thank You Bogart.
And I had a vision of me rushing up on stage....passionate and infuriated...and bitch slapping you infront of god and everybody. But I didn't. I gathered my things and walked out and you followed me into the cold, desperately trying once again to justify yourself to me. And this strange feeling swept over me, anger and loathing mixed with a sense of satisfaction knowing that you were mine, and knowing you weren't a ghost. You were indeed, alive and breathing, and thats all that mattered.
And time slipped in and out for nearly six years and then I grew up. Like Wendy Lady leaving neverland...and missing the boy who would never....
GROW THE FUCK UP.
Some things have the ability to change you, and some things or events have the ability to make you want to avoid change. But the great thing about change is that it can be so subtle and so constant, that you won't even realize that anything has changed until it slaps you in the face.
A poingant fact was made clear to me earlier. It is a boys club. Men are as much a mystery to women as we are to men. That I don't understand these obsessions is something I can choose to live with. I see things in a different light and can appreciate beauty without smut. Imagination breeds passion, and passion is something I cannot live without. Its not there for me to understand. I don't want to understand it.

Attack of the 50 FT cum guzzling whore!

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I'm beginning to remember why I hate you.

For a minute there I almost forgot and then...WHAM! It hit me like a ton of bricks. Ha ha ha ha...I've always wondered why people said that. "Hit me like a ton of bricks..." Why not "It hit me like a ton of sardines...or spaghettio's..."? Anyway. I was just sitting here thinking of who I would really enjoy punching in the face in light of the horrible day I have had...and your name popped into my head. Funny how that happens. One minute you're thinking to yourself, "Man, I wish I could have punched Ghandi in the face, just to teach that pacifistic little shit a thing or two!" And then one of the little voices in your head says, "No, you should punch (BLEEP) in the face!" And you can feel the blood rush to your head, and your ears get hot, tiny beads of sweat form above your brow...and it almost feels like an orgasm. An orgasm of HATE and then you can't think of anything else. All of your thoughts are overwhelmed with visions of your fist flying through the air just waiting for that second of impact when it hits (BLEEP'S) jaw like a freight train taking out a Honda. Blood spraying out of (BLEEP'S) mouth showering your face and neck with tiny rubies, warm and sticky. B/c everything is stored in the farthest reaches of the mind and one by one memories sneak up on you. Then moment by moment you begin to remember all the times (BLEEP) has spit on you while talking, or stole your pen, left the toilet seat up, drank your last beer, cut you off on the highway, ran a red light, parked in the hadicapped zone...illegally of course...or maybe not illegally, it doesn;t really matter. Maybe (BLEEP) snaked the last Tickle Me Elmo, or was talking the entire time you were at that movie wout really wanted to see. Punch them in the face...and watch the weather change.