to the dedicated reader.

whoever decided that a new year

is the only time to bring about change

was a procrastinator.

everyday you should embrace love,

tears,

sleepiness,

aches,

and laughter.

disregard the dry skin,

the nails void of garnish,

the hair frizz,

the dust on your bookshelf,

the unpaid bills

and do something about the worries that gently nibble at your ear.

que sera, sera.

happy 2010, lisa

the sea.

soundless

i'm staring out the window, 

but instead of the highway,

all i can see is myself.

i smile because it reminded me of that time with the train.

maybe i wasn't scared of it's motion,

but of my own reflection.

this is different now, though.

i am not wet

and sticky,

sweet with the sweat of boys that

would ignite my spirit for ten hours,

boys that would swing a microphone,

and stand in the background of pictures they'll never be a part of.

i don't know why i try to see my surroundings anyway.

i know too much of this city

to feel the power that it brings.

that rush of excitement as your heel catches on the icy sidewalk 

halfway to the club,

the slosh of beer and the stumble of legs outside of the door.

it's a blessed mess-

oil atop a sea of medicaid and bus cards.

i sigh and you ask what's wrong

not verbally, of course, because technology has taken over your mouth.

"just lost in thought," i coddle, no need to worry. 

(am i assuring myself, or you?)

i turn back to this slate of ice

and drink in the peppered snow and supple concrete

that's just waiting to cause a slip,

break the skin,

smear the blood.

i desire the beauty of it all.

i ache for the pain.

i need to start writing actual poetry again.

i want this so badly.

but it's been decided

and it's known

that nothing

like this

is substantial.

love cannot be based upon mind alone.

i love you.

i just realized that i've always known.

i remember doing the twelve lady bugs dance in dolce's house

i remember the morning pounding at the window

i remember standing in the rain,

wishing that you wouldn't leave me anymore.

i've always known that you will go

or that i will, perhaps.

i say it over and over and over

and it still doesn't change that one day

i

will be without 

you.

and i feel like i'm the only one who does sometimes

(and at others, i know you do too. and i almost wish you didn't because i know the pain.)

everytime i look at you

i'm about to cry.

sometimes i hate myself for leaving.

not just you, but everyone i've ever known.

i used to have this dream when i was little

about us huddling around in a circle in grandma's kitchen

in fairview.

i remember that we had all joined arms- ready to protect ourselves from whatever was about to come, from whatever direction.

perhaps the most memorable part

was when i looked into grandma's purse

and found one of the sesame sticks she used to carry.

she let me have it with a smile.

i don't know why i know this

and i don't know if anyone else

can know like me either.

i just hope i understand soon enough.

poem for english 259

this is alive. 

mouthfuls of cool soil-

contrast to the thirsty grass. 

mounds that seem like mountains,

clay that acts as dish, 

berries that paint, 

moss that becomes a rug. 

self-sustainability seems too large of a concept for a child,

but to the girl that never talked

in your backyard

everything seems possible.

i'm the mayor of this town

and you, yes Maggie, you

need to go collect sticks for our pile.

oh don't ask questions

i just told you what to do.

don't think,

just act.

the girl who never talked 

let the trees speak for her.

the sky has a thousand words to spill, you know,

if only we are willing to catch them.

wittling bamboo shoots

and decoupaging flowers;

(the ones that had fallen of course, or else Mom would be mad)

all pointless activities

that kept

the girl who never talked

busy

so that she wouldn't feel alone.

she has since been replaced.

 

long gone are the k-mart leggings,

the tangled hair,

and the perpetually dirty fingernails.

it's only the tiny handprint

of red mexican clay

on the pristine white door to this world

that tells you she was there.

serendipity is just around the corner.

i'll grab the mittens

that i'll only wear once

and you'll grip the icy steering wheel.

we'll cascade down the 

death trip roads

and sit on park benches

like simon and gafunkel

predicted decades ago.

it's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day

i'm tired.

oh the exhaustion

of living five lives.

flake.

i'm not even sure if you're what i want anymore.

i do,

but i don't know if you're my forever.

i know that sounds absurd considering that i am eighteen

and that forever is hopefully over sixty years away,

but forevers are the only things that matter

in a sea of happeneds.

keepsake+ til kingdom come

i miss you so much.

you're always within me.

hell, you are me.

but i have so many parts of myself

that i forget how it feels to be certain "me's"

i have the me that bows silently, letting the prayers and love warm her cheeks and soul like a fresh towel resting against a radiator.

i have the me that lies in bed staring up at a breakfast club poster (not behind) and cries, listening to the train and the icy rain- having a strangely firm hold on her life and being confident, but not scared, of what's to come.

i have the me that types away all day cementing the gap that communication has brought, not really understanding the weight of anything she's doing.

i have the me that travels all around, working, learning, smiling, listening and feels guilty because her family can't afford to do the same- they can't afford to live, and i feel guilty because i am.

i have the me that talks to christina endlessly about the things thought about in the room with the dusty blue carpet and the breakfast club poster above the bed.

i have the me that threw girls into the air and caught them, happy to feel the burn and tear of muscles in her arms and legs- elated to see the bruises forming under gingerly-pressing fingertips.

i have the me that drives to panera and swims in the melody of wilco.

i have the me that dreams of a man, a man that all of these poems and words and thoughts and lyrics and sounds will make sense to.

he won't say anything, he'll just know.

but is it possible to find another one with so many me's?

this is the me that i've missed, the me that doesn't have a you.

i'm not sure if i even want you.

i know some of me wants some of you.

but does all of me want all of you?

i need to weight it all.

twenty-six

my name is michelle. i've never really thought about that before.

in twenty-six days i will be nineteen.

how very strange.

i feel so far.

mascott.

isn't it funny how i hate honey and yet compare only the sweetest, most irresistible things to it?

it's dripping with warmth and golden light,

sugary and refined,

plush cushions of relief and content.

my head is pulsating

with reverberations of life.

is it possible to live so much,

that you forget you're alive?

salt?

my eyes are so tired.

it's that kind of tired that feels like granules of sand are rubbing at your eyes,

tearing your connection to reality away,

and slowly opening your mind to dreams.

i'm hungry too.

not my stomach,

but my mouth.

i long to taste, to feel the sweet weight of something. 

i had a daydream today about driving,

how it would feel to put on a seatbelt

place my glasses on the bridge of my nose,

fight with the cd player before i turned on the gas.

take the gear and shift to drive

and press, with the most perfect distribution of weight, on the gas.

i want my muscles to burn.

i miss writing in my journal. in the beginning i felt like i had deserted him.

now i really have.

sorry blog,

but good ole' paper and pen calls.

same old, same old

fine you arrive

this wound needs ice

fine you arrive

this wound needs ice.

you and your soapy eyes called it off so late at night

but your hands on your heart cause your head's always right.

-tokyo police club

eng 259.

i just wrote possibly one of the most amazing things to ever have shimmied and sparked from my finger tips 

and it disappeared, just like that.

i feel so alive

call it a celebration of the "custom of innocence"

or naievete.

i could really care either way.

i can write all day and all night-

from the moment the gray skin of the sky is peeled back to reveal that inky depth,

i can write.

i just want to love you.

it aches to imagine such a love.

and i don't know who you are (what kind of a question is that? "who are you?")

i can feel you within the velvet lines of the sweater

the rough cotton of sheets

the heated wall that is your chest

the pointed tips of holly-leaves

the icy pelts of rain on a nameless path in loudonville.

i can see you within the scratchy swipes of a pencil

and the smudged numbers that i've never really cared for.

i'm growing far more than i ever thought was possible

i've uprooted

and replanted.

i'm a beam in the barn that no one ever explores

save the lone owl

or the shivering.

but i am not alone.

you, and he, and she are my fellow beams

and together

we erect the barn

that no one ever explores

save the lone owl

or the observant.

i am Michelle.

i have never named myself,

but i am.

and you are

and we are both here together.

and come now somber one,

isn't that miraculous?

smile for me now

and lay down that cross.

i'm going to press these words into that naked sky,

just like that God did so many eons ago with the stars.

didn't you know that's what they are, the stars i mean?

they're letters of that language that we forget so many years ago,

but i'm adding my own taste to the horizon this day

and you, will be etched there for eternity,

simply because you are you,

and i am me.

we are alive.

scatter-brained

i don't really have much to say, but i feel as if i should.

i've been doing a lot of internal thinking lately

and that always leads to disaster.

i'm worrying about spilling blood

and tripping in heels.

(if i'm worried about it now, why am i even going through with it?)

because there's always going to be some new plane

that you'll have to slide across,

most likely hitting the harsh angles,

but praying that the pinball arms can push you away, just in time, unscathed.

i really wish my printer worked

and that i felt like i was wearing my own clothes.

i actually had to stop and wonder this morning about what i usually wear.

isn't that strange?

in a closet full of my own clothes, everything seems old.

i wonder what happened to weekends with my friends

friday nights at burke's

and rolling out of bed whining

to go to mass at eight am.

i know i'll be back there soon enough,

but i'm starting to wonder if i want to.

will i be upset to leave?

will i yearn to come back?

i can't even imagine how strange that's going to be.

i've been having dreams about thanksgiving

in the most recent,

i go home

and devin wants me to go out with them

and we're standing in my side yard

but i'm not ready for the wedding rehersal

and i need to put heels on

i promise to mee up with her later

but my friends from here are there

and i have to somehow mesh both groups together.

this is so problematic.

i want to go clubbing with n. ho

and sit in govt. once again.

i miss walking around in the hallways acting like an idiot because everyone knew me.

isn't it strange,

that in a place where no one knows my name,

i'm even more afraid of being associated with looking like a freak?

i miss hugging without hesitation

and share prayer.

i miss feeling

and connections.

why did you get a new dog?

don't you think it's too soon?

i wonder if the leaves have started to fall yet.

i should probably go look up that tranny bar.

i can't tell you what's wrong or why i'm upset because i don't know the answer myself.

if i did, i promise i would tell you.

i feel like crying rivers

i feel like crying until everything blurs

and my cheeks feel raw and red.

i want to cry until i feel closer to him again,

until i'm back where i was just a few short months ago.

god, i can't do this without you

and i know you're here

but i can't get past everything else that i've hid myself behind.

i'm not even stressed

or upset

or mad.

just drifting away.

you know what,

i am mad.

i'm mad because you're using me

and you expect me to fucking wait until you're ready?

are you kidding me?

do you think i'm dense?

learn how the world works,

learn how i work.

i wish that using the term "indie" wasn't so cliche.

standish= nirvana

i miss ethan frome.

a religious experience.

tokyo police club

the postal service

sigur ros

coldplay

the killers

the shins

bright eyes.

lips are partially open, eyes grow weak.

i miss the chill of leather seats

and the slip of flats on black ice

the numbness of my fingertips

as i tap the button

to play the next song.

come up to meet you, tell you i'm sorry.

i wrote this yesterday (or did i?)

things are becoming more confused

with every passed note

and missed birthday.

sometimes i just know things,

and i don't know how to explain it.

i don't claim to be a prophet or a god.

i just know things.

maybe it's because i pay attention

and i can read you

and maybe deep down,

that's what scares you:

you haven't been written in another language.

i'm not decoding you

or just "pressing you buttons"

for my own pleasure

i just need you to know

that you make the decisions.

yes, there is the inevitable, and there always will be,

but you take action.

now, and now.

if you don't like what's going on

or if you know it hurts

and you know it doesn't feel right,

then why not stop it?

time and time again,

i've told you that i'm not mad

and that's the truth.

i just don't understand how one cannot see their own will.

please, don't place the blame on someone else.

and so it's fall

and i have yet to wear my pea coat

and boots.

the leaves are just changing

and yet,

i have yet to pluck apples straight from the tree

or brush the dust off of a pumpkin.

i've always wanted to travel

but i'd be lying if i said i didn't miss home.

festival.

i'm slipping farther away from what i had once cherished to be the most important thing in my life. i'm grasping and leaping from moment to moment and not looking ahead. it makes sense as to why i feel unstable, empty even.

(like i said today, i've always felt alone, but this just proves it.)

and i'm not upset about it

or angry

or jealous

because i know that i'm surrounded by love

every hour

every day.

i said to them today to think about the fact that one day we will be without one another.

one day, i will be without u, and u without me.

but to sit in our rooms

isolated

and awaiting that day-

fear. our hands clenched around our covers,

our eyes staring out towards the maples

with their wide, veined palms offering themselves up to someone, something

but not impatient.

omniscient in their beliefs

confident in what's to come.

so please don't fret

and just let me know that you love me

and i promise that i'll do the same. 

i'm praying for you. wherever you may be, whoever you may be

because i'm unsure of anything.

and for the first time,

it doesn't really bother me.

it's all coming at us

regardless of whether or not we have prepared for it

with meticulous charts

and circled dates on calendars

because nothing is certain other than this:

we are here and soon we won't be.

so let's get all dressed up

and apply the unnecessary cakey blush

smiling at ourselves in the mirror,

ultimately preparing ourselves for disappointment

because over-analysis

and any expectations

always result in something much different than disappointment, and yet we still continue to use the term. i believe it's more shock that reality is different than our own imaginations.

but don't you know flightless bird, that everyone has thoughts too?

this is what reality is- the culmination of yearning imaginations to create action.

so i'm staring wide-eyed and breathless at the white washed ceiling,

draining myself of the excess.

use me, please.

i have so much to give

and it's being wasted within me.

take my hands and make them bleed,

take my eyes and make them tear for your pain, your struggles.

i've done enough for my own. 

a supermarket in california

by allen ginsberg

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! What peaches and what penumbras!  Whole families shopping at night!  Aisles full of husbands!  Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?  I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops?  What price bananas?  Are you my Angel? I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective. We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.  Where are we going, Walt Whitman?  The doors close in an hour.  Which way does your beard point tonight?

(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the

supermarket and feel absurd.) Will we walk all night through solitary streets?  The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.  Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage? Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

dearest lisa

so it kind of upsets me and at the same time, it doesn't.

i haven't talked talked with anyone. 

but i mean i guess that's what everyone does.

don't they?

it's not a question of what's new in my life,

but rather what's "old"

because it seems that there are less constants

than variables.

i miss driving

and listening to my music

and not making new friends at every corner.

who would think i would ever be happy for assignments

and study sessions

and structure

to start?

girl night.

i'd really like to know when we stopped being happy

and had fun.

was it last night?

last week?

two years ago?

let's dance

and scream.

because sometimes

we get caught up

in the things we "should" worry about.

like wars overseas,

wars in spotless kitchens,

wars in our hearts.

but be happy for everything you have

right now

right this instant.

dance with me?

devin just left.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Oec8RuwVVs

i look forward to those late night chat rooms

when i hear about all of those guys you catch eyes with at parties,

and the other girls who have become your new dance partners.

it's going to be nice to miss the ridge together

and crane train,

and eighth period,

those nights at marissa's,

and drives in the parking lot at temple

under the cover of that deep navy sky,

and marveling at how the laughter in our eyes

was able to keep that march chill at bay.

but i also look towards the new things to come.

new hearts to peruse

new lips to press against

new hands to raise

new literature to immerse myself

new minds to intertwine with

creating an immense network

of love and unity.

complete wreaths

made up of individual vines.

but most importantly,

i'm excited to finally

fully appreciate the worth of you,

the warmth and safety of my own bed,

and those few seconds in the car

en route to a destination

when you give the once over in the mirror-

lips, eyes, hair, done.

those pep talks before leaving my bed

and greeting the icy tiles of the bathroom floor.

life's a paradox.

we can't live for the moment,

or else we don't plan for the future.

we can't look at the big picture,

or else we miss the details;

the hardness of a button,

the ambiance of cheap christmas lights,

the comforting scent of incense.

we lose so much in translation.

we feel rush when there's really time.

we cling to the fragments of the past that we want to relive.

don't we realize that during those minutes spent searching,

we waste new memories?

so take each piece of that glass,

that glass that holds you together,

and throw it away.

break everything that's fragile in your life

and make it something concrete.

i'm waiting on the platform for everything i've ever waited for.

(irony? paradox?)

it's unnerving to not press ourselves in the future,

like plastic colorforms.

it's unsettling to discover that,

for once,

you make each decision.

anthony, this one's for you.

leaving.

i wouldn't say i'm depressed, but perhaps i am. i hardly ever want to go out anymore

and when i do, i rather be alone. it's a strong possibility that i'm just trying to make it easier for myself in the long run- you know, that lie we tell ourselves that if  i distance myself now from everyone and everything, it'll make leaving easier. if anything, it just gives you more time to think about it. which is terrible for one who over-analyzes everything with a fine-toothed comb. regardless, i find it bizarre and paradoxical that i'm criticizing and diagnosing myself, hence why i deny believing that i am, in fact, depressed.

i wonder who ever deemed happiness as being the "norm". who's to say that our perpetual emotional state is one of euphoria and utter joy? aren't, for the most part, people upset or struggling? it confuses me as to why people find it shocking and a red alert when one falls into a depression or sadness. isn't it normal?

i suppose i just hate when others feel the need to "fix" things that don't need fixing. sometimes things are just supposed to be worked out on their own, with time. 

everything is so delicate. 

i'm almost too hesitant to try and experience life

in fear that i'll break something or someone.

but isn't that the point?

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore…all of the sudden even though you have some place to put your shit, that idea of home is gone…or maybe it's like this rite of passage…you will never have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, for your kids, for the family you start. It’s like a cycle or something. Maybe that’s all family really is: a group of people that miss the same imaginary place." - The Garden State

if i could, i would immerse myself in that late sun, hazy clouds, damp aired street. sitting on the wooden chair, lighting a cigarette for a friend, talking just to talk, petting the dog of a stranger, scraping your shoe against the concrete. i don't know why, but i've always had vivid daydreams about sitting on those patches of grass and hill that sit alongside highways. they look so lonely and unappreciated.

i really only live once. it sounds so cliche and over-played, but it's true. i will die. you will die. but we wouldn't be here if it wasn't supposed to happen. so don't be afraid to take deep breaths or make loud noises. shake that stagnant snow globe that is your life and experience it. how often do we meekly peer from behind screens at the things we want to do, the words we wish to say, the love we need to consume, the actions we wish to complete? it's okay to feel the way you feel, to say what you say. never feel guilty for your beliefs or emotions. it's okay. you don't need the reassurance. drag yourself up to stand upright amongst fellow searchers and reach for the things you want.

it's okay. i promise.

within me a lunatic sings.

this past weekend, i went to all points west, which is a music and arts festival in jersey. although quite irate that i was unable to see both the gaslight anthem and steel train, i was introduced to the beauty that is elbow. while compulsively searching for information about them the following day, i came across sigur rós and feel in love. i had heard of them before, but until yesterday had never really stopped to listen.

compelled to take a trip to the library to borrow cd's, i returned home with eight albums, one of them being Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum, their latest release. standing in my kitchen, the late afternoon sun spilling in through the grease spattered curtains, sigur rós playing, everything seemed so soft and ethereal. i felt light and pure, happy even.

my grandmother mentioned to my friend at church on sunday that i seemed distant, unhappy.

it shocked me that she felt that way. especially since i didn't think i was unhappy.

but perhaps i am, and perhaps i'm not. i'm just living. just trying to immerse myself in all i can.

i feel this incredible build up to something of immense greatness and i just want to run across fields, spin wildly. suck in as much air as my lungs can hold and douse myself in water. i feel like i need to cover myself in life so that i can start to live. i love that feeling of insignificance in comparison to everything else in the world. i feel like we all get so caught up in what's happening within ourselves right here, right now, that we forget that there are other people, other countries, other oceans, other schools, other bedrooms, other streams. how can we forget that life is waiting for us? stop being stagnant and force yourself to move. you're blocking the flow.

serendipitous punnet squares.

currently, "new slang" is on repeat and i'm laughing at the fact that some people will forever lack the ability to "get it". i feel as if i'm betraying my marble notebook from creative writing class. it's giving me guilty looks as it lays next to the wad of singles i was paid in tonight. i work in a restaurant, for clarification. i am not a stripper. funny how jobs that revolve around serving others are paid in the lesser of bills. thought provoking, no? 

but really, i've grown sick of posting my epiphanies in notes on facebook. it made me shameful about how dependent i was on so and so knowing exactly what i was thinking, as well as pathetic that i was using facebook, out of anything, to place my ideas in a "welcoming environment."

i think it scares people by how open i am. how i consistently confront reality. but at the same time, i think i'm numbed to actuality. that probably makes no sense to you whatsoever, whoever you are (who am i talking to?), but i pray you can keep up. i have trouble with patience and don't plan on slowing down. i had a problem with self-editing. you see, despite my issues with capitalization and proper comma usage, i plan on being an editor. that's going to be, hopefully, my "real job." regardless, for a while i had a problem with just speaking, just writing. i always worry about how i come across or how i affect other people. it's one thing to disagree with someone, but another to offend them. i think people often forget that.

i have a problem with waiting. it differentiates from impatience because it's not about the here and now, but the future. i have so many things i want to do, a certain style i want to live, and it makes me angry that i have no idea to get from where i am to where i want to be. 

this is stream of conscious.