Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Poker Face

I was going to write something down about how much I miss you, but then I realized I didn't mean any of it. I'm just sad because I had to go to the dentist today. I haven't meant most of what I've thought or said this month, so I haven't been talking to anyone for fear of being a hypocrite. 
I'm not sorry. 
Today looks like summer, but it feels like November. I don't like the weather to be so deceptive. There's a root canal, a Full Collapse, a long night at work, a plane, a layover, and some people I've never met on the squares of my calendar. I'll feel better when they're all tomorrows. 
Maybe.
Maybe, I don't really mean that. 



Monday, January 17, 2011

Summer, Divorce, Water, etc.


My professors would have termed it intersitial. A point between the surface and the depths, catching my breath as it escaped its chambers forming a burst of bubbles that stung more than the chlorine. I dove right in today. I didn’t hesitate, for the shock of the cold or the wind threatening my bare, wet skin. I didn’t hesitate.

I braced my feet on the rocks and pushed, shoved myself forward. I thought I’d be moving faster, but that’s always the case. I wasn’t falling, or flailing, or breathing even. I was floating. My tangled hair suspended in a crown around my head.  There was silence, I felt beautiful. My eyelids closed, but not tightly. I let every limb go limp, numb, like I’ve only felt a few nights in my life. My arms raised above my head like an involuntary surrender. Something tight wrapped itself around my throat. I’d have to breathe soon, and I dreaded it. I dread choosing sides these days. I knew it was from the volume of cigarettes that have been accumulating in gutters and freeways. I haven’t breathed easily in years.

With my feet on the rough floor I pushed toward the sun, which should’ve felt more dramatic. I choked on the air. The quiet beauty stuck in the space between the bottom and me. This home will be a broken one soon.  Drops of water slide down my back, making maps someone will use their finger tips to trace. And I’ll let them, because between the bottom and where I stand there’s that place where my breath doesn’t matter, and I don’t have to choose which side to take. And it feels like the worst pain and most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt. Nicotine burning holes in my lungs, and a pair of eyes burning their way into mine. 

Sunday, January 16, 2011

W is for Withdrawal

I had this whole thing written about honesty, grey areas, and southern gentlemen. 
But the only thing of worth was this...


Please, think, think hard, and tell me what is original about you?


What's original about me, right? Because you're defensive as shit. Well, let me tell you...
I am not playing a part. 
I think through every word I say.
I listen.


Now, push your seat back. Breathe. 







Tuesday, January 4, 2011

February in Advance

     I've had these diamonds in my back pocket for what feels like a decade. I've moved them from my jeans, to my breast pocket, and now I clutch them in my left hand. They are tarnished and worn. I can't remember them ever looking as dazzling as everyone tells me they were, they are, or they should. My knuckles are white from the force I use to hold them steady in my palm. If you know me at all, you know I've been dying to give them away, but am dying too frequently to give them up. 
     I know of more diamonds in southern states. One in particular, that with any luck (you know I don't believe in luck) will soon be my home. I plan to wash these diamonds in a pond, near a new tree, with leaves that change color because it's their nature not their burden. I will lay them with the other diamonds that have been dragged across the country to regain their shine, their luster.
     I am happier than I have ever been in this last decade knowing that my gems are welcome in a new state. I am sure that within new borders and new company I can show the world their worth that has been overlooked in my hiding places. If you know me at all you may have seen a few of my diamonds, or at least a glimmer when I wasn't holding on so tightly, but the timing wasn't right, the words were always on the tip of my tongue, and you never asked to see.
     I have to get them far away from here. Closer to a home. Closer to the things that make them sparkle. I promise to send pictures, write letters, and stories. I promise I'll show you, if the timing is right.