The Right Ghost(s)

It was seven years ago yesterday, that I lost the privilege to wear white. And I still see him everyday in my head. No bother though, I see a lot of ghosts in my head. My brain is the ultimate haunted mansion. I'll admit, lately I have been walking amongst the dead too much; I've been relying on all my dead memories to keep my alive. I sincerely doubt that's a good thing. Don't they lock you up for that? Listen to the wrong ghosts and they fit you for a straight jacket, listen to the Holy Ghost and they fit you as sane. Either way, we're all just listening to disembodied voices, spirits that float through our brain and sail through our ears. One could argue that we're all just, plain crazy; no matter the the origin of our ghost(s). If that is the case, and I do get my straight jacket, at least I'll get to wear white again. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ "There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks Then it walks, then it walks with my legs To fall, to fall, to fall at your feet" -Florence + The Machine

Smoke Flowers

You set fire to me,
so that I can bloom and grow.
You nourish me with your exhales,
and face me toward your red glow.

When you look away I wither,
I mold and lose my charm.
Light up your violet stem,
your thorn does me no harm

Your ivy eyes contained me,
so now you burn across my skin.
The embers hanging from your lips
give truth to the fire within.

Your smoke rings glide across my body,
puffed petals discharged to caress my face.
Our loving flower begins to perish,
not keeping up with this lavender race.

Nutrients you no longer offer
makes for a frozen, nicotine season.
My smile is turned just like the soil
because you wilted with green reason.


*** *** ***

I don't believe it to be fatalistic, because it is just natural truth. My dear friend Gwen summarizes it nicely with: "born to blossom, bloom to perish". We spread ourselves out for all our glory, only to begin to shrink.

In The Kitchen

Tonight I made pizza. I cried the whole time I was doing it.

The last time I made pizza, I was still living in Grand Rapids. I was still living with the pup. I was still living with my boys. Before starting to write tonight I checked to see if I had mentioned it at all on here, and I did. It was November 16th 2009. I stopped at a Meijer on the way home from night class to pick up ingredients. I was taking night classes then because I had a morning job and an afternoon job, so I went to class in the evening. Clearly my time was occupied, but I missed my boys and I wanted to do something nice for them. When I got home that night two of them were on the couch playing video games, one was upstairs in his room studying medical books, and I'm pretty sure the last one was chasing girls. I began to cook and chop and assemble, the pup sat eagerly in the kitchen watching me; silently willing me to drop something to the floor so she could lap it up. It didn't take long for the two playing video games to make their way into the kitchen to see what I was making. And it didn't take long for them to claim a seat in the kitchen nook, silently willing me to drop a plate of pizza in front of them. Eventually the one that was upstairs studying came down too, entering the kitchen in a hoodie and moccasins, exclaiming that the whole house smelled of onions and wanting to know why. By the time the pizzas were out of the oven all four of us were sitting in the kitchen nook talking and telling each other what was going on in our lives( I made sure there were left overs for the one chasing girls). It felt so good. It was a perfect moment, in my life. I loved those boys, I loved that house, I loved that dog, I loved the life I had then. I will forever, until the day God puts me down, refer to them as my boys. Because that's how I saw them, I claimed them, whether they wanted it or not, and I did everything I could to keep it all together. After it fell apart, I vowed to myself to never lay claim on a guy again. And I haven't.

That was the first time I left Grand Rapids, after the second time I left Grand Rapids I vowed to never make plans for the future, and I still haven't. Since coming back to Illinois, post fleeing in the middle of the night, I haven't made any plans on what to do with my life in the future. After having everything I had made, after the life that I had built and suffered for, taken and broken so quickly I don't have the energy to try and assemble something again. What happens now, is I do whatever is in front of me. I do and/or perform so I can collect a paycheck. But something inside of me wanted to make a pizza. So I planned on making a pizza for my parents. Then my day got shot to shit when I was called my job #2 and asked why I was 80 minutes late for my shift. So my dinner plans got ruined. My baby steps got gunned down right in front of me. For the record, it was a scheduling error on job #2's fault, not mine. But the point is, I didn't get to make the pizza dinner I had planned. I didn't get to feel like an actual human, who does actual human things, and who makes actual human plans. Instead I went to work. When I got home, I still wanted to make it though. So, at ten thirty six at night, with my dad sitting across the counter watching me, I began to make a pizza in the kitchen. About five minutes in, while beginning to dice the olives, I began to cry. I began to cry, but I still made the pizza. I stood there chopping, while tears rolled down my cheeks. I cried for having to leave my life in Grand Rapids, I hadn't done that yet. I cried for the fact that I won't see the pup ever again. That gorgeous, smart and wonderful mutt who meant so much to us all. I cried because I won't see my boys ever again. And I cried because I miss them everyday; not all day, but at least once a day I have the pang of knowing everything has passed. I cried because of how silly it is that one person, one tiny, minute person, can ruin my whole world. One person wanted me dead, wanted me gone, and now everything seems topsy turvy because of it. My approach was not to dwell on it, to count my blessings and be glad I was alive; that July afternoon could have gone drastically different, I know that. But I didn't let myself acknowledge the fact that I was so pissed. I was holding it together, right up until I was making a pizza in the kitchen of my parents condo. Somewhere between the red gravy and the fresh oregano I broke open. My dad was actually really good about. When I first started we began to get up from the stool to come and comfort me, but I signaled for him to sit back down. I didn't need to be consoled, everyone had been doing that since I moved back, what I needed was to just fucking cry. So he sat and listened while I told him about the last time I had made pizza, how it was a perfect symbol of the life I once had. He let me tell him how everything was so screwed up, while I spread the dough in the pan. In between sobs I explained how it didn't seem right that one person could topple the entire structure I had made. And then, after I had put them both in the oven, he began to clean up the kitchen and I went to my bathroom and Stridexed my face. A nasty side effect of emotions is break outs, and I hate those. While I was patting down my cheeks, I thought about how wonderful it would be if I could just sizzle my anger away. It would be brilliant if I could just dump it into a bowl and put it on the bottom rack of the oven and burn it into a charred oblivion. But, that's not how it works.

The pizza was perfect. The time I shared it with my boys, and again tonight. The first night was almost two years ago exactly, and yet perfect pizza was still perfect pizza. I will never have my Grand Rapids life again, that perfection is lost forever; but I am beginning to believe that some new form of perfection can be found. If I made it once, I can make it again.

*** *** ***

"Still, there is this sense of missed opportunity. Maybe there is nothing, ever, that can equal the recollection of having been young together. Maybe its as simple as that. Richard was the person Clarissa loved at her most optimistic moment." -M. Cunningham in The Hours. (My most favorite author, and my most favorite book.)

Go Hide, Me. Go, Hide Me.

Silence me with your tongue.
Blot me out with your body.
Blur the outline of my being with your hoodie and your denim.
Capture me into your existence.

I will go willingly, into you.
Your smell kills of my doubts.
Your hands know how to make me cry, and how to make me cum.
I shackle my heart to yours.

I like you because you understand me,
but I love you because you make me invisible.
No one can hurt me if all they see is you lying on the couch.
I won't hear anything but your heart if I'm hidden underneath.

When you stretch yourself over me, I'm just your extra rib.
I can be completely unseen if I stand close enough to you.
If I kiss you long enough, you will just absorb me.
Take me from what I have created, and put me into you.


"If I raise my voice will someone get hurt
And if I can't feel then I won't get touched" -Garbage

The Stongest Lungs

I say it to the guy who can cover my shift. I say to the girl who surprises me with a venti instead of a grande. I say it when I leave a room. A building. A state. I say it to the tv. My favorite book. My most worn jeans. Even my biker boots.

I whisper it to the countless men in my bed. I gasp it in between kisses with strangers. I murmur it as they walk out the door. Out my room. Out my life. I scream it at guys who speed past on motorcycles. I hint at it to get a cocktail.

I imagine saying it on a beach. I envision telling it to my children. I wait to tell my dog. I hope it to be my last phrase on Earth.

For now, and for ever, I say it to you; but not nearly enough. You my other half, my better part, my soul mate, my most wonderful companion. For you I will always have breath to say these words:

I love you more then all the men, jimmy john sammichs and cigarettes I've ever had, combined and multiplied by infinity. I miss you so much my skin gets rough from not getting your hugs and my eyes get blurry from not seeing your face. I love you.

My lungs are durable from tireless runs, long walks and my endless ramblings; but for you, they will never collapse, for you they remain strong.

I love you.



**** **** ****

This one is not for a man. No man is worthy of this. This is for the greatest, strongest, most beautiful woman I know. Who I call my best friend. And who I miss everyday, all day.

"Did you say it? I love you. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life. Did you say it? Make a plan, set a goal, work toward it. But every now and then, look around, drink it in, cause this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow." -M. Grey

Domesticated

You've got me chained to a white picket fence.
The front yard covered in cut grass and cigarette corpses.
The collar comes so naturally but your lead is unappreciated.
What was once worn out from use, now rusts from lack of joyful abuse.

The tie you propose doesn't choke like the leather.
Can I cook your dinner in my bomber jacket?
If the fresh cake has black frosting do you not like the taste?
I serve up the red delicious apple pie, even with the black liner carving my eye.

For you I scrub the kitchen floor while in my biker boots.
For you I set the table with silver to match my ears.
For you I polish the China with my midnight fingernails.
For you I cover my ink with ironed polo, and a matching belt.

What once burned out and free, the roaming fire of my ego.
You took it in, brought up the hem and pricked me with the needle.
The slamming domination that was shared has now become domestication.
A rebel aggression we made and bore, is a placid still photograph of yore.

I can clean away every piece of broken dirt in this the house we share.
I can greet you at the door with smiles and skin laid bare.
I can suture up all your internal wounds and each external tear.
I can make everything around you glisten, but still I'm your unequal pair.


*** *** ***

Once again, this one is for my book. And who knew I was such a secret fan of Angelina Jolie? I'm surprised lately how often I like her. What isn't surprising is how much I like Josh Beech.

"The truth is I love being alive. And I love feeling free. So if I can't have those things then I feel like a caged animal and I'd rather not be in a cage. I'd rather be dead. And it's real simple. And I think it's not that uncommon." -Angie Jolie

Rib Cages and Cigarettes

I'm singing on the inside, because my voice doesn't carry.
I'm running my hands over your back to feel the vibrations.
Your body is humming with a tragic passion.
Lower your kingdom on to me, your nicotine words on my neck.

Just because we're doomed doesn't mean we can't be doomed together.
Lay down in the snow with me and it'll wash us clean.
You count my ribs and I'll count your scars,
Stick with me baby and we'll go far.

You're clapping for my body, because I stand and get bare.
You're pushing on my muscles so they mold to your curves.
My body is filling with a deadly beauty.
Grind your soul into mine, your fingers poised on my lips.

Just because we're doomed doesn't mean we can't be doomed together.
Lay down in the sheets with me and it'll wash us clean.
You count my ribs and I'll count your scars,
Stick with me baby and we'll go far.

We're clawing for new oxygen, because we sizzled our atmosphere.
We're crumpling into reality again as the snowflakes burn outside.
Our bodies sewn together by the furious exchange.
Etch into the surface of my blood, your sleepy eyes on my heart.

Just because we're done doesn't mean we can't be quiet together.
Lay down in the past with me and it'll keep us clean.
You count my ribs and I'll count your scars,
Stick with me baby and we'll go far.


*** *** ***


I'm keeping this one. I want it for the book. I don't think it would transfer well to lyrics.

"They tell me I'm skinny, as if that's supposed to make me happy." -Angelina Jolie