I can promise you that sometimes I’ll get sad,
I can promise you that sometimes I might get mad
I can promise you that things will be hard and things might get bad
so I won’t apologize if any of that happens
because that’s normal
and you can’t say I didn’t warn you
I’m not in love with you
but I could be if you wanted me to.
I don’t know where this is going
I guess I’m along for the ride
but I’m starting to have these feelings
that I just can’t set aside
I can promise you that I’m just a little crazy
I can promise you that I’ll tell you you’re handsome and I’ll always call you baby
I can promise you that I’m not like those other girls
and by those other girls I mean any one in the world
I just live my life the best that I can
I guess what I’m saying is I want you to be my man.
I Dreamt of the Ocean
I dreamt of the ocean,
but I did not get to swim.
It’s vast nothingness full of everything
danced and swayed before my eyes
kissing the shoreline
like a lover trying to say goodbye
but one that can never really leave.
I dreamt of the ocean beneath grey blue clouds
the crests of the waves as white
as the hair on my grandmother’s head
and the blue of the waves
as blue as my grandfather’s eyes
but I did not get to swim.
The sun broke through those grey blue clouds
and the ocean seemed to shine
as though it was full of diamonds
it bid it’s farewell with a roar of thunder
and cheapened it’s goodbye with the fall of rain.
But even the ocean needs a drink too.
I dreamt of the ocean
angry at the sky above
roaring back with crashing waves
as the thunder bounced off rock cliffs.
I dreamt of the ocean
but did not get to swim.
Sometimes we realize things are over, or ending, far before they do. A good book, your favorite movie, that short relationship with that person you just swore you could have made it work with, the one you really thought you had a chance with. It doesn’t make it any easier when it’s actually over, we’re still a little surprised although we had almost lackadaisically awaited the end.
And so we close the cover, turn off the TV, put all the things into a box we can’t bare to get rid of just yet. You could analyze the book, the movie, where the relationship went wrong, and in due time that would make sense, but not right away. No, for the first few fleeting moments before it really starts to set it, marvel at the beauty it was. How perfect the narrator so eloquently expressed his or her ideas. How the plot of the film kept you captivated for two hours. How that person so easily swept you off your feet and made you smile. You can always reread the book even when you know your favorite character dies. And the movie can play over and over again when you are falling asleep at night. And that short relationship happened, exists in the past, you can’t un-live it. You can spend the rest of your life resentful, angry or unsatisfied, but first enjoy what had been, and maybe think a little bit about what could be; a second novel, a sequel. Don’t ask why did we ever meet, maybe you should ask will we ever meet again?
Something for the Train Ride
There is a man who lives in the woods, whose smoke from his fire billows out past the tallest trees, whose laugh rattles the leaves. When this man cries, the skies pour rain. In his angriest moments the forest booms with thunder and lightening shatters the stark dark night sky. He can grant wishes and forgive sins. He does not call these sins or wishes, but situations, circumstances, and the future. Some call this man the devil, other call him God.
You are not to find this man unless you are meant to find this man. People have wandered the woods for weeks on end searching and searching, but they always find only the edges of the forest and return starving and hysterical. The trees whisper secrets about their neighbors at night.
Paul, a man living in the quaint New England town, believes it is his turn to find this man. Paul pushed numbers for work, that’s what he told anyone whenever they asked what he did for a living. Paul was born out of wedlock, and his maternal grandparents resented his father for it, even though he eventually married his mother. Paul didn’t learn to swim until he was twelve and as an adult he still never really liked water. His favorite color was green and he read war stories and pretended to understand what they were about. But if you’ve never been to war, you never really understand.
My love,
You’ll never understand the fire in which I burn for you. Hours of my day are spent day dreaming of what could be, if it weren’t so that you were many miles away. Only an ocean we have to cross. And you told me, anyone would love a soft written love letter, as long as it was signed by me. I do not understand the powers you believe me to posses, with simple, sensual words. A master of words, that so easily roll from my brain to my finger tips, or roll off my tongue like water rushing over a waterfall. My lips purse and my tongue rolls which may or may not allude to something else I might be good at. And I know you’ve spent late night hours thinking of hot breath and soft skin, fear not, for I’ve imagined just the same. I toss and turn at night, wondering if it possible that you ever truly love me as much as I love you. I fear my heart is too big for anyone to bare, and I wish not the weight of it on your shoulders. I shall die a thousand deaths before I ever trouble you with that. It is my only wish that your heart make enough room for me, and some day we can really be together.
All my love,
e.
She Cried Wolf
It was the middle of winter, nothing seemed to even be alive. The forest had been covered for months by thick, white, cold snow. Every so often someone would trudge through, passing all the cabins scattered by, searching for something. People went out hunting, but everything was asleep or already dead.
Ana went out early, in her warmest coat, layers and layers beneath. The wind and cold still nipped at her face. She wore fur around her neck, wolf fur. It was five miles to the closest town, none of the roads were plowed.
It wasn’t snowing, but the snow from trees dropped and fell onto her as she took the wooded path, which she called a short cut, into town. No one lived in town, it wasn’t any higher of a population than the people who lived out of town. Everyone was skinny and starved this time of years. Without plows no one could leave and no one could come in. The only grocery store and gas station stoked up on as much non-parishable food as the could. There were rows and rows of canned beans and vegetables. They had a large freezer for frozen meat, but most of the locals killed their own game, deer, moose, bears, and sometimes wolves. The wolves were used for their coats more than anything else, they made a good rug, and they threatened the deep population.
Ana had a crush on the store clerk, Gregory. He was tall, broad shoulders, a little stocky. His hair was dark and his eyes were bright. She was always a bit mousey around him, around everyone. She was much shorter, with brown eyes, soft pink lips, pale skin, and light brown hair. Everything about Ana was average, and that worked okay for a small town, but she wanted out. Gregory wanted out too, the two of them once talked of leaving, she wished forever since that they would. But she wanted to leave together, stay together, adventure together, build a life together, just not in such a small lonely town.
“It’s cold out today.” Ana said as Gregory looked up from his magazine at the counter. He lived above the grocery store, he never traveled much further than downstairs and to the local bar.
“I bet.”
“You never leave.”
“All this food, all this beer,” he said spreading his arms wide motioning at the whole store, “why would I?”
“Maybe you’d find something you’d like.” She felt bold after saying that. She didn’t openly flirt with people often, and she’d been so shy around Gregory, but it was only the two of them.
She disappeared into the aisles, rows and rows of canned foods, chips, crackers, you name it, as along as it wouldn’t go bad anytime soon. She placed canned soups into her basket, picked up a frozen turkey, bought eggs that were from three farms over, bought a homemade loaf of bread. Mrs. Archer made breads and muffins once or twice a week, provided she had all the ingredients, this time of year, it seemed more like she only made breads once a month.
Ana finally made it back to the check out. Gregory was still trying to figure out what she meant by her earlier comment, was she flirting?
“You’re going to be making a nice dinner.”
“Hopefully. Mom and Pop have been gone for a few weeks now, they can’t get back with all the snow, they phoned once, but the power is on and off, and I’m not sure where they are now.”
“You could always stay in town for a few nights.”
“You could always get out of town for a few nights.” She placed some beer on the counter when she said this. Her backpack was going to be far beyond full and the beer was so much added weight, she hoped he’d carry it with her.
“Beer? I didn’t know you drank.”
“Well it’s not much fun to drink alone, drinking makes me want to dance and sing. Drinking makes me want to do lots of things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Well if I told you then it wouldn’t be as much fun as just showing you later.”
“Are you inviting me out?”
“Ready for the hike?” She finally asked him out. She was nervous, but at that point she was just lonely, more lonely than she’d ever been, she needed human contact, but it needed to be skin on skin, lips on lips kind of contact.
He agreed to go with her, the owner of the store was always telling Gregory he could take some time off, honestly because he couldn’t afford it. Gregory was saving so hard for eventually leaving. He had more money than anyone in town.
They locked the store until the owner would come and unlock it. Gregory wrapped a scarf tight around his neck. Ana threw her backpack over her shoulders, it was heavy and she still had a few extra bags, he offered to carry the bags.
They made small talk, talked more about leaving and why they thought their town was so boring. And in a swift sudden movement Gregory pulled Ana in and kissed her. She squealed. She wasn’t expecting it, she wasn’t ready for it. He kissed her again, hard, and pulled her close to him. She wasn’t ready for that in the middle of the woods. She tried to push him back.
“What?”
“Wait.” she said.
“Why? No one can see us.” He held her tight, but she was resistant.
“It’s not about that.”
“Come on.” She kept trying to push him away, he ripped open her jacket. ”You talk about leaving with me, well this is an escape, I’ve always wanted to see you naked, I’ve thought of you so many nights, we can finally be together, be intimate and no worry about this stupid town running their mouths.”
“Not right here!” She hadn’t been intimate with anyone since Ryan, a boy who moved out of town a few years before, she loved him, but he never thought twice about her after he left. Ana wasn’t ready for things to move so fast.
“Do you want me or not?”
“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, he kissed her again, held her in as she was struggling and just kept kissing her.
“Stop! Stop it!” He pulled her down to the ground, she tried to yell and scream, the snow was getting into her clothes, it burned it was so cold. At that point she really began to fight, she kicked him off of her. He was shocked and taken aback, he tried to move back in, and she went at him kicking and punching and screaming. She cried wolf, and then she tore him apart. She was unrelentless, scratching and biting, he was bloody, and now he was screaming. She pulled a knife from her backpack and stabbed him several times, she just wouldn’t stop.
He laid there bloody, barely breathing, close to death. If he didn’t bleed to death first, he would have died from the cold. She pulled herself together, grabber her belongings, fixed her jacket.
She threw her hood up, the coat of a wolf, the hood the head, snout and ears. She never looked back.
(Source: napalmbeth)
Was walking away the best thing to do?
I ask myself every day,
and I always wonder about you.
There’s a hundred letters
that I never sent
I must have cried a thousand tears
alone in this bed.
The other morning walking
there were three shadows following me
it must’ve been who I was
who I’ve become
and who I’ll be.
I’m not worried about who I’ll be
it’s who I’ve become that scares me.
The form an hour glass,
the figure a female.
Straight and narrow,
the form, a male.
From a lung she was made,
so they both came from clay.
But clay you can mold
into what you want
tall and thin
short and round
it’s all the same.
To be beautiful
you must be thin,
they say.
Every girl should wear a dress
and slave over a stove
obeying a man
until she gets old.
But times have changed,
and they say we should fight
stand up to the other
stang for what’s right.
I never liked dresses
and I’ll bury my nose in a book
before I ever powder it in a bathroom.
I’ll be beautiful in my own way.
My mind is what matters
we fight to be equal
but if we’re all from clay,
if I am his lung,
aren’t we the same?
Foggy Day
The clouds hung low in the city. Not just for the morning but well into the afternoon. The tallest buildings disappeared behind a thick, wet mass. The city was in the sky. Isn’t that what we always dreamed of as kids? To touch the sky? To fly on a cloud. As we grew older we realized this notion was completely the opposite of what we really wanted. We wanted to hit the ground running. We wanted it to be sunny and dry. A city in the clouds means it’s cold, probably raining, and you’re more likely to be late for work.
Isn’t it always those days when you car won’t start, or you get a flat tire? Everyone you run into is angry about something. It always happens in the middle of the week just when you’re about to breath a sigh of relief that it’s halfway over, you instead breath a deep sigh that you still have a few days to go.
That’s living in Rochester.
Part 1, untitled
There is a man who lives in the woods, whose smoke from his fire billows out past the tallest trees, whose laugh rattles the leaves. When this man cries, the skies pour rain. In his angriest moments the forest booms with thunder and lightening shatters the stark dark night sky. He can grant wishes and forgive sins. He does not call these sins or wishes, but situations, circumstances, and the future. Some call this man the devil, other call him God.
You are not to find this man unless you are meant to find this man. People have wandered the woods for weeks on end searching and searching, but they always find only the edges of the forest and return starving and hysterical. The trees whisper secrets about their neighbors at night.
Paul believes it is his turn to find this man. He climbs out of the window to the bedroom of his mistress, and slowly eases his way back home. His wife is already fast asleep. Only the eldest child had noticed Paul didn’t return home on time that night. Paul had begun to come home later and later. Work was busy…
Work wasn’t busy, in fact it was the opposite. Paul was allowed to leave early most days, they hadn’t a need for his services for the hours that were previously required. He wasn’t about to loose his job, there was just a lull in the economy. He spent half his days pushing numbers and the other half of his day keeping secrets. Paul met someone.
This fair skinned dame had bright blue eyes that Paul just melted over. He couldn’t look away, he couldn’t stop thinking of her. Her name was Rose, how appropriate.
