if you can't be mine you will never be yours

i saw she had a sticker book under her desk. I just wanted to see it, so i took it when she went to sharpen her pencil. It was kind of sad because there wasn't much in it, a few pages of junk stickers and nothing else. Still, I ended up shoving it in my book bag. i liked her so much that i couldn't stop treating her mean.

At the end of class I saw her looking all over for the book, of course she blamed me. I had thrown her markers out of the window, one by one earlier in the week. The teacher didn't see and she didn't tell. But, this time she was really angry, she got all red in the face and even started crying. I told her i didn't have her stupid sticker book, what would i want with some ugly girls crappy stickers. she kicked me, hard and I deserved and half liked it. the bell rang again and it was the end of school.

i rode a bike home and on my way i stopped at the candy store. they had stickers. the good kind. the cool kind. hologram and scratch n stiff, snoopy and garfield, unicorns, rainbows, ...everything. I had money. I sold candy at school. I'd split up hubba bubba and bubble yum packs and sell them 25 cent a piece. Starbursts, Now and Laters, Jolly ranchers - they were my best sellers.

When she came into class the next day the book was on top of her desk . she glared at me, but i could tell she was excited to have it back. It was fun watching her open it, check to see if i messed anything up. I had spent half the night filling the entire book with the coolest stickers i could find. I made her cry again, but it was the good kind I think.

Your ghost fits my skin

Rearranging the house takes my mind off of it. I watch football in between the lifting and carrying and taking down and placing back up. Football reminds me of winter. So does this room i'm in.

I've moved the BIG screen t.v. into a different room. You know that room where nobody ever goes into? A living room that you never see anyone actually living in. Although she has been on that couch.

I changed it all up an now I'll be using the supple leather sofa and I am surrounded by great artwork and books, and this is where I put the Christmas tree come December. so now i am in there and it smells like Halloween candy corn and ghosts of past Holidays. It feels different.

cleaning, moving, shaking. the addiction still lingers. always there, underneath it all. always hidden. always waiting. I go through fits of rearrangement. my home, my job, my music, my life.

and I have a wife that my girlfriend would know about. and I have you that i can't resist. Everyone else tends to know me for the wrong reasons. words and repetition. recall and tattoos.
striped socks and panties pulled to the side. glasses, no glasses. an over active imagination. dirty. A girl coming to visit. disaster. A girl leaving. heart break.

I've mixed things around in the bedroom too.
moved the bed to near the window, the dresser, the vintage cedar love chest. lying on the bed they start to feel like they belong. Would she ever have felt that too?
Now, my head faces north when I sleep, in the direction you are now. in the direction of snow and winters. the furniture has moved. There has been change but nothing has changed only became more certain, more real. I've shamelessly borrowed her memories and stories, rearranged things and I've made them mine. her body, her shape, she finally feels familiar.

marked you like a scar

every blank page becomes some kind of story. Even if they're all lies or just moments pulled from imaginary times or even real people mixed up together. Every blank page, i do this. Not that i like words or poetry. I don't. Although, I'll probably pour over these very words over and over admiring my own voice. Wondering, Have i not said this all before?


It's just soothing. It feels right. I feel right with you.
Like mowing the lawn in perfect rows underneath the summer sun. Something about it makes me calm. you calm me.

I'm sorry but I can't stand to read her blogs any longer or his or yours or mine. And when i see stanza lines of poetry they make me shutter instantly.
I mean
What is this?
writing a few words and then.....
down to the next!
stupid
stutter

the next pretty word
pretty boy
pretty girl
pretty lies
maybe if it's written this way
you'll read it this way
and then understand
how I see it in my head

one breath at a time
one kiss
one orgasm
one hold her in my arms under a
dirty moon glow

it doesn't matter how bad we are together
it's still calming
the words feel like touch
and i will
if you let
me

photo credits: 1.heliumglow 2.pearlandopal 3.mladyieva 4.TrishMoreira

If you put it in slow will it hurt?

she packs her little black bag
and comes over with a half pack of cigarettes and
full of regret
she doesn't smoke but they
remind her of him and the safety
net
waiting and

waiting around for her back
home
and it's all the reason why
she's here

catch me

I'm falling

it doesn't matter now

but maybe she'd get used to this
thing with me already
and it'd somehow be worth the lies
and dirty
she feels
having to lay
by my side

the kind of grime and hollowness she tells me, that doesn't wash off

even after a scalding hot rape-shower.

maybe she just needed more convincing
that i am everything
she never wanted
that she couldn't believe I breathed the same air
and lived under the same skies
as everyone else

because I was like

no one else
or
far worse

i was the same as everyone

and here I go even
before i get home to her.
I go home to her. the other one, she lives in the apartments less than a mile away from my house.
and I go there and she touches what she touched
we have sex
I don't let myself come if that's any consolation
I save it
for when I get home

then
I put it in her
with a shame full kind of violence
like i can somehow force my
dick and soul
into her all at
once
i know it wont keep her mine
but it keeps her
mine now

less than an hour from being
inside of someone else
I push myself off of her
I do it just like that
shoving at her sweaty skin , leaving her breathing hard. used. and she doesn't see it but I wink at the ceiling as if it's my pal.
as if I won something, like showing off to the heavens.

see,you haven't hurt me. You can't hurt me.

I am wrong of course. I'm wrong about everything.
you wouldn't know it
but I am in love with her
and I hate myself for it.

art by: MISS VAN

I have seen you in various stages of madness

"I neither look forward, where there is doubt, nor backward where there is regret; I look inward and ask myself not if there is anything out in the world that I want and had better grab quickly before nightfall, but whether there is anything inside me that I have not yet unpacked. I want to be certain that before I fold my hands and step into my coffin what little I can do and say and be is completed."
-Quentin Crisp
Just visiting:
Tried to figure out the way to writing a perfect love story. I thought it would be much easier down on the paper or there flashing up on the screen. all lollipops and rainbows. Alive. romantic. at least if you say it. It might make it so. I keep starting and stopping and then end up putting it away. I keep thinking it's because the attraction is always more about sex than anything else. At least in the beginning. But that's not always true. maybe just with me. maybe it's more like chasing dragonflies. where have they all gone? I haven't seen many lately. I haven't seen many bees either. honey but no bees. I have these arms for her to fall into. To hold her after. and I have these words.....and that's why I'm all screwed up.

the friends first thing and enemy later. maybe not so much enemy as regrettable and not so much regret as disappointment and not so much......Hoping to be more later than sooner. love. The dome around me. hoping you' ll come visit. love. not love. just saying it. to say it. say it. hoping the hooks sink deep and the storm flurries are like someones worst winter.

the SAY ANYTHING part. A pen so I can write about you and then someday you won't even miss that. Was there a failure just because i couldn't keep you? I don't think so. i never read her journal but I already missed her writing about me.

all the normal exaggerations of the remember and the way i had hoped things to be. The way I saw things but not in the same way as you. my passions and obsessions. meditate on this. pray on this. Our sun is the same and perhaps our god. The way if I still talked to her even when she was gone. the oh so crazy about you, with you, in you.

who does that? who waits. who cares.

some people when you leave them, they are still on your skin. you wash them off and try to cover them up. But it's like a scar. a good scar , a bad scar. There isn't much difference. i still believe nothing is perfect. Just safe. Just easy. It's not always where you want to be. and when you aren't sure of it, I can feel that. you. me. just visiting.

600: The 600 dollars promised by the government magically appeared in my checking account today. You're supposed to spend it on something you don't need. stimulate the economy. Okay. I have a sleeve of ink in progression. That's where I go with it. I also need a few things for my garage gym\music cave. I picked-up a used Pearl drum-set. Because I've always wanted one. I have a Fight Club poster on the wall. A jump rope- various weights and it's been totally cleaned over the weekend so even with my Element inside, there is plenty of room. 2 weeks into the drums, work-out, writing , eating cake. I Started running at night again. Started drinking wine again too. Sleep. little of it. no hair-cuts. no string alongs. and not to many lies.

2.A.M went for a walk. So quiet. I got to feeling meditative. I felt as though my inner self was much closer to the surface than it usually gets. It’s a nice feeling. It takes quiet to get there.