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shadow [14 Jun 2011|11:41pm]
[ mood | complacent ]

I’m quietly overwhelmed by all my feelings lately, throbbing to the forefront of my mind like an math equation that hasn’t been planned out thoroughly. I get into a screaming match in the middle of the night, throwing my voice and words around like an avalanche. The women in my life know me so well, spilling their thoughts into words that sound like an echo of my own thoughts. My anxiety builds, and it threatens to overthrow this bleak shadow of a blanket I’ve wrapped my skin in or vice versa. Once the heart is splintered there is no going back, it swallows up the rest of you into an ocean of anguish. I dream of drifting into the night… taken by the darkness of the stars, the melancholy stare of the moon until my body disintegrates into a pile of ashes, even my clothes taken by the bleakness of the night.

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the truth in your lies [04 Mar 2011|11:10pm]
[ mood | cold ]

She slivers in like some deadly snake, quaking in the night and I take a stab at crying out like a lonesome dove. She picks at my feathers, until her teeth are wrapped around my throbbing head, taking me all in with her mouth. I am crying again, again, again. Stop it. This madness is indefinitely maddening. How does one keep a secret? By tightening those pretty red lips made of venom with a quickening, slick tongue. I want to use the word hate but it isn’t heavy enough, valid enough because hate only comes when the love has rotted away. Strange that I can feel her love even if she struck my name like some unknown rhythmic cord and hid it away from her irrational, homophobic mother. I wonder if she will strip naked one day for a man, thicken with a tightened orgasm and reach the throes of passion in which I took her quick on that shadowy bed with wide open windows. I wish to be a man sometimes, then she would not keep me embedded in secret.

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the truth in your lies [04 Mar 2011|11:08pm]
 
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without love i won't survive [10 Nov 2009|01:05pm]
[ mood | drained ]

The moon is still full and pregnant in my dream, dancing across the sky as it did in my reality only a week or so ago. It’s harmonized with the baby child wrapped in blankets beside me. What a dream. I make a horrible mother. She is brown skinned with deep chocolate eyes, and tiny fingers staring up at me. I listen to her heart beat silently, and shake her to make sure she is still alive. This baby child has shown up in my dreams before, the night before but that dream is not as cross as this one. I leave her alone, in a humongous house and expect nothing to happen to her. Guilt riddles me as I awake from this madness. The house I lived in full of emptiness and the land before it flooded with not enough space, houses upon each other as if they were shields from the outside world.

Apparently these sort of dreams (which I’ve never had until now) are significant. Most often I have dreamt of being pregnant but not of an actual baby. In a way I have been in a deep, dark, scary place for some time, and perhaps it is time my dreams reflect that. The neglect of oneself rearing it’s ugly head into my subconscious. Lately I’ve been feeling spoon fed of ideas I’d like to construct and then I find myself complacent, even lethargic. I have rubbed myself wrong this year and there is so little solace inside myself. I am haunted by my own insanity, by the madness that has often surrounded me. I hate my body but this is not new for I’ve struggled with this hatred since adolescence although never developed the disorders many women my age did at the peak of fashion mags in the nineties showing heroin chic chicks like Kate Moss wrapped in skin and bones. I was thinner then though, my metabolism quicker to wrap everything up and wash it away – I walked longer.

I’ve been avoiding work emails, and phone calls. Why do I do this? It’s almost as if I cannot stand the idea of pressing myself to the camera lens right now. I am too raw at least it feels this way. If it is not for a friend I cannot bear my soul for green paper that I will throw away anyway on something stupid, and whimsical. I want to break away from the heartbreak that has haunted me these years, shed my skin and start anew. Strange that most recently a man told me it was obvious that I was a woman who had had her heart savaged. Is it that obvious? Do I wear the scar on the outside as readily as it is on the inside? Some people see me better than others. Although someone very close to me told me that I do not seem okay. What does this even mean anymore?

Once had, barely forgotten. I am always fascinated by people who had not seemed to genuinely be in love – for then would you desire someone else? I do not want the kind of love that is shared. I wish I could be that way. I have tried so hard to shape my romanticism into something other than what I am. I suppress everything though as if I were a bottle nipped shut by a cork. How do people recover from the tenderness of true love? I wish I could wrap my head around my heart and turn it’s strangeness into logic. Is it true even when it ends?

enough [22 Jun 2009|09:09pm]
[ mood | jealous ]

I used to think it was that I didn’t love her enough if there is such a thing, and now I know that it is that I love her more than myself enough to sacrifice my desires and wants to appease her own. In a way I’m haunted by all the love I feel for her, stretching out through miles like the space between two people that is only measured in breaths. Suppression is key and so it only comes out in the briefest of moments when I am too drunk to control my heart. It trickles to the surface like a burst of electricity searching for the moment to unleash itself to make its territory known. It is no wonder I’ve never quite been able to move once my heart fell for hers it was destined to stay that way. I can live with the emptiness of regrets, of the ugly horror that came later in life with people who I couldn’t love to certain degrees – and most of all I can live with the idea of her and I never, ever being together – because in a way it’s what I deserve what I have to live through. It is part of my love map.

love. you. [03 Jun 2009|12:28am]
[ mood | jealous ]

My heart is all the rage, wet and slippery beyond my fingertips. Occasionally I can hear an echo in my head, a rhythmic voice telling me to rip it out. These images have always haunted me. A stiff, still beating heart doused on the floor against a pile of blood and fluid – always half wooden and steel. Thump, thump, thump.

Memorial day brings out a crazy load of demons piling themselves like wiry soldiers in my mind. The night before a riot breaks out – right before my doorstep and I stumble to reach for a group of small children in the middle of an ugly cross fire. I can’t help but think death has made a soldier out of me, worse because I have no real image of his lifeless body sometimes I wish in darker moments that I did. That I’d had the guts to face him unmoving, and solid – his once full of light and life body stiff in front of me – but all I can remember is the coffin and the flag. The sound of another lover telling me he wad dead and the way my skin felt in that long sleeve black dress, how I wanted to crumble on the dirt when the coffin shrunk on the ground of snow. I can see myself from afar like a broken down doll, bodies holding me up – his mother walking towards me her arms all wide to take me in. This ache never goes away it has simply found a way to survive inside of what feels like a tomb.

Is it wrong to wish it was me instead of him? Could my life have substituted his own? He was so much better than me – at everything.

i feel about you now. [16 Feb 2009|12:54am]
[ mood | surprised ]

Is it possible to know someone without really knowing them? As if there is some instantaneous connection pulling you together, like two strands of a cord wrapped up in a coil shade of gold. I’ve experienced this only once, in a different shade, and from a different place and time when my heart was floundering in uncertainty. This could easily be a drunken moment, the endorphins of a fit of dancing till my body urged with pain getting their kick on. It doesn’t feel that way though. Isn’t it all about feeling - everything, anything? The music is loud, drowning my ears, and since my body isn’t moving I’m in for a shocking moment of truth when the pain is more fierce than anything else – except her who sticks in my mind. I touch her face. I can’t remember if I’ve seen her all night, not that I’ve been paying attention to faces. They’ve all blurred together in the spiral of my body, and hair. Her skin is soft beneath my palm and I pull away as she looks up at me in surprise – satisfaction maybe. Later she tells me she couldn’t keep her eyes off me, as if they’d perched a spot on my flesh she couldn’t wipe clean. I tell her she looks like someone, some so special I’m not sure which one of them I want more the ghost from the past, or the flesh that is real and lingering in front of me. A smile so wide, and eyes so dark with anticipation I’m pulling out my card before my fingers can do anything else. She repeats her name over and over again. I laugh, telling her I’ll remember because I will.

She stays close in my mind, after it focuses on walking to the subway, down the steps and into a car. (I wait with Paula who reminds me all night of how precious my friendships are and how lucky I am to have women in my life who I love, and who love me. Even if a thousand strands of time pass between us our closeness and easiness never fades like riding a bike after years of not having one.) This woman is stuck, Jae. Jae. Jae. Jae. Maybe it is all about timing, luck – when you open yourself up to possibilities the universe throws you a bone. I worry the rest of the morning whether she’ll lose my card. I don’t believe in secrets or stalling. I give anyone interested my card, better they know I’m a gypsy and have a revolving life that spawns emotional outbreaks then for them to learn later. I am what I am. I don’t sleep as the sun comes up, and lay my eyes across the high ceiling and hear someone walking their dog outside talking, loudly. I am still worrying then. The anticipation is enough to entwine a thousand needles of caterpillars in my stomach that quickly merge to butterflies. She doesn’t wait long, on the train my phone lights up and there she is telling me I’ve got her curious, and the conversation runs into the next day. I take it back, we never know anyone our minds and hearts just wander over them in some recognition of mindfulness or soulfulness either one. She’s struck a cord, a tender openness in my heart that was awaiting the plucking so I guess that’s luck or heartbreak.

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slumdog [08 Feb 2009|01:44am]
[ mood | sleepy ]



He says we can live on love. It’s a dynamic and endless theme – love, love, love without food or water we could live on love. I’ve always thought this, wouldn’t your body confine itself to the knowledge, your brain working to remind your stomach it was full of everything else. Consumed by the power, and overwhelming sensation of it, when you have nothing this notion is so much better than the alternative – having nothing with no one. The problems of our childhood melt away like shadows in the night, monsters ridden and bound together elsewhere in our memories. Sure, we could live on love. Our thirst for anything else would be redefined.
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You built my hopes up so high [04 Feb 2009|03:21pm]
[ mood | grumpy ]

A switch hits, back in reverse. I hold onto the clutch of my heart and it breaks. The tears run like a river of change but I’m right back to where I started. The grief still stifles me, oddly enough I can take a good physical beating, scratched and bruised and bleeding all over the place but my heart can’t emerge unscathed from the emotional journeys, everything quakes inside of me like a volcano about to erupt. I’m stuck in nightmares lately, the haunting ugly shades of them. I’m on the couch sobbing uncontrollably, till I grab a mirror just to see if my skin looks as red and burning as it feels. Fuck it feels so bad, like the first moments I heard of his death. I’m stuck inside this foreign paradise in my dreams where he is alive, talking to me on that rock by the bomb fire telling me we’ll be together – and I awake angry, and anxious.

All my friends have lovers, boyfriends or girlfriends and I can’t seem to tame the longing inside of me. The self destruction phase of his death is over, the trying to grapple with it when it makes no sense. Someone so young could die so soon. I miss him every fucking day, every day. I wish someone would have told me the pain wouldn’t disperse that it would only increase – sometimes I find myself screaming like an wild woman, a werewolf at no one and nothing in particular just the glow of his smile lingers in my mind and it breaks through like an shade of sunshine on a gloomy day. His car pulling up beside me, his head tilting to look at me with so much power of love I never knew how to hold it. I am covered in a window of white, a widow of some sorts for there is way he knew me no one else will. There are burdens lovers disperse on you with conditions but he never held any, and maybe it was I who made too big a deal of his shortcomings but we were young, and love is idealistic and centric to your life then. There is nothing else to hold you.

I listen to Led Zeppelin in the back of my mind, holding the remnants of our summers together, my back pressed along his hard chest, his shoulders carrying all my weight. The way he smelled like soap even after gym class, or the way he’d pat me on the head just to annoy me. The way we’d strum pot stricken lips and hands across each other, and how he’d make me laugh till I cried in fits. We broke each other’s hearts every summer, every winter, and would come back together like two puzzle pieces matched to work under any circumstance the birch of wood fought us. His grave is wet with snow, sunken into the ground where his body lays and I perch my feel there where only that rests the rest of him is with me somewhere, making me laugh sometimes, or sing and dance around my room. He’s with me while I write this book and so I think of him more often now – but I cringe when people press the word time. Time is only one essence of a symmetry of movement and my heart will never grasp the loss of a love who I could see sleep or shower.

We ran tracks on each other’s backs, and mimicked those ugly stories that betray your heart but like everything else I make headway because of his love for me. I suppose the darkness is only a part of the lightness in other days to come. For now my heart stands still, darkened and corroded. It is what it is, and one day maybe the pain will lesson by cementing my heart with another but I don’t imagine I will ever be as innocent or as pure in thought and expression as I was with him. He took the brute of my selfishness, and directness and still stumbled towards me like a moving train, never stopping, never looking back. He took my heart in his and hung onto it – till the day he died. If only the guilt would settle in my heart so that I could grieve properly. I wish he would have come to me, like all the days of childhood and romance instead of taking it all into his own unlawful hands. When you love someone you miss of them the most mundane things, the way their breath smelled when they kissed you or the lurch of their teeth when they talked. For him the things run an endless mile of memories. His stealthy body jumping out my bedroom window, and making me scream and throw myself towards it till he bounced up smiling at me with wondrous eyes. We all have first loves don’t we? The temperament of children but we never expect them to die. I hate this word, death – die. They breed together like water on ice and I want to rip them apart and wrap them in life, life, life.

The desire to runaway is quickening in my system, and if I weren’t writing this novel I would melt away somewhere, run away from this city, from this town that holds way too much of it. Who will love me more than the world I travel? A friend said this recently, and it got me thinking is it that I can’t accept love because the world gives me so much more than what a lover can – or is that my heart has just become a stone wall and even knocking it down with a bowling ball wouldn’t trigger an solution. We all close up for other reasons, embark on different journeys of the heart because of it but mine is restless and broken for even before this I was a wreck in this department now I’m just a raging fever of madness, and betrayal afraid everyone I love will be whisked away someday to a faraway land I can’t get to till life finalizes my time. I’ve got to believe we will meet again, somewhere – sometime otherwise I’d never awake from my nightmarish dreams and settle into a deep slumber where death and life converge.

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music [21 Jan 2009|07:49pm]
So I’m writing an Vampire themed novel, and really need some musical inspiration to write to, anyone?
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The Holidays [07 Jan 2009|06:14pm]
[ mood | nostalgic ]

The snow crushes beneath my shoes, and I run my cold bare finger along the door of the car wiping soot from it I draw a line straight across the handle. I’m stuck, but it doesn’t matter much. My brain and heart play tricks on me during the holidays, disturbing a thoughtful process of quickness I find myself emerged in self pity and self doubt which is nearly the same thing. I spend Christmas Eve crying on the couch, watching old black and white movies drunk on gin – and I laugh a little because this is what I do when I hurt – I laugh. It’s a mechanism I’ve learned over the years to sustain the pain. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Drunk, and sad weren’t how the holidays should play out but I’m lost in memories, and the past draws in on me like a gush of wind and once Christmas comes I can’t seem to get him off my mind. It’s endless. I’m so fucking angry that I can feel my heart beating faster than usual, but how can I can I be angry with the dead? As if I am saying I don’t want his presence lingering – but it feels torturous. After he died I once thought I saw his mom on the bus home. I wanted to call out to her, but couldn’t as if I were living some bad, ugly nightmare. Time means nothing in the grand scheme of things, don’t people get that? They always say time – time. Its bullshit as if we’re lagging on some restless ship at sea that won’t move its sails.

I remember crawling into the bathroom on my birthday, drunk – so drunk that I slapped someone in the face. I was missing him. I was angry. Death brings anger – a rage that gnaws at your insides, and my birthday ended with its own rage. Ugly and lifeless I shattered skin by a stranger and watched blood pour from my knees, and bruises emerge on my face. Not a good, nice way to ring in a new age of birth – of life. I am fucked up. I can’t deny it nor pretend but maybe it is all this heartache that makes me special. These horrible things in 2008 that made me clench, and push harder towards peace and understanding. I worked my ass off, threw myself into making art and being photographed till I became bored and frustrated. I feel useless in this sense now, as a model I am aching to rush towards some random opportunity. It is pulling me somewhere, anywhere – and I find myself shaking feeling a need for a change. I am writing more, and want to go back to school. In DC I scribbled names of photographers and artists down on paper, hoping to email them and ask them if I could work with them. Anything to get me out of this funk - this permanent state of dissatisfaction. I am unhappy but I can’t seem to tell anyone this.

In the movie theater on Christmas I find that the tears just come, as if an endless supply has erupted from my tear ducts – and it won’t stop. Watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button I slip into memories of my own love affairs, stir when I realize his friends are sitting only seats away from us and I suppress a small laugh. This is a joke, I think. It isn’t hard to understand this story, but my heart goes out to Benjamin as I’ve never quite understood our obsession with never aging since living away, a step behind or ahead of those we love is really agony either way. Benjamin lives elsewhere in the time continuum growing younger with each breath, growing away from those closest to him. I begin to cry towards the halfway part of the film where the lovers meet after many failed attempts at romance suddenly it all breaks through like a rushing wave – and then a soft restless calm. It isn’t calm at all though, but with love there are the peaks and valleys – the rage of the heart when it knows something has to come to an end. The moment they fall onto the mattress perched on the floor in a tiny, beautiful apartment I begin to weep. It’s as if all this pain I’ve been holding back sees itself morphed on screen.

I’ve never quite understood the superficial needs of lovers for I’ve always related more to wanting one person, and that holding enough happiness for me. I could live happily and comfortably inside an apartment like theirs with a simple mattress strewn across the living room floor – rushing to the kitchen after endless love making for a bottle of water and some fruit. It would be enough for me. Not for everyone, but for me enough. This story is so sad that I almost feel like I am watching a giant car wreck, knowing full well this can’t end happily but then again does good love ever end happily? There is always loss involved no matter how you love or don’t love for that matter. Relationships have a timelines – it is inevitable that we lose each other by mere accident of fate, or fault – or simply death. We all enter into love with this knowledge, and hold on tightly in fear of this one tiny fact. I wouldn’t want to live outside of the people I love, the lover I desperately wanted – that is no way to live, backwards – smothered in a dark repression of desires – and needs. Give me old age last so that I may spend every day before that growing old, and silly with someone that I love. That is life that is love, wrinkles and all. Memories lost in the foreground.

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misled [03 Dec 2008|09:38am]
[ mood | nostalgic ]

We lock ourselves in makeshift cages, the kinds that only we hold the keys to and yet expect others to get through. I’m floating on a glass cloud, push – push – push – slam – break. Oh this imagery is every day. My mind is racing, coughing up useless information or useful depending on my mood. I substitute insanity for rage. I wonder if it’s possible that I have begun to define myself by where I am. The airport, a bus, a train – a book in hand my purse hitting my hip while I let it dangle across my shoulder falling just there – there as I walk or move. I am tired of the disconnect between myself and other human beings, always with an gadget in hand lips and mouth numb. Movement crossed only by fingertips or earphones in ones ear. Am I the only one that thinks people look more and more like aliens every day?

In Philadelphia I toss my bag to the side and plop down on a rocking chair leaving my thoughts to wonder. I am sad, sitting there by myself. When I tell a friend a week or so later that this life is a lonely one he makes a joke. It’s harmless but it feels like a punch, a stab in the heart. People like to keep things clean, in the shape of cookies and cutters. But I am lonely and it doesn’t change how many airplanes I board, how many strangers I sit next to I am still at the end of every trip a little more lonely than I was before it all began. No, this life is better than the ones I’ve had before but sometimes I wish I could press the slow button and let it all reach a speed I can understand and partake in. Saying goodbye to friends, and lovers makes my heart expand and then compress. It isn’t healthy, and I find myself crying in fits or laughing – one extreme to another. A dash of cake, and gin followed by too much red meat in a state of euphoria it all implodes.

I am shaking somewhere Vegas, Houston – both airports I trudge into the public restrooms find a stall and cry. I hate leaving these people I love. Blood has never meant very much to me. It is more about the family I’ve created – sometimes it’s magical that I can have so much in so many places – a million different lives waiting for me but it is making me crazy. Pieces of me spread out everywhere, a longing to bring myself together creeps at me. Away I long for New York – the shot-y subway lights, the way it stops sometimes and all of us in the car are faced with looking at one another again. When I was young, you made friends in the subway crashed into people. I still feel less lonely in New York than anywhere else. I love the crisp air that is filling the city blocks, the sound of my heels on the cement as I walk – the way when it is cold enough my breath dashes into the air. My heart is here, here, here. My head is everywhere. I sleep like a madwoman, and dream of too many things that when I arouse again I tug at my sheets till I am asleep again. I miss so many people, even those from the past linger somewhere.

I am too young to have a dead lover. I think of him sweeping me into his arms, my young and naïve head falling on his chest. We look so soft and sweet in photos. The clock was ticking – tick – tick – tick. I love you. I love you now. I love you forever. The shape of our hands together for everyone to see, his arms full of my books even when my ego raged at him to let me carry them on my own. He used to run past me, tap me on the head – scream my name like an animal awaiting his prey. It doesn’t make sense to me this clock that ticks for all of us caught him too quickly. He pressed his heart to mine before he died and still I can’t get passed it. The heartbreak swells inside of me making pigmented babies. This year is shaped like an old fashioned roller coaster, and it stirs and makes creaky noises as it moves but I see an end to it. Maybe an softness will come over me soon. I feel too raw now, as if I have just broken from the womb and surfed forward – rushed, scattered. I need some ground to carry me back.

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the end [08 Nov 2008|11:07pm]
[ mood | indescribable ]

Sometimes I get so hungry for him I could sleep on the ground above his grave and pretend he's still alive.

yes. [05 Nov 2008|10:58pm]
[ mood | happy ]

Now this is an America I want to be a part of. The people of this country have restored my faith in the intelligence of this country, and what it was founded on. As someone who once majored in political history this has such an amazing impact on me. During the past couple months I’ve listened patiently to republicans ideals and beliefs about Obama, cringing when people would stupidly say that he is a Muslim or that he’ll forget all about white America I stood up last night with my friends of all races and religions and thought finally we all have a place to feel at home. I expect to find myself outside the white house gates in the next year just looking in and thinking, “the man who put us back together is walking around in there”.

To think four years ago this man was getting screened at airport security. Oh how things have changed.

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the space is limited in more than one place [23 Oct 2008|12:46am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

My eyes glimpse the message letting me know he’s written me, and feel an momentary flinch shifting in my heart but it passes. He hasn’t written me anything spectacular but after everything this summer I can’t help but smirk when I realize it doesn’t hurt quite as much as it did when he began to ignore me after his love looked like it would burst in my bedroom. I should change that, it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Love must find a way of reinventing itself, emerging as something new but I know that he is not the man, or person for me. It could be because there have been reminders that there are other people out there in the wilderness and that the hope of finding someone who may compliment my life revives me. It doesn’t change that I love him deeply, and may revisit that love for him again one day but for now I think I’ll lock it up in a box and throw away the key. I may keep running for awhile since it suits me for now. I can face the remains of this relationship but it does not mean that I am quite yet ready to face myself without it. Maybe that makes me an coward or weak, unaware who knows.

I am anxiously anticipating my Las Vegas trip, the elevation – the sunsets out there always make me feel like a child on the closest footsteps to another universe. It will be exciting to see Jenni after all this time away from her. It is unfair in a way that most of the women I am close to are all scattered throughout the country. I suppose we’re all sort of gypsies, unable to stick to one place or even together for too long but I think that’s why we all end up appreciating one another. At least that is one interpretation. It does sort of suck when I am really missing one of my girl friends for example when I spotted photos of my friend Jessa on an photographers computer a few weeks ago I started to cry. Oddly enough the last time we saw one another I had just had a spurt of tears after expressing that her new boyfriend reminded me of my dead lover. Oh the stories we all end up having in our lives. I am happy though that I’m making the trip, buying the ticket felt like a catharsis. In Vegas I get to see three of my favorite women then I rush off to Houston to spend Thanksgiving with Simon and muse ourselves into a frenzy. The only downer is that I have to pay for my baggage, and for a model that is a sad sad thing especially since I literally stand on a scale holding my bag every time I go on a trip just to make sure it doesn’t go over the weight limit. Not to mention I’m keeping wardrobe in my bathroom now. It’s New York, space is limited.

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if you want me satisfy me [15 May 2008|11:29pm]
[ mood | gloomy ]

I feel unhinged lately, a soft broken feeling in my heart that dissects itself deep inside my soul. I miss her so much sometimes it becomes a great gnawing in my body, reaching right down to my toes and although it was one kiss I was left with a long time ago it inches its way forward in my memory. It is right to say I’m hungry for her once again my heart is burning for her. I want to tell her she’s my muse, that I’m writing again – that I’m writing about her snippets of poetry lay everywhere. I suppose writers are always right about love that loving someone every day of your life is an act of faith you awake every morning knowing you will love the same person. I can’t break it down in my head anymore except that I wish we could turn back the clock to when she would call me at 10:00 in the morning, just to wake me up and hear my voice. I remember the way my head laid against the pillows, and how the light streamed in my window. I cry a little sometimes, randomly when no one can really ask why I am crying – at a movie, at a song, at a story – sometimes I’m just crying for all the chances we never had. For the love that hasn’t been buried. All these years, all these years half together and half apart – half obstructed and all I want to do is find a way to be together. I don’t let it consume me but it is forever in my thoughts. There must be something to the fact that we have never really parted, that there has never been a real coffin on our love. I love her. I think sometimes we could go back and do it differently although not back in time but that we could feel all those feelings we felt at the beginning. There is still so much passion between us. I’m afraid to admit it, afraid to say it aloud but I wish for us. I wish for us to fall together, and never fall apart again. She has always been my one constant. I want to tell her what I think. I just don’t know how. I feel like there is not enough time and that it is always stirring around us like a leech. I want her and I want to make it more real than it’s ever been.

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all these triggers are making me ache [26 Jan 2008|12:21am]
[ mood | indifferent ]

We fall in love accidentally, plunging ourselves into an abyss that we cannot escape until the love is wiped clean. It is almost like cleaning up a murder scene, dusting off your prints and picking up the pieces of what was tossed into the air. We cannot help these things as humans we simply fall, and let the pieces lay where they will. I am especially victim to letting my heart wander where it shouldn’t, falling for those who will never love me and go as far as to tell me so. I stare at him, sparked with confusion and frustration for this will subsequently define us. All these thoughts and feelings that rang so strong, and had strung themselves along my heart have left me broken. He can feel it when he reaches for me, tugging at the fabric of my jacket telling me he doesn’t want me to be sad – too late.

I am such prey to his sad brown eyes, and I almost forgive him but my heart swells with fury and an ugliness I cannot explain. He doesn’t want to leave me. I can feel it so stiff in the air I am choking on it. The subway doors open and our bodies are already so far apart after I held back tears inside his bedroom where I later laid quietly, perched near his wall tight inside my jacket. I knew he watched me then too. I don’t move to touch him, to kiss him goodbye. We are strangers now, broken and mutilated strangers after so much tenderness. I look up to see him staring again, his hand pressed against the window looking guilty, grief stricken even. It’s as if he can tell we have lost that something special to, and he is trying to hold on. I feel like we are drowning and all this potential love is suffocating me. He doesn’t know that it has nowhere to go. I will stay heartbroken until someone else can spark those lights he so effortlessly tapped into. We are dead.

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i'm back... sort of [23 Sep 2007|12:43am]
[ mood | nauseated ]

I’m beginning to wonder if there is something that happens within someone’s heart and soul when your lover turns out not to be your lover at all. It’s a dream that just never made its way to fruition. I cower in fear when the word love is brought up. My hands begin to shake. I can have sex, kiss whoever whenever but the moment I feel it may be possible to fall in love I shut it down. Maybe it was easier with him for the moment I felt I could love him he ruined it with carelessness. We have passion but it does not play outside of the bedroom and even at dinner I never know what to say. I felt that something was happening that day in the park before my things were stolen and I don’t doubt that it was but I have this habit of disregarding people when they treat me with little respect when I am in need. I can’t seem to bring myself to tell him how much he hurt me that day. I’ve become used to all these men throwing themselves at me, when my job is to stand in front of a camera and have my picture taken men will claw their way to you as if their lives depend on it. Arm candy, I suppose. I need some sort of release from all of this. With someone I do love I need to be drunk to kiss him, even though he seems to understand this especially when he tells me I run from him – which isn’t a lie. I cannot afford to be in love. There is too much of this in my life, and no real time to figure it all out. It is always this time of the month that drives me to the brink.

Although the pressure of this industry I’ve gotten myself involved in has its own madness for me. In the front of my mine I keep repeating “let this agency sign me”. All these romantic entanglements are just adding more stress where it is unneeded. Maybe I will begin writing here again for some kind of release.

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[07 Dec 2006|11:03am]
I do miss you.

[05 Dec 2006|12:53am]
[ mood | sad ]

Luke is going to fuck everything up for me.

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