shhh.'s Journal

i feel the pressure of the silence in my ears like fingertips pushing into my head, trying to damper the sound of my own voice, i want that humming to stop, that buzz, and to fucking stop thinking about you, i can't stand, i just spread my legs on the floor and press my hands into my belly, hard, because it burns, that sound, my voice and that sound, in my esophogus, pushing from inside, fucking fingertips, scratching i n s i d e between my tiny breasts, i press them into the ground, where they disappear, remind them of touch becausetheydon'tknowyourhands, your fingernails, so clean and short, sweet baby, inside my ribcage, dragging upward from the beat the beat in my stomach, the bars, the bars, permeable, i know, i lay a finger between each rib and and try to squeeze myself back to shape, and the damp carpet, dirty and honest, just hums against my cheek.

4/24/07

I watch you float up inside that white balloon

you float up
from that drillfield
you probably walked across a hundred times

a thousand times

and i bet you hated walking across it those days
your freshman year
[some of you were still freshmen--
you felt the scratches
of the winter wind down your
nectarine cheeks,
i bet you tucked your head,
just like i did,
hoping the gusts would get lost in your hair,
hoping it wouldn't bring melted frost
tears
to your eyes

the way it did to ours today...

but you freshmen,
you dear hokie babies,
you never felt spring.
you never had
two jumbo texas margaritas at el rods
served to you by sauel,
or his wife, who double checked all our fake IDs
[who'd both be clad in polos, pastels to match the weekdays, just like (he) hated]
so that you could drive in circles
and circles
perfect, LOUD, free
circles
around the drillfield
at 2pm
between classes
with the windows down
and sunroof open
to feel the breeze and the HEAT
and the unpredictable
buzz
of life at tech

in the spring

beneath the dogwoods

like the mornings
in the wet grass
where a thousand pairs of jeans
drug through mud
into classrooms
that became crime scenes
and chilled legs
[the legs of our DDs, our give-a-littles,
who gave a lot]
to become playgrounds of surgeons

in the hospital i was born in

i bet that winter wind
bit your face the way it did mine
those days
that the cold wind blew

those days

like the day

you died

the wind hasn't blown like that since.
it hasn't blown like that without you.

while we stand around like statues
(we are your memorials, everyday, dear hokies)

i watch
one person at a time
let go
of you

your breath in a balloon

mine too,
in all of our lungs

pounding

beating against the cloudless monday morning sky
(blacksburg has never seen such a beautiful sky)

you float into this boldness
this thick periwinkle

you glow against the blue
and your maroon and orange ribbons
float and fly behind you

we are there

we follow you up

we are your tail
here to tell your tale
here to breathe your breaths
and fill your spaces

to follow you up

32 white balloons

a thousand orange and maroon pockets of air

[like the 2 he stole from each of you]

twenty-six thousand breathing hokies
fixated on that sky
on your perfect white bubbles, dancing against pure blue, floating above grey stone
carried to heaven
on a blanket of orange and maroon

we stood
for months, i think
sucking in the warm air
of home
[our home--and yours, dear hokies]
gently and lightly
just enough
to blow you higher
with skyward tilted lips

freeing you from his face

and thanking you
with every piece of me

for what you brought us
what you left us

for what you made us

god bless the hokies.

4/16/07
i want to wrap
this scarf
around my face
a hundred times

strain my air
through the alternating

orange
and maroon

orange
and maroon knit,

warm that same fucking wind
that wakes us up

every hour

all 15 girls
three weeks from graduation
and lying restless

shaking

together

in lines like corduroy
across the living room floor.

that wind shakes the windows
so that we won't fall asleep

so that we won't fall asleep
and for even just one second forget that maybe
there are two
two killers
two gunmen
and only one
sleeps forever
tonight
in the puzzle pieces
he shot himself into

that scatter in
our
classrooms

with the pieces of
our
32 friends.

[god bless my beautiful school.]

Finally all moved in in San Francisco! The trip out here was life-changing, our house is gorgeous and has this view of water and Berkeley's clock tower, and I don't think I could have ever made a better decision.

Welcome to summer!

i have too much faith in people
and not enough in myself.

I want the freedom of California

i want the stories
the pictures
the individuality
the independence
the adventure
the alone time
the ME time
the weekend trips to the mountains
the glory of OUTside
the separation
the now
the heat
the pull of waves
the wet sunsets
the big drinks
the hard classes
the change of people
the lack of sorority girls
and frat boys who know your name
the air from 2 sunroofs

i want it

i can taste it
i can't go on without it
or i know i'll never exist contently
here
again

growing up is recognizing a pull
a need for elsewhere
and refusing to accept
their first answers.

the most important thing
my mother ever taught me
is that no
never
means no,
if i don't want it to.

i am strong enough
smart enough
seductive enough

to get
anything

anything

i want.

Is it weird that I haven't talked to him in 2 solid months, and when he calls one time drunk in the middle of the night, I can't stop thinking about him again? It's not even like I want to sleep with him again...he moved to Phoenix, where he'll probably stay no more than a year before moving back to the islands, and there's a good chance i won't ever see him again. Ever is a fucking scary word.

I mean, he was my boss this summmer, a solid 7 years and one month older than I am, but he made me laugh all the time and louder than is ever appropriate. And whatever it was, after 2 months, something made him call me tonight.

happy birthday kerii (:

is it weird to want to lock my door
and ease myself on down,
to feel my arms
melt into my thighs
and my head swim all around?
is it weird to feel my face go numb
and my pulse beat in my teeth
to feel them rub, slide bone to bone
when my chest just wants to weep?
is it weird to sit up in the dark of night
and wonder why they sleep?
To call and wonder and cry and pray
and never make a peep...?

I think it's just that I can feel the brown
melting, dripping away from my skin
rinsing the sand, the steam, and the people
far from me.
My left wrist is heavy
with knotted bracelets
gray-brown from tumbling
turning flips in dirt and sand,
in sweat and sea, and dancing,
jack and diet dripping free
late into the night.
There's white skin beneath the bands,
hidden--
my ghosts, my fears
covered, cured
with dirt and sand and time.
My skin has toughened,
and though my legs are covered in bruises
they come from play, my own decesions,
an serve as memories,
that, too, will fade in time.
i want it back.
i want my sand.
i want my waves, the ones stronger than I.
the ones that knock me over
and roll me ashore
and that pull,
that constant pull,
that grabbed me, feet first,
and twisted me out past the breakers
where we floated, loose and free
no control--and no reason for it.
i want that afternoon,
all of us lined up single-file
on the top stair of the dock,
watching that tornado
as it stretched and pulled
the sky to the sea.
it spun towards us,
dizzying, drawing,
pulling us into it
and into each other.
that song, that same song,
shaking the old speakers
filling the air outside
as we sat in the pouring rain.
i want that empty island,
the one you called your own.
i want the night we sat there,
jet skis pushed up on the sand,
hushed voices spun across the water,
shot back and forth like pinballs
across the bay.
i want the words you said to me,
just to feel the drum of thunder
the way i felt
the first time.

take me back.

Full.

I like feeling full.

Everyday this summer has been full. Work every day, usually both jobs. Ending the night with drinks or strangers or a twin bed that I couldn't appreciate more. Last weekend in Tennessee with my oldest friends--the Birminghams, the Louisvilles, the Baton Rouges and the Knoxvilles. Fourth of July weekend on a farm in Maryland with my family--even my mother. The wedding, and the wink my grandfather gave me as I stood at the altar. (A promise to be there, in the same spot, when it's finally my turn.) Sitting on the dock last night with best friends from school watching fireworks over the Annapolis bay. Let's go hokie chants at the bar.

All these things are filling my insides.

Loving and living and leaving everyday...

I want to remember that today when you left this place, I was sad. I wanted you to stay. I can't wait for this summer to unfold. Thrills.

i like waking up at 8
and driving to work with the windows down
redneck guitars shaking my speakers
and the sun directly in my eyes

i like sitting on the dock
rickety splintered wood
digging its way into my skin--
skin that browns and burns
and radiates heat, even when i sleep

i like talking to strangers
hundreds a day
and loving them for being who they are--
nothing like me

and i like telling them to come back
and knowing that they will
and that I won't be here
to see them again

i like the freedom
-full throttle
--standing on a jet ski
---to watch for big snakes and fast turns
and letting my body
absorb
the vibrations, the waves
and the pain

i feel the fingers of the ocean
molding me inside
pulling, pushing
inflating

and i love it.

So I'm in the Outer Banks for the summer. I love it because parts of it remind me of camp... just the water and the boats and the smells. I'm working at this place that does jet ski and kayak rentals, and when it's not busy, I get to just take whatever I want out on the water. Most of the time I've spent splashing around, trying to catch crabs, and sitting out on the docks with the people I work with. They're amazing: 2 local girls my age, a 26-ish guy from the carribean, a 23-ish girl from colorado, and 45 year old local redneck with no inhibitions. It's sort of a big company down here, but our location is sort of the redheaded step-child, and the bosses just ignore us and let us do our own things. I'd almost want to work full time here, but I'm afraid that the lack of scenery change all day would kill me. I have to go put some kites out, but hope everyone's summer is everything they want it to be.

tk was born today. what a great idea. high five, God!

sometimes you're just in need of reaffirmation.
is maturity recognizing when you've given too much of yourself?

I don't want to be that girl.

The one who cries to cry.
To be heard crying.

But right now, I can't stop.

Twice in a week.

A plane crash.
A car wreck.

I wonder if I would have missed you
If I went my whole life not knowing
where you are
or really
if you are
anymore.

We weren't friends, really.
But were we?
Would you cry if I were gone?

I cry because my friends are crying.
Because my heart hurts
my head
and i can hear the pain
nestled deep in their throats

even when college has sent us in 100 directions
across states and over oceans
through blank emptiness
i can feel them

I think I cry because neither of you cried.
Neither got the chance.

You got in a car, wasted at 5am on a Sunday.
You got on a plane for work.

And now you're both gone.

With one decision.

In the last year, I've learned
to feed off RISK
to take chances
and hurt feelings
dance recklessly
drink heavily
and live for the night.

For that one decision.

What am I doing with my life?

Being home is so crazy. My brother and I living under the same roof, even temporarily, feels new to me. Funny to live out of suitcases and sleep in your own bed. One of those things, even 2 years after moving out, I just can't get used to.

I hate Christmas, really. And I get it from my dad. It's different when you have to make Christmas. It's different when friends stop by and I think they're just ridiculous for wanting to go out right now. I have to be here. I have to be cleaning, wrapping, decorating--we just bought our tree tonight. That's how we work...how we always have.

It's my mom's birthday, too, and my dad's was day before yesterday. They never celebrate. Their birthdays are like markers for various degrees of holiday stress. How sad, to dread a birthday.

I go to New Orleans in 9 days. And after I watch the hokies paint bourbon street a thousand shades of maroon and orange, I get to go to Baton Rouge and see Dyer and all my best friends from camp. Sequoya and Virginia Tech for New Years--Best Christmas gift ever.

hope everyone's happy--it's the best time of year to feel like this.

Teekay, I love you.

You know you can stay with me forever.

Any day.

Everyday.

Your face would make, even just a day, completely worth it.

I want to see you. I talk about you everyday, but no one understands. No one will ever understand.

I think about the way you look, just lying on your bed. I want to steal your blankies, just to make you sad. Blankies and cocaine, those are the things that remind me of you. That is why I love you. Because you pull these things together for me. These polar opposites. They are you. They are me.

You pull my life together, even when you're not really around. You live in my stories.

God, I want to see you.

I want you to be real. I want you to fill these places I have inside me. I think of your face, and the way no one else fits there but you. Your little face. I've seen it so many times, so many ways. I've seen it beside that stuffed platypus (it's a duck), and I've seen it buried beneath those crispy sheets sue tucked in so very tightly in that big quiet house. Funny how everything changes.

But honestly, all honesty to god, I just want you back here.

I'd give anything, everything. Trade my college for the hell of high school, just to have you back in my hands, my arms, oh my life, the complexity of you.

Why would I sit here now with tears streaming down my face? There's no reason for that here. Here, I am happy. Here, i thought at least, I was content. But I am not.

Not without you.

Seriously tk. I don't even know what to tell you. I can't call you. I don't want to call his phone. I just want to hear your voice, see you smile, watch you change like i do everytime i can.

to me, you are life.

you are my life, tk.

you are my changes, my growths, my regressions, my laughter, my love.

not that love, not the cheap kind.

the kind that is real. the kind that keeps you awake at night. the kind that carries you to tomorrow, everyday.

i love you, tk.

i want you home for christmas.

i don't know how to find you, but i want you back. god i miss you. everyday.

please come home.

--dorian

My roommate was at the intersection when this happened and was one of the first to call for help. I think life shows you things when you need to see them the most.

Greek Community Members of Virginia Tech,

I am the President of the Women's Studies Club on campus, as well as the
Program Director for the Women's Leadership Community in Oak Lane, and I am
writing you all on behalf of one of our own VT students (her name may not be
released at this time for confidentiality and future legal reasons). As some
of you may know, Thursday evening at approximately 8 p.m., a freshman biology
major was crossing Washington St. by McComas Hall, and was struck by a
vehicle. What you may not know are some of the details that are pressing at
this time.

1) The 40+ year old driver had been drinking enough to be significantly over
the legal limit.

2) The student was not struck- she was completely run over. TWICE. After the
drunk driver realized he had hit someone, he proceeded to put the truck in
Reverse and back over her a second time ( presumably on accident). She is a
tiny girl, and she was run over by a truck TWICE.

3) She is miraculously alive, and doing well considering her injuries. She is
suffering from a shattered pelvis, a punctured lung, an arm broken so badly
that it requires surgery, as well as massive tissue damage to her legs, arms,
and chest. She cannot move her arms hardly at all, but she is in good spirits
and was smiling both times I visited her today.

4) Her family has no medical insurance for her, and they are not independently
wealthy (a practical requirement to be able to pay medical bills of this
magnitude without major financial hardship). The family is also incurring
incidental costs from time lost from work, hotel bills, meals eaten out
because they can't cook in a hotel room, etc.
My organizations have been working hard to try and fundraise as much as
possible for this young woman, but more is desperately needed. I firmly
believe that as a community, Virginia Tech has a responsibility to help out,
even if it's only a few dollars from each of us, to help this family in their
time of need and present a unified front that Drunk Driving on our campus WILL
NOT BE TOLERATED. Although I understand the tightness of everyone's budget,
time is of the essence right now. This young woman is tough enough that she is
scheduled to be released Tuesday morning most likely, but she will be in a
wheelchair and still unable to dress or feed herself. The family will have to
help her out for a few weeks for sure, and they will lose massive amounts of
money by missing work for that.
I am asking for each of you to send this to your members, advisors, fellow
students, anyone you think would be willing to give even a single dollar to
help this young woman and her family. I am personally going door to door
collecting, getting local businesses to help out, anything that will make this
blow a little softer for them. Please help me to spread the word about this
family in need and to gather up all the help we can as a University.
If you have any questions or have gathered funds for the family, please
contact me as soon as possible at trgreen@vt.edu. You are also welcome to call
me anytime at (540) 392-8727.
Thank you all so much for your time and help. The family is eternally grateful
to the community for their aid during this difficult time.
Tracy L. Green
Founder, Women's Leadership Community
President & Founder, Women's Studies Club (wsclub@vt.edu)
Virginia Tech University
trgreen@vt.edu

I want too much.

You make me laugh,
but i want to laugh harder
and more often

and right now.

Tech tomorrow.

Thank GOD.

I love you, Roanoke. Keri's references to Famous A's and MMC&T make me melt a little, but I know the life that's best for me is not within these city limits or shining under that neon star.

Friends, thank you for the summer.
My first one at home in ten years.
A lesson swallowed hard
and fast.

And kept deep--

with the feeling of nightswimming
pirating
long smokes
and missing shoes.

The memories--I'm packing them, too.

it was good to see your name on my missed calls.

because i miss you, too.

I wake up to nothing. I set my alarm sometimes, for fear of sleeping through something extraordinary...for fear of sleeping through entire days at a time. They wouldn't be missed, I wouldn't notice, but they would be lost. Gone. Irreplaceable. I want to be busy. I want stress and hard-earned, liquor-marinated weekends, starting a day early because I can--because i do enough--because i have done *something.* I hate having this time. I wished for it, now i have it. I have it, but really it has me--flows over my skin, unchanged by my touch, yet weighing me down like your calloused hands forcing my shoulders into the ground. This time--this gift and this curse--is changing me.

a hundred things made me turn
black and white

the pictures
stared at me too long
too many times

organized

reorganized

until they mean
nothing
anymore.

they are not memories
but colors--
dots of ink, pixels

faces unfamiliar
blurred by the red
of solo cups
of blood
---dark desire for perfection
-protection

from what i wanted, what i had, what i needed, what i found.

from you, from them

from me.

but don't let me forget.
don't let it blur
and mold
and fade
in the length of summer days
and the heat of the night:

listen to me.

when i held it, it was real.
it grew with breath
and slept at night.

it exists--i do--only when others
are there to watch
to see
to mimick longingly
to laugh the next morning

and say my name

scream it

in desperation
for pacification
of the pieces of themselves
that are dying
to

chase straight tequila
with faded peppermint gum

or melt and flow
with that nameless African man
just to watch
a thick white smile pour an unfamiliar accent
soaking mahogony skin

or to sing
louder than the
rain
crashing through car windows
left open
for someone who knows
that sometimes it feels good
---just to be wet

...

i miss that girl
poor soul caught in pictures
diluted--
oh, diluted--
and faded by home.

If there is one person you cant stop thinking about.
Post this same exact sentence in your journal.
(stolen from tk)

i miss the way you like to read,
the way you buy books
because of their cover

"this will look good on my bookshelf"

but really, there's always more.

i miss the way you read about
politics, poetry

and remember

and talk about them

instead of your clothes
or your "friends"

i miss the way we like to get lost
in infamiliarity
and make it our own.

coffee shops
replacing
our splintered homes

or sprinklers
set off
in the center of downtown

shoeless, careless
skipping school
to spin
recklessly, and fully clothed
in the rainbows of water

spitting from the earth
crashing down from the sky

to wash away
our

sin.

i am here now,
sinning without you--
and it just isn't

the same.

weird the way i listen for you
the way i know you'll see me
and it will make your day

but when you step away
the dance is over

and you're gone

last night i wanted to hold you
stitch my fingers into your hair
kiss your cheek again and again

and say goodbye

i am going

and our lives will never tangle
like this
again

will you remember me?

ten years from now
will you remember that song you sing
everytime i walk in a room?

or recall that night
of confessions
a speech made on your bed

will you flip through your pictures
(the ones you didn't want to take)
and with a swollen chest
tell your friends

she's the one

four days
and that's what we'll be

faces in a scrapbook

and a story
brewing
beyond those lips.

i open my windows
because i want to fall
there is no screen
except the one i wove myself

let me out

let me out

my room is shrinking
and my clothes, the clutter
are covering my skin
my mouth

let me out

the ones i worshipped
are floating
far

in one week
daffodil fuzz, blown

in every direction

but my own

i want to stay
and catch each piece in my fist
pocket these souls
that have cared for mine

when i did not

i write down addresses
to places i will never visit
to mailboxes that
won't recognize
my overstated handwriting
(my g's, my f's, my loops are too long, tk)

postmark blacksburg

please don't forget.

because days melt away
and i simply cannot.

i wish i could tell you
what i want you to know
but i don't want it lain out like that
empty and straight
in curved letters
or slurred words
it's more to me

than that

i wish i could tell you
but it runs so deep
into my legs, my ankles
my tears
and i cannot show you
in this one night

why i am
like this
with her

i wish i could tell you
but it makes my chest heave
and my arms feel weak
and hopeless

you have secrets
i hear you whisper them to her
you promise you'll tell me
that time will come
but i do not want that
not from you
or from her

do not ask that
of me

do not buy me

my friendship

no one cracks this safe
you pull at with two hands
bang on with four fists
i will not let you inside
simply because you

picked
me

i am more

than a night's

secret

i cannot show you my weakness
though you hear her voice on the phone
you do not know what she says
when she's alone
the way she tells me

that i am nothing

that i am selfish
when all i can think of is yall

that i am spoiled
when i ask for nothing
and go with only what you give

that i am weak
when my muscles pulse

fiercely beyond my sleeves

i want you to know
but not yet
not now
maybe not ever

because we cannot pick our confidants

i don't want to show you
simply because you ask

i want to feel it

like i did with her

with him

that handful of people
who know why i hide
why my door is locked
and hers won't open

who knows why she laughs
full belly
on the telephone
but can't crawl

even on hands and knees

wheelchairs and fears

into the eye of any sun

i want you to know
that i have secrets too
but i want you to respect
their silence...

me, jess, megan and megan
sarah, me, molly

sarah, me and molly

it's funny how distant i feel from the one who owned my world this summer. I almost disregard the missed calls--and they're always missed calls these days. Where I am? I know you wonder. I used to wonder the same. I used to sit by my silent phone or lie in your empty bed and wait for you. Waiting and waiting. I only smiled when thoughts of you ran through my head or your thick fingers ran through my hair. But I don't need that any more. You wanted it all, and god you could have had it, but your grip was loose and your focus was shared, and I've slipped through your fingers into my own sky. A hundred new hands hold me up high, and I am weightless. You cannot reach me and I will not fall to meet you. I will not fall again.

sometimes i feel like everything is working out. i love it here. i don't know if y'all know that. blacksburg is awful. my face physically hurts from the slicing wind as i walk to class, yet i can't tell you how easy it is to smile here. i have found a home.

So I'm drunk, and this is how i feel.

I feel like I'm in love, and I hate the person I'm in love with. Or the people I'm in love with, even. Is it possible to feel so much for so many different people? I don't know anymore. I don't want to know. I'm done with thinking--with analyzing myself in and out of relationships. I'm done with waiting. I want to live.

And that's the life I live now. I live. Not for you, or for him, or for the pictures, the Kodak moments.. but for me. I love the people I meet--some that I've only talked to once or twice. I feel connections deeper than dreams and softer than skin.

I wish you could feel what I feel. I wish you could feel these arms that wrap around me. I wish you could see those eyes--the lightest green and the clearest blue--that spin into my own. Uncover me, I say. Unearth me. Only they know what lies quietly beneath.

I want you to see the ones who know. The ones who smile at me softly. They know she doesn't go outside--sunlight only shines from her tv screen. The ones who know she doesn't leave her room anymore--October 1st, for a doctor's appointment, the last time.. The one's who know that I, dorian, 19, am a mother, too. Not by birthing a child, but by being born to one.

The ones who know.

That's who I love.

I wish you could see her shine in Boulder. The way she wears that cowboy hat and tells me over and over that I'm living this right. Or you could watch her dance in Bristol. She asks in the simplest words "how's mom?" and i breathe in my own tears, choke, swallow, and grow, all in one breath--one shared breath. How could she ask me like that? How could she not? I love her. I told her once, and I meant it. Every day I see it more. A mother to me, she is. A sister, a child. A heart, a hope, a home. She is.

I'm drunk. But I know who will listen. I know who will see. I know who will watch me, my eyes and my toes, and know that there's more on my mind.

And that's who I miss.

--what I miss.

My soul..

In Bristol, in Boulder, and in the valley of my own..

I miss the ones who know.

And I thank a hundred times

the ones who don't.

goodnight.

I think it was your words that shook me so tonight. I don't know you. And I don't think I ever will. The more I learn, the more I feel your hands pressing against my chest. I stumble back: away. Don't destroy my dreams of you. You're so much more to me than you are at all. I love you because I made you, and I don't want to hear anymore. Your own words, they fumble, struggle, fall from your lips to the cold, beige floor. Your eyes, the crystal, the yellow of your teeth, your fair skin, your big hands: who are you? I cover my face. Who am I? I sit in a room atop that carpet of mirrored beige. That is not me. It is not mine. I sleep beside a window, small with blinds buckled down, turned up--bars to my cell, no room for sight, for light, for right. That is not me. It is not mine. I want to break the beige blinds with half my strength and heave them coldly to the ground. I want to OPEN my window and BREATHE the light, the night. The black, the white. The stars, the bite. That is me. Let it be mine.

how do i tell you
how i love these lights
the glow of a million candles
burning rich from the cradle,
the valley of childhood

my headlights coat
the black of that drive
and highlight crystals
tumbling from darkness
eternal and strong

they twist and twirl
tumble and curl
and remind me

that

this valley
these mountains
these glowing city lights

this drive, these snowflakes

are home.

I love the way you leave me, your face turned towards the wind. You down the crystal blowings as they dance atop your skin. Your eyes, they wait in silence for words crawling up my throat. I swallow hard, but I can't kill the winter's blackened note.

A Band-aid for My Wounds

(a short story)

http://filebox.vt.edu/users/dorianc/ABandaidForMyWounds.doc

you are not
what I sought

but in the darkness
i feel you

fingertips digging,
burying themselves
in fleece

sober lips
drawing circles
on the back of my hands

two thick arms
squeeze me
into your chest,
my pillow,
reminding
of strength
of nearness

someone new

but familar

someone close.

Why do you do this to me?
Why can't i just fucking let go?
I talk to you for an hour
and my legs tingle with
nausea
the way you bring me up
and down
and up
and down
and the way i hold tight
scared to fall
even when
you're ripping
like a wild horse
away
you're restless
but too scared
to see the world
past that fence

you break to the borders
but then stop

you think
i am still your home

why can't i tell you
this is how i feel
i'm lonelier
when i talk to you
than when I'm by myself
that what we had
made me whole
and now i'm watching
my sturdy soul crumble
beneath my feet
as i shrink
from the bottom
up
disappearing
into miles
your eyes can't penetrate

you can't tell me you miss me anymore
because i don't fucking believe you
you miss her
you miss him
you miss everyone

but not me

not like you used to

it's not what it was
when i held you last
when i let go
i didn't know
it was for good
that right then
that was the best
it would ever be

i cried
you cried
but you still drove off
stretching the limits
between your bumper and mine
i sat waiting
and still, i sit
but i cannot wait

how can you
let me stand on your shoulders
to see beyond
then drop me
dead
on the ground
leave me to rest
to wait
to starve
for your touch
not even
just your words
your promises

a year ago, you would have come
without question
or hesitation
you would have been here
blanketing me with your arms
reminding me
when i couldn't breathe
that the air
in your lungs
is my own
shared
across miles
if i want it

breathe deeply, you'd tell me

remember this

but i cannot
there's too much to keep
but nothing new
to find.
you stopped giving
but i need
so badly
for the first time
i need

why do you take it away?
the one thing
that makes me whole
gives me a secret
a depth
that only you
can swim

let me drain my waters now

let me see there's nothing left

let me feel what really lives there

let me hear you speak those words I know you whisper inside your chest.

leave,
my Love,
so that I can
live

i saw you last night, walking around naked in my dreams. is that where you now reside? i remember when it was real. when i hung up the phone and buried my face into feathers, trying not to smile, trying not to cry. i remember when you were real. when i could lay my fingers on your leg and close my eyes, ears sipping your voice from the night's cool air. i remember when we were real. when i could lie in your bed, clothed in morning sun and watch you dress in the kindest silence. i remember when i was real. when you loved me, and i could love myself, for my unsteady swirls of passion and paint. i remember.

my eyes 
drop shut,
thirsty and dry
from the wind,
the tissues and time,
and I can 
feel you
step onto that plane.

Chicago’s winds
wrap tightly
around your fingertips
like tattered string
blown into bows

     reminders

and pull
softly
towards its heart,
the city
where he stands

     waiting

treading tired
in his questions
as we drown in our own

Where will you

          ever

               be home?

we owned that water
as we skidded over the top
singing, screaming
holding on with both hands
as we danced
all different
until under that bridge
five hands shot up
throwing kisses
identical wishes

that this would never end.

sometimes it's ok to forget.

I went to Abby's birthday party last night in Roanoke and I stopped by MMC&TS on my way back here. I saw the professor. And I wanted to cry. All I could think was how every aspect of our lives has changed in the last month, and still, somewhere in Salem, the same beautiful man is sitting at the same table rolling the same cigarettes as he did when we were there. Nothing's changing but us.

And that's what I miss.

Us.

are you ready?

eyes drawn
tossing in her sheets
all i could see
mustard yellow on gray
dirty, rough hands
of colorblind men
who can't see
the thick coats
of turquoise
spread by soft hands
growing
but static
in the house of childhood

stories of growing up
shared a hundred ways
passed in a squeeze
through firelight
camp night
around a circle
stretched from Spain
to the bayou
to the Rockies
to the stars

handprints across a speedbump

slow down, girls

chairs
cold metal
stages

stand, sing out!

but here we sit
like birds in the wilderness
waiting for the men come
mustard yellow on gray

knees bent, arms straight
gravel sticking
to sweaty legs
I'll be the boat
stay down low
when you can't stand on your own
let me be the one
to pull you
up

always

under the gray
spray painted names
1969
echo of generations
a rope stretching the years
families
tied

chalk hearts
tally marks
weaving wreathes
thick with vine
from the shade
of that willow

weep with us now
dry eyes of black coal

you weren't there
the night the sky
caught on fire
lit by our voices
a microphone, Columbus

video taping from the lifeguard stand
the fuzz of the wind
caught forever
the music behind the dancing
of the single gray curl
captured

guard us now
homecoming queen
from the men with rough hands

a hail storm
a sprint to the field
with Denver
speeding into the gym
Thunderbird, X-Terra,
you're safe now

safe here

in a gym
that remembers the voices
Little Rock
Louisville
practicing after dark

hilton head's
company B
begging to be heard
year after year

just this once.
just this year.

a guitar from knoxville
that smile on those faces
a southern man
a Florida tan
as they said nothing at all

Orlando, how you laughed
in the rain
spinning in circles
never slipping from my hands
as we rolled down that hill
to the lake
that was always waiting

but the men,
they'll take that, too
drown us in our own waters

But watch us float!

watch Baton Rouge
solo
lying on your turf
proud parents
an aunt who lives it
a mom who understands
hear them clap
as your toes
point to the sky

Denver told you to skull

and taught you that it's not easy
to get what you want

We know that
everybody hurts

a bell rang to eat
but no one thought
of food
as we stared
red canoes
red faces
tears blended
beneath the current

silence

knee deep
stood Birmingham
hands on her hips
never afraid to get wet

you were not weak
but sometimes the current is stronger

the mustard yellow
bulldozing a turquoise sea

we owned that water
as we skidded over the top
singing, screaming
holding on with both hands
as we danced
all different
until under that bridge
five hands shot up
throwing kisses
identical wishes

that this would never end.

turquoise glasses
promised by Oxford
must have muted
the mustard yellow
nearing from city light

(a rewrite)

once upon a song
I swam in her wrinkles
a hundred summers
etched in powdered skin
the homesick stories
of a thousand sleepless girls
pressed against my forehead
with those maternal lips
petals on concrete
until the world began to shrink
into tiny lines
thinner, thinner
before my eyes
her maternal hand
browned wholey and creased
by the heat of summer's sun
traced circles on my back
lighter and lighter
until I couldn't feel her
anymore
save for the warmth
the second-hand sun
left dancing across my skin

(for del)

i sit alone on the sailing dock
unpainted toes dangling
tangling themselves
in windblown waves
you’re so far away
but my eyes paint you
by my side

distant mountains
rockier than mine
breathe your name
cradling you at night
a rung beyond
the worn hills
our feet have climbed
together
a thousand times

i love you
today
more than ever

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