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 Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:15 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:20 am
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Bleeding Colors Date: May 14, 2006
Sometimes I bleed purple and my mommy says I’m pure. I watch the deep violet slither down my arm and along my tattooed palm. It chooses a finger and runs its path to the tip of my pinky, dripping off onto a square of white, waxy paper. She holds the straw between her pursed lips and blows a current of air into the blood, spreading it over the paper like the branches of a tree. When it dries, I pin it on my wall with the greens, blacks, yellows, reds and blues.
When I bleed green, my mommy says I’m arrogant. I scowl at her and make my own blood-tree, with a straw and a piece of wax paper I’d stolen while she wasn’t looking. I pin it on my wall and admire it’s perfection, beaming at how wonderful I am.
The black creeps from a brush-burn and my mommy says I’m violent. After spitting in her face, I steal her favorite straw and her last piece of paper. I make a giant tree, being sure it grows past the edges of the paper, staining the rosewood of the table a deep velvety black. I glue the paper sloppily to my wall and walk away unscathed.
Rarely does the yellow find its way from my veins. My mommy takes one look and says I’m compassionate. I hug her tenderly and tell her there’s no need to thank me. While retrieving the supplies, I stop to find a card for my cancer-stricken rival. I sign it with a smile and a message of hope, tears falling from my eyes and mingling with the ink. I breath through the straw, the dizziness filling my head. Now I feel the strain my mother experiences every time. The tree grows long and delicate until the branches reach great hights. I pin it on the wall as my tears begin to dry.
Almost daily I bleed blue and my mommy says I’m morose. I push myself into a corner and turn my face away. She makes a small tree that looks decreped and diseased and I cry for all the imperfection I find within myself. She places it in my hand and tells me to pin it up. I let it drop to the floor and she pins it up herself.
Sometimes I bleed red and my mommy says I’m eccentric. I run to get the things we need with a few skips along the way. I get the nicest straw and the whitest piece of paper and run back to make some art. I blow with ease, my tension gone, and watch the liquid spread. The finished tree looks unique and surreal, darkening as it dries. I pin it neatly in the middle of the yellows, blues, greens, purples, and blacks. It stands out and I smile to myself…red has always been my favorite color.
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:22 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:23 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:26 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:30 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:33 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:35 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:44 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:46 am
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Is my love enough? Date: January 19, 2006
I look at you and all I can see is your perfections not your flaws. I look at you and I see beauty. Your brown eyes darker than mine, your dyed colored hair, your girlish frame and everything else about you. Its just so breathtaking. Your features are flawless, simply perfect.
I see you as the kind caring sweet person who loves me for me not the person you really are. Not like a friend, the sin, someone I shouldnt be in love with this way. I cant help it. I love you with a passion that burns my insides to a crisp. I love you in every way possible for a person to love another. I love you like youre meant to be with me. Like you were carved out a piece of heaven and sent down to earth just for me. I love you but I always seem to wonder what if my loves not enough?
You always tell me "Gee your loves enough, I love more than you know," and I do hear this. Its not really a great comfort though because, someday I know you will leave me. If our parents and society dont make you then I fear it will be another girl. I fear that someday you will look at me as if Im simply just your little friend or like a little sister; someone who you dont care for this way but someone who is just, there. This is my greatest fear, and it is my absolution to put a stop to all my doubts and all my fears.
You've tried countless times to tell me that I shouldnt be in fear of our love. It will not diminish. It will never die. I do believe you or at least I try to because youre the one person I trust most. Its hard not to at least try for you. You in turn try for me. You try so hard to keep our love afloat and its working what ever youre doing. You say all youre doing is just looking at me and youre hearts melting. I believe you I really do but that question keeps racking at my brain even when were making love.
Is my love enough?
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:47 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:50 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:51 am
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:55 am
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Grasphings Date: Febuary 14, 2006
Recall the imagery of the night
floating melodically through the brain
sucking sweet kisses and biting hard
drenched in sorrows and past victories
to sodden your conscious with their sweat
Imagination knows no bounds
and slaves for us throughout the day
trotting ideas for dust-laden thoughts
and sculpting monuments of grace and precision
at one small push down the hill to progress
Imagination, though, knows how to wait
It creeps through the dim eyeless night of your brain
It sets itself loose from the chains of sanity
and blooms into a flower so majestic
that to look upon it is to forfeit all worth
in humble obeisance to its reality
A flower that spreads its petals far
whose roots dig deep into the soils
of our brain, and plants itself
drawling forth the fears and consequences
to water its roots with their insignificance
So we be Atheist, Catholic, Chinese or Pro-Choice
It matters not and all titles are eliminated
by a single quiver of a leaf
or a smile of the heart
or the dropping of a seed
Belief vanishes at kiss
a quick peck on the brain
And the Atheist thinks of a god and believes
The Catholic copulates with the Morning Star
The Chinese finds their eyes not so slanted
The Pro-Choice weeps at the bodies of the unborn
A fire is lit and identity is destroyed
as the chains come off and ideas
like pollen, enter us and fertilize
our dry and dusty thoughts
from a night spent long with lusty slumber
The petals open abruptly
and shine in colors that have never been seen
and the light tastes of perfume from abandoned lovers
as the flower blossoms in an orgasmic thrust
that lights the darkened path for worlds unknown
Bid fond adieu to who you were
As Imagination has escaped its bonds
and sculpts your identity into improbable substance
As your beliefs, murderers of a million men,
are converted to merely an afterthought
***
Sleep has been compared to death
A darkness in which we have no place
As we stumble into the cracks and recesses
of things we have not thought of for a dozen years
Yet still maintain their imperfect importance
But dreams are merely a token of insanity
That tell us that what we are is a plank
or a board, floating on the ocean
waiting for the wave to take it down
and whatever passengers it might be supporting
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2006 9:57 am
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