Month: January 2009
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Honest Not-Answer
He asked me, do you find comfort in your writing? Yes. No. Do the words rid me of shit or simply represent the shit? Yes. No. It’s not a yes/no question but true just the same.
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State of Affairs
This is an email I sent to poeticgrin a while back. Forgive my language. Medicatedlady: would like to knock the shit of the Wii versions of clueless dumbass and herself. wants to rage against the machine but something within her is preventing her, forcing pressure to well up, and that’s never a good fucking…
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fuckball
It’s like learning any other new behavior or cognition. It’s the same as learning relaxation techniques or to challenge cognitive distortions. Anyone will tell you, these things take time, you’ll have setbacks, the thing is to keep at it. Okay, fine. So it’s hard to it when shit goes down because I feel as though…
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Erica
IF HER NAME HAD BEEN ERICA *Poem written by poeticgrin If her name had been Erica, things would have worked out differently. In fifth grade the stylist would have given her a Hollywood hairdo rather than a too-short perm and JC would have noticed her then, and invited her to watch him play football. He…
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Suggestion
When one doesn’t hear what one wants to hear, I suggest one change the topic of conversation immediately. Perhaps this one is a she, and suppose she’s admittedly needy. Validation is required, dear friends. It’s the only way to communicate with her. Otherwise, she retreats to her downtrodden self and she’s worse than where she…
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Only Fitting
You catapult me constantly out of my chair with your words and your tomfoolery your endless teasing your deep comments your support of my interests of dark things and secret wants
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Guilt
…because at the end of the day, I connected two comments together and realized how horrifying disrespectful it is to one person and how it’s also sadly true for the other. My aunt lays in the hospital with major health issues, all of which are simple peasant girls surrounding Queen Cancer. She needs a higher…
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Untitled (because what is there left to say?)
She lays in the hospital bed moaning in pain her mouth forming a perfect “O” where her toothless smile should be her eyes squeezed shut as if every fiber of her being wants to purge itself of itself of the pain and disease inside And I wonder: when can I leave?
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a small comfort
It helps to remember it’s a numbers game. Not the way my friend, Bryan, counts numbers, adds them together, until they equal something calming to his brain. Instead, one has to remember that statistically speaking, the odds are against you anyway. Writing is a skill. The more you do it, the better you become.…
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