divesting

would you please stop trying
to sleep with me? because it
confuses the living fuck out
of me, it's either intensely
flattering or insulting, you
either can't get over me, or
you just live in the moment&
are happy to forfeit me as a
friend for a convenient fuck
and i keep saying no because
i've put a lot of work in to
a friendship with you, yet i
find most of the time i just
wind up regretting it. sigh.
stopstopstopstopstopstopstop
divesting from you again....

honey

perhaps he likes the way you like him
your honey stream of tasteful wits
the words that burn his lonely lips
of how you really want to know him
of how you're still around
he's got a lot of evidence
that what you say is meant for real
perhaps the whiskey laughs still echo
when he's alone and unfulfilled
or maybe, streams of words forgotten,
kisses fade into the night
and both of you are passing, jaded,
waiting till your breaths are stilled

i have money
spend it
have fun
enjoy others
events

i have no money
embarassed
totally stressed
anxiously watching mailmen
annoyed

not a fun christmas :-(

I really, really like your last two posts, Stina, "Dear" and the untitled. I love your words...



I lay in your arms
and every breath you send rolling over my shoulder pains me.
We watch my chest rise and fall
together
and admire...while the very air send lightening up my breast.
The smallest, most loving touch sets my nerves on fire,
and they don't know how to react,
and now we wait for the fun to begin.

you are pretty when you cry
seems to reason darling,
you'll be pretty when you die
and i am going to ride
and pretend you're still around
you liked the thought of people
crying for the loss of you
but all i see's
your empty room
i love you, loved you, left you first
goodbye, sleep in whiskey's tomb
i hearted you baby, but it seems
i'll be the only one
missing you
going, going, gone.

dear,

there is a part of me that i gave to you;
i don't want,
i won't take it back, it's yours--a present,
a gift of who i am, and memories,
a silver fingerprint of what i loved.
you own this part of me.

you have left your mark on others
and you left your part of me
and spent your time forgetting
(or spent your time trying to,
time that we won't share)
(and i spent mine, you know)
and i've left my mark, dear,
i've become more of me
and i own this part of things;
it's not yours to share
but i have found so much to show
for all of this craziness

i feel naiive, i feel
a strange sense of home
where i should feel fear and pain
i feel morning instead
i know it's just another beginning
and i've woken up so many times in my life
i know so much better
but i don't care to.

dreams of stairs with drawers for shoes

I want a little house
with little niches and nooks
to fill with little Sara things.

I want it to be light and airy
like Stina's apartment.
I want the furniture to invite cuddles
like my parent's.
I want warm colors to soothe
like my sister's home.
I want a cat to wind around my ankles
like Cindy's cat.
I want to hang ficus curtains across the windows
like Jean's house.

I have spent my life observing
and taking little notes
liking this
thinking that is uncomfortable
this is adorable
this is too edgy
and now I want to experiment on my own.