My Bad

I have recently noticed that when I speak on an issue that I may have an opinion about, I guess (or am assuming due to others reactions to me responses) that people who know me up close and personal are used to me not really speaking up on things or speaking in general, conflict ensues. I think. Every one who knows me also knows that I really do not like conflict and will try to avoid it at all costs. Just today alone I have had three arguments/disagreements with people that I love dearly. I am afraid of arguments. They lead to painful words being exchanged and hurt feelings and sometimes loss of friendships or relationships or just straight up mean and nastiness. I don’t like negativity or “unnecessary roughness”. Now that I am thinking back on some things, within the last six months I have had arguments/disagreements with my mom, my sisters, my cousin, and two of my friends. This is MORE than enough for me and COMPLETELY out of character for me. I am very passive but privately feel that people close to me mistake my ears and kindness/love for toilet paper. I have anxiety and now wonder if one of the people I had an argument with today is going to call me anymore since this same person said “jokingly (I didn’t know this person was joking and wasn’t shit funny at that particular moment but uh, yeah) that they were not going to call me any more since I didn’t answer my phone and was busy. Bullshit!... I may be a goofy woman but I have very realistic expectations so if and when I actually get the nerve up to say that maybe something is being exchanged that I don’t agree with or question why people say certain things to me, well, it surprises me that they are surprised by me saying something and act as if I don’t have the right to speak but I have just as much as any one else. This same group of people has roasted me for not speaking up when I should. I don’t know. A friend said to me that when people are having a conversation they may not use the actual dictionary definition of a word in a sentence and this is just normal. In my brain, I am searching and making sure or trying to make sure that the words I choose are appropriate for what I am discussing and know what they mean. Someone else also said to me “don’t take my words like bricks” or stones or some other choice of a rock-solid thing. That seems like too much to ask of me, meaning, I think I am incapable of doing such a thing. I love words. I love how fantastically effective/powerful they can be. With out them, there is so much that would go misunderstood or just completely ignored. I consider my self to be a pretty good conversationalist and most people would agree. I, quite possibly have lost the meaning of “talking” and the verbal exchange for just the simple sake of exchanging. My brain hurts and I feel a little sad at the conclusion of this Sunday. This journey leaves me confused.

Guess I’m at a loss for words or at the mercy of mercy’s waiting list.


Conversation: *An informal interchange of thoughts, information, ect., by spoken words; oral communication between persons; talk; colloquy.

Talk: *To communicate or exchange ideas, information, ect., b speaking

* According to Dictionary.Com...





feelin like a prisoner, trapped in the heat of the moment

Finish the sentence

I live: in the essence of my actual life on earth

I work: mad construction style on my personality like white powdery assembly liners, naked, at the mercy of a quick fix…..hard

I think: so that it functions, in and out of fluidity

I smell: lime and verbena, burning scented candles, old rusted pipes and over heated heat, dry in the air

I listen: as my life claps in every direction, echoing the attention of my feet

I hide: in obscure places, in shapeless faces, counting on silence to erase the traces

I walk: wit a limp, cuz I ain’t no simp, huntin cock, gotta tail, skip the dip, fryin shrimp, Ima pimp…haahaa, now you know that was funny and retarded as hell…I walk barefoot with my tribe

I write: to technically furnish my space with Italian metro-retro furniture, not to be sat or slept on but to be appreciated in its own packaging

I see: snowflakes with blueprints, coldly recreating

I sing: like the walls were not inanimately at my mercy, paying patrons….yeah right, poor walls

I can: recite in song most of the 50 United States in alphabetical order

I watch: you in my mind, treating me like a piece of glass

I daydream: all the time, that is how I track reality and time-travel

I fall: short, while falling every time, every chance

I want: the lack of money to stop fuckin up my defrost when I drive, the sky to take my temperature when I am doubled over, the ground to welcome me once my clock has broken

I cry: when the dam of damned crumbles

I read: words on surfaces, hiding in plain sight, hailing revelation

I love: them, you, love

I rode: the short bus to “what the hell for” high school for the lost and found (found out they was lost too)

I sometimes: challenge boldness to conquer my mouth and make me

I fear: incompletion, being my legacy, at death

I hope: I don’t bail out on core curriculums and a hand-picked picture of the days that follow

I eat: of the crumbs from his table

I drink: to paint while bathing in that silver lining…drip ….drip

I play: like I have a full deck, if you play with one eye

I miss: the fresh breath view of the world when I was four, the peace of mind I had before I used cable as channels, the built-in invisible umbrella on a beautiful beautiful day

I forgive: my bloodline for not understanding, having corn-shucks for ears, turning them away from the sun, stunted in growth

I drive: like speeding is my day job

I lost: my footings on relative topics between men and women, probably never had it, my shoes are very inexpensive

I dream: like they will never come true

I kiss: my babies, my babies, my babies

I hug: theories with muscles

I have: too many good ideas…this is no documentary

I remember: wanting it so, so bad

I don’t: want you to worry

I believe: in selflessness and chivalry

I owe: some people some money, the state, a lawsuit, the rest of you, continued pieces of my mind

I know: anything can be learned and unlearned

I hate: hate, meanness, dictators, truth fabricators, euphemism tasers, five-faced fakers

I wish: I were in the roller derby

My ex: is male

Maybe I should: give up, don’t think I can win this one

People would say that I am: the same girl they went to school with

I don’t understand: pig-latin

Life is full of: land, roads, journeys

My past is: over there in the “done” pile

I get annoyed when: I have to explain my goals to a passerby or when people don’t put themselves in my position

Parties are: wack unless I am there….you might wanna ask somebody

Tomorrow is: a new 24

Never in my life have I: imagined I’d be this far down the rabbit hole, hey, where is that mark-ass rabbit anyway, I gotta go to work…I think

When I was younger: I was a lot darker in complexion than I am now

When I am nervous: a series of things could occur, my limbs may shake, I may have a panic attack or start to hyperventilate

When I was 5: I was the oldest in my kindergarten class

My life is not complete with out the truth

If you visit my hometown: you probably would complain, like most every one else from a bigger, faster city while makin a decent living


I once dreamt that: you fixed my computer

The world can do without: divisions amongst the peoples, the masses

If I ever go back to school: I am, throwin myself under the school

And, by the way: no mystery lies within me, primary as box of crayons







...feelin like a prisoner, trapped in the heat of the moment

Everything Is Stupid...My Year in Review Poem

Money is paper… digitally and electronically transferred from thinnest to the fattest of ghost chambers, back and forth in stacks of seconds.
Economy is the newest t.v. celebrity on the corner, in the dust, biting. The sweet granular bags, the grainy loaves, the gallons of gallons exploiting dollars and cents, twisting, changing slightly while erupting through state borders. Over saturated increasing maturation of minors making them major players in decisions mending incisions of forked tongued politicians and bullet riddling wars of man. Much anticipated come-backs and so called second chances, humble abodes not so humble with the bookies who keep track like three-eyed futuristic snails to hail a cab painted in shields to spook the spooks and hasten the weary nine to fivers. Miscalculating clouds, winds wrapped in falling rain hiding destructive taste that no news man can predict. Laborers labor and lament of a time gone when work was work and keep was kept not by size, when cities had more pride and less construction for philanthropists who only make up an almost invisible percentage of the “working class”, ha! The gossip, the break-ups the newborns the famous dead, the he said she said still carries a tune in the radio waves of gimmick limericks and dumb’d down dirt flavored bubble gum. School teachers still under-paid and moonlighting in the living rooms of parents with their over opinionated views on border control, battling the bulge and Bush, spreading like a sickness, out of the mouths of babes. Hand me downs upping the family interest rates, acceptance may cost you a finger or an ear. Entry level positions lure with the hourly wage just to laugh you all they way passed dues, bills and the bank. Parental control, over loaded, decoded, loosing channels of blocked effort reaching the drop off point, a haven of sorts with a ridiculously misused revolving door. Loneliness and weed, homelessness and greed softly conditioned in, leaving a fresh-scent film. Troubled paradise, black and blue blood-shot eyes of the self insufficient burdened with real, actual unaddressed needs, flooding overly brightly lit waiting rooms to be flour sifted by the service of the socials, setting the standard of constructive productive belittling for at least 20 hours a week on microscopic documented detailed diaper duty for less than your landlord will take but staying naked and well fed, of course. Missed opportunities, hopes, dreams and transportation waiting on a broke down assembly line in the littlest shop of horrors visible from space….

You know, they say that "what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger", right – I say, what doesn’t kill you makes you accountable, holding you, seeking, able, sentient!







...feelin like a prisoner, trapped in the heat of the moment

Riddle Me This

I am not sure what it is about my nature or demeanor that encourages people to want to instruct, dictate, educate or inform me on whatever the hell they are on or just out right tell me what to do, should do, try, delete, alter, adapt, adopt, increase or change in some way. Maybe it’s the tone of my voice when I speak, my choice of words or maybe it’s my intro, into what I am always fooled into thinking is mere “small talk” that sharply like cheddar style, turns into a poorly decorated rose bowl of chunky, veiny chicken pieces and super sized rotten broth soaked vegetables mixed with the most sour and unpalatable spices of “me, me, me, I, I, I,” self projection soup-to be force-fed with a fork, that apparently triggers some retard switch in the mind, in my presence, no doubt. It all started when um, let’s see, someone asked me how my day was and I honestly responded with “I had a hard day” and then came the rankin-stankin soup (you know I’m makin up words, right, you’ll be arrite, keep reading…haahaa), sometimes us sunshine girls get cloudy. It happens. Anyway, back to the big dumb soup. So I’m thinking to myself, hell, you asked me a question so I provided an answer, isn’t that how this works? I was determined not to flip the F out and attempted to derail the soup-so to speak. Here is the part where you think, ok, I will infer a different train of thought like uh………..right here! Nope! People still fork-feadin some stank-ass soup that I didn’t ask for from jump. Tried again to block the spew-soup except this time, I had to get some eye contact like I was speaking to an eight year old who was misbehaving on the playground and firmly say “Why are we having this conversation” which causes an abrupt shut-down and immediate flip of topics but not without the absolutes like “I will never say this again, or, you will never have to ever worry about having this conversation again”. Really, I mean, really, uh, can I quote you and make you swear on a Bible and sign a damn affidavit to this fact…tuh-only in my dreams do such never and ever exist.

Now, why the hell do I have to go through all this, dang!

Once the subject matter changed (like lightning) we chopped it up, said our goodbyes and I was out, like nothing happened, hmm, except the hot fact that I left there pissed off. I drove to the bookstore (Borders, I love Borders) and scribbled this blog into my notebook.

There ya go!









...feelin like a prisoner, trapped in the heat of the moment

Ok, uh, it has been a while since I have been here. My profile actually says the last and quite possibly the first time I logged on here was in June of 2007. It is now December of 2008. Dangadang! I have decided to start blogging all the levels of retarded, mysterious and the unknown space dust particles, that constantly vacation in my head instead of only posting poems (that's right folks, me is a poet) and basically, somewhat, return to one (out of the grip) of my teen-age aspirations which was (and those that know me will be so surprised to come across this, ha, not) Journalism. Yeah son, I wanted to be a journalist. I thought it was one of the coolest and most interesting subjects that I had to choose from in high school as an elective so uh, I took it twice. I loved it, still do. All a part of my geeky tendencies to collect data which is essentially what a reporter/journalist does. Yes. I was actually sharing with a good friend this afternoon just how much and why I super dug the journalist thing. Being able to create layouts for magazines and newspapers using words, drawing in the viewer/reader with designs and font styles/sizes, and realizing that all those functions had a name and served a purpose. Waaaay coooool to me! I will also be starting school in March of 2009 so I am going to try and pencil in some journalism in the criteria as I embark on the great journey of "this school stuff betta pay off so I can get paid more", of the future. Until then I am and will be trying to create new cracks in my brain by inputting more info in the mighty space dome and maybe getting over my nervousness of public speaking by actually reading some of my poems. Of course there are a lot of other things I will be doing until March like paying my parents back (good-bye income taxes, I love you), acting like not having money is just a temporary set back that doesn't bother me a smidge', not going to jail for child abuse (only joking, don't flip the script), applying lotion on a daily basis so as to maintain my true ethnicity (cuz I look real fare when I'm ashy, ya know), continue to make the most eclectic playlist on the planet, and I will round this list up with some good old fashioned Bible study. No joke. Well, the new year is fast approaching and so my craving for Vodka. If I don't hit blog back before then, Happy New Years I bid you.

Peacey