///

and while he's off making love to his new life : I am crying over our old one. everything around me has consumed breath. how am i even walking, talking,

writing is the hardest. no word can splash around quite as deadly as a woman scorned. am i everything i once despised?
human nature does not ask for an apology so the only guilt i feel is caused by my own bed ridden thoughts. a collection of what is weak, and what is worthy?

am i a strong enough woman? what does it look like. question after question and all is flat. flatter than it was in the nighttime, when all i could hear was the backdrop of nails peeling.

i am no longer. and being strong can not do. can i be hollow for a moment? let me scream for myself. this egg shell white bedroom, a room inside another, and one within each other.

i assume this is madness.

dancing on my own

how can i give my loneliness the expression it deserves. never the right words despite an abundance to pick from. and maybe that's because i have so many of them present in my mind simultaneously i can't organize in time for them to fulfill. they swerve and crash into one another as i run after them furiously. too strong a hold on control and my words spill.

my loneliness is most at ease when i nurture it with solitude. when no other force is present i can indulge in no tasks, no friends, no comforting relatives. just me. it becomes clearer and clearer that i am never alone in my thoughts, though i feel a gutting edge when my thoughts are alone. this takes me to a daily reminder that i share very little to no similarity among my peers. and that's when isolation becomes too big to comfort.

truth is, i have never been comfortable with social obligations. the manners in which i have to behave. the answers i have to give and the smiles i feel forced to take. i almost always rebel against these contracts for i know the reasons i'm being asked to fulfill them in the first place don't interest me.
oddly enough i find people fascinating and wonderful. i want to know, i want to learn, but i know caring for others is a responsibility, and disappointments are easier to handle when they're your own. too much investment.and in turn, too much thought, too much noise. there is a tenderness to me that always wants to heal someone. almost as a filler for what i can't always do for myself. i'd much rather care from a distance and show it in a way that may not be conventional. what it does is preserves me. and in the end both parties are safe from the resentment that would usually occur if i did fall in hard. i'd rather much experience a chaos all on my own than merge it with someone else.

my mother says i am 1. barbaric - in that i don't always know how to properly assert myself in social settings, and 2. selfish for the minimal effort
but this is the mechanics of my introverted self. some of us need distance to conserve, observe, and process energy. i can turn on my charm as easy as i can turn it off, but it comes at my own volition. and i am smart enough to understand certain times call for certain falsities. i can't always scoff at the standards laid out by society when i enter the work place, for example. nor am i rude to strangers, or even cold as some would imply. there is too much warm intensity inside me for love and humanity.

anxiety spears me harder than any lonely feeling ever would. it is from judgement that i feel small and tormented. an alien pod among the regulars. but I've learned that to be alone is to be wholesome and liberated. i do not want to be stuck in empty decadence, with false niceties, and chatter that leaves me yearning for silence.

and so comes the conclusion: respect and authenticity. 

insecurity,

envy is death.
murderous with a knife
on the neck. cutting in
deep on the edges of a
face, trailing along
lips, and to the curve of her nose. 

slice it off, i beg you. 

take these eyes that don't
belong. slanted and burning
bridges. and these hollow cheeks
that hold a thousand secrets, not
full in bloom.

i am
not my mother's child, but a
prisoner of my father's crime,

thoughts a plenty

Nescis quid sit amor, iuvenis, si ferre recusas immitam dominam coniuqiumque ferum

(you don't know what love is, young man, if you will not bear with an ungentle mistress or a shrewish wife.

Iam mala finissem leto, sed credula vitam spes fovet et fore cras semper ait melius

(i would by now have ended my sufferings by death, but gullible hope encourages me to live, keeps saying that tomorrow will be better

Sit ius liceatque perie poetis: invitum qui servant, idem facit occidenti

(poets should have the right and the power if they choose to destroy themselves. to save a man against his will is as bad as to murder him

Inquum est collapsis manum non porrigere: commune hocius generis humani est

(it is wrong not to stretch out your hand to the fallen: that is common law of the human race

he was a cranium
he was a deity
he was damaged sex i never got to try on my body.
splinters, blisters; i have from harshness i ran straight into,
impeccable lifeline; yours i give back to the dead.
intimacy, chloroform; i imagine you an animal in ruins.
i should have bleached your mouth from playing
tricks with words you couldn't hold,
but i couldn't even get inside your heart.
you said you made space for me, but i think i was more
a validation for your masculinity.

he was a year of seduction,
a personal myth,
creaking and breaking through the
cracks, crawling up my walls
to store his own past.
you denied me space in your presence, you could not give me
distance either.
in the end, i killed us to preserve myself.

last night,

9:59 and the wind is restless.
reaching out its branches -
intrusion,
I've been waiting for this company.
i am at your whirlwind disposal.
your breath - ice sky on my linen skin
tips me off my feet. bangles on shy wrists
are harmonizing with aggression. my veins

have vines kissing me dearly.

therapy sessions

this is fear and lust coexisting with one another.
my body turmoils in its own concoction of destruction.
i will cry and lie for 10 minutes exactly.
one minute extra and it spoils the therapy.
too many monotonous noises condescending in the room.
my own voice
it remains silent,
but i'm as loud inside as i want to be.  

when the last tear falls
and my body is wild in exhaust,
when control loses at minute 9 and lets out a gasp -
i cover my mouth in fear.  

I've gone too far.  

freeze in my bones.  

I've said too much.

Key word.

You have to be very careful what you say to people. You may talk to them and feel as though you know, but do you really listen?

I wake up, and put on my favorite pair of jeans because they make me feel good. Shoes that I spent $250 on, such comfort for my toes. I do my laundry, and I change my sheets. I clean the house, and I cook. Every morning I put on Earl Gray tea because it soothes my soul. Madonna sings in the background and I strike a pose to Vogue. I will go out dancing with my friends, stumbling around in heels I can barely handle. In touch with my inner glam. I sip on beer and watch a movie I am not interested in to be in the company of someone who strokes my mind the right way. I want that connection that sparks.I go for walks almost every night in neighborhoods that aren't familiar. Adventure feeds. The neighbors know me, their pets sniff me. I just purchased my favorite moisturizer to keep my skin happy. I ended a friendship with a person who didn't deserve my time and effort. I have standards. I lost the love of my life, but I believed it was for the better. I am hopeful for the future. I am saving up money so that one day (hopefully sometime soon) I can visit back home and get lost in translation.

When I say I am trying I mean it. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be around to write all this.
I am trying, in my own way.
I deal with problems in my own way.
I express myself in my own way. Justifying my reasons, or trying to explain to someone who is on the outside is generally a waste of time. I wake up, that's effort enough some days. I cry hysterically and lock myself in my house for a whole weekend if I feel like it. If I want to be out of touch with the world, then I do. It's how I cope some days. It's also how I self destruct some days. I have moments of extreme hatred for every human being. Even ones I am close to. I don't want to see their faces, I don't want to smile, I don't want to talk, I don't want anything. SOME DAYS. But I try.
I have feelings and thoughts I can't always control.
Don't assume anything.

cut the strings and tie me with them.

Let's kill this motherfucker before it kills us.

I said I was kicking him out of my life, and I am. I swear, I am! But I cannot help my thoughts. I would vomit out every single feeling and image I have of him from my brain and my heart if I knew how to.  am an addict. Just one thought back to the past and I am enveloped in his body. Those sleep deprived, half lit eyes that only come to life when his ego is properly stroked. That stupid hair of his that never styles right.

It is almost impossible to go from lover to friend in under 60 seconds. We are not machines. Every form of communication is dangerous, it leads to naked bodies and regrets. Every time he calls or I see him, I vision slurps, and kisses, and things I am trying to stop visioning. I don't want to rid of him completely, but I can't move on when we are still in contact. It isn't fair. Everything is a tease, everything is foreplay.

mother nature and I hold hands.

2004. Sometime in the Spring. I was 16, in high school, and completely boiling. 

I remember a specific date. Not the number, but the instance. I was going through a lot of conflicting emotions. Angst, sadness, emptiness. It was a terrible day. Actually, it was a terrible year. I felt inadequate, alone, scared.

Back then I used to walk a lot. No music, just the streets. I would leave the house to clear my head and that was enough to recharge me. I remember this particular day because it was one of the worst, and one of the best.

That day I went down to Lake Washington. I sat down on the steps by the water and tried to clear my head. I thought, okay, I just need a breather. 1 inhale, 2 exhale, 3 repeat. I remember closing my eyes and emptying every thought from my mind, every feeling, every ache from my body. It was more than what I was expecting. I remember hearing the waves, and each time they hit the edge of the steps - it was almost as if it was inside me. Hitting my lungs, but in a blanket sort of way. No suffocation. Does that even make sense? It was a weird moment, a beautiful moment. I don't know why I keep thinking about it. Although, maybe I do

On that day, in that year, in that season, I was still. Pure. As if my soul was lifted from my being. It wasn't just envisioning, I was feeling it happen to my body. Each wave hitting me, the intensity coddling, and freeing. In that moment -  A higher state of consciousness. Meditative perhaps. 

I was water.

Today I went down to the lake and tried to clear my mind, listen to what's around me, become it. 

Never quite got it. 

I don't know if I will ever experience that euphoric state again. 

and when the night gets silent, the little girl comes out to sing.

ahh my grandfather. The rebel, the drunk, the abuser, the prisoner, the poet, long deceased. He died in prison. He urinated on cops. He had mistresses all over town. He had violent outbursts and owned guns he stole from mobsters. He shot a man in the eye. He got stabbed 3 times. He was in gangs. He wrote incredible poetry. He was the life of the party. He was terribly exhausting. Dangerously opinionated. My mother compares me to him. Says I am an outcast of the family.

Just like he was. Who knows: I too might end up in prison with tattoos all over my body and a lonely heart.

I wish I knew more about the man. I wish I knew him when I was little.
I don't know much about my family. Everyone feels like strangers in non fiction books. All I have are names and photographs from the 60's and 70's.

Река времен в своем стремленьи…

Река времен в своем стремленьи
Уносит все дела людей
И топит в пропасти забвенья
Народы, царства и царей.

А если что и остается
Чрез звуки лиры и трубы,
То вечности жерлом пожрется
И общей не уйдет судьбы.

6 июля 1816 

(Translation)

The current of time’s river
Will carry off all human deeds
And sink into oblivion
All peoples, kingdoms and their kings.

And if there’s something that remains
Through sounds of horn and lyre, It too will disappear into the maw of time
And not avoid the common fate.

Gavriil Derzhavin (Гавриил Державин)
© A. Wachtel, I. Kutik and M. Denner
www.russianpoetry.net

Tears. Crying. 

No, it doesn't make me emotionally unstable. It gives me back my sanity. I am alive right? I like to feel it sometimes. That I have emotions, that I can let go every once in a while, (a few times in a year when things get too much) that I don't allow the heavy burdens to overpower me, that I don't hide it or pretend I'm okay.

I let it out, take a deep breath and regroup my soldiers.

Two sided little girl

Here we are again. Another time around to pick up all the pieces…all the tiny pieces of her that broke apart. Her heart doesn’t break; her heart is on ice. It is someplace I can’t reach somewhere between the frozen peas and popsicles it waits; waiting for someone worth breaking over. It’s not her heart but her face that crumbles, when she looks at me and asks me why?

All I can do is start gluing the cracks in her perfect face. Maybe I’m just not good enough at putting it back together, because each time the pieces are getting smaller and smaller and harder to find. Because this time the sparkle which is normally located in the upper right hand corner of her pupils has gone missing…and I just cant seem to find it.

It won’t be long now before a new and exciting man strolls into her apartment…her life…her heart. It will start the same -Oh no, were just friends- Dont worry, were just fuck buddies- Yeah were dating, but its casual. But eventually…eventually it’s more. So I will assure her it will work out when she comes to me in tears. And I will tell her they will make a cute couple when she seems insecure. 

I’ll grin and bear it when I hear about how great the sex is. I will sit back and wait hoping for the best even though it kills me. I learn to love them because she loves them. Wanting to hate them but not being able to because they make her happy. Knowing I am just a little girl that could never fulfill or complete her…and maybe it’s masochistic to keep trying…but I guess that’s just the way of things.

Without batteries - I can't.

not in the mood to socialize. Not in the mood to talk about mundane things. Not in the mood to have to put on a show. it is what it feels like. Mentally exhausting. I have to put on my 'people' face. 

After a while I need to recharge. Escape for a minute to be by myself. Listen to my music, read my favorite book. Do something in private. People don't always understand this. My mother especially. She continues to believe I have bad manners when I don't feel like coming out of my room to greet all the random people that come through our house.

She's different. She doesn't have to be on. She's always on. It comes naturally to her. Natalia & Leo understand me. They know that if they barge in my room and I am not smiling every 5 mins - it's okay. I am in my own bubble and they respect it. They let me be. Quiet, in the zone, in my own world. They don't question it and they don't make me feel bad for it.

I cut out on my friends yesterday because I just couldn't bare it anymore. When I'm not feeling it, I'm not feeling it. No amount of jokes, smiles, or talks about hot dicks in adorable clothes will get my mind to change. Not to mention the delirious state I'm in. Happy times are not for me right now. I'm not even going to fabricate it. It's too hard.

Back to what I was saying though. These next few days will be dark and gloomy and very private. I want it this way.