30 July 2009


My hands were shaky.
My heart raced.
Stupidly awkward and you weren't there.

I wrote you a silly note, relieved and disappointed.
I wanted to mention the suggestion of applying for the position of personal secretary but I did not want to get you in trouble.
Still, I smiled at bad timing.

I cannot sleep tonight.
I hate leaving.
I miss you.

05 July 2009

Hate and Release

After a night full of pints and cigarettes, they retired to his darkened bedroom. Her mind was tired and weak, she was never a good drunk. Their clothes were scattered on the floor around the mattress and with his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head closer so she could take him deeply in her mouth. She was made uncomfortable by the flashing numbers on the alarm clock that screamed 2:00AM, the taste of ale that stained her mouth, and heaviness in her stomach. She pulled his cock out of her mouth before he came.

He immediately rolled over and threatened her. Don't ever do that to me again. You are not allowed to do that to me again. If you cannot swallow, we cannot be. You fucked up. I cannot be with you because you cannot swallow my cum. You made me feel undesirable.

The girl rolled over. Speechless. Her ears could not believe. A silent tear fell. She opened her mouth but words failed her. She knew that she did not need to justify her reason and why would that matter anyway? She felt alone in the city. She had no where to go and no one to call. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep to the sound of his soft and sleeping breath in lieu of escaping.

She looked at the clock that now screamed 4:00AM. The house was quiet. Soon, the sky will lighten and she will make her departure. She closed her eyes and drifted off. He stirred beside her body. Afterward, he claimed he was asleep and unaware of his actions. But she was awake when he rolled on top of her. She was awake when he pinned her down. She was awake when he fucked her and when he got off and she felt the weight of his aggressive body on top of hers. She was awake when tears rolled down her face and she was awake when he rolled off of her and went back to sleep. She was awake when she wondered what the hell just happened.

She cried for her weakness. She cried for her inability to say something. When he apologized for his selfishness and asked for her back, she stupidly gave in after a handful of angry statements and half-truths. She hated herself for giving in, she hated her weakness, and she grew to hate him.

A month later, he drunkenly called her in the afternoon. He confessed and he slurred. You are nothing but a fraud. You don't know anything. You have too many friends. You are not enough. You are not smart enough. You are not rockabilly enough. With a tinge of sadness, she found the strength to laugh into the telephone receiver. Are you kidding me, she asked him while shaking her head. She hung up, feeling stupid for taking him back - feeling less guilty about that one time she accidentally made out with her old friend from high school when he wasn't sober enough to notice - feeling angry about the money he took from her - feeling completely relieved and humored and rejected all at one.

And he wondered why they were enemies, why she hated him so, why she rejected his touch. She hated him for the money he took from her, for the way he made her feel so unworthy - emotionally and physically, for the terrible things he said that she could now laugh at. But most of all, she hated the stories she heard long afterward; the stories of hitting women and the stories of the curfew he keeps on his wife. Those are the stories that make her shudder. Those are the stories that make her feel selfishly relieved that she got off easy, that she did escape.

The girl feels relieved to finally let this story flow away from her.

Entry I

"I think about the tall stranger that walks through the Square during the lunch rush. He never sees me and will never know how much he reminds me of something familiar. I smile a smile laced with fondness and comfort."

~ August 2003

Random Words

I wish I could sit beside you and talk without hesitation. Talk to you about the past and the present and the future. Talk without feeling scared of crossing any lines, talk like new friends, talk like old lovers. Talk without choking on words or changing the subject. If I could talk to you tonight, I would admit to you that I'm frightened of the day when I no longer cross your mind.

I read an old letter in which you said that everybody can be replaced. I can't remember the context and, perhaps, I have forgotten the meaning. But, it made me sad and I had to remind myself that you do not belong to me. Others are allowed to think fondly of you too. I apologize for my selfishness.

And for my self consciousness.

I look in the mirror and see a girl who is growing older. I recognize her beyond the tired lines. In my darker moments, I wonder if you will notice the small details beyond our fiery connection. Those tired lines under tired eyes, those extra curves -definitely a lighter term, those perpetually dry hands. I wonder if you will notice the slight struggle that is loneliness in this faraway city and one I wear so well. Five years of being away is written all over my flesh. Will you find that beautiful too?

Yes, I know. Insecurities are not beautiful! I smile awkwardly and wonder why I have always been so torn. I wonder if I will feel scared to look into your eyes, the next time I see you. I wonder if you will find me unattractive. I wonder if I will choke on my words again. I wonder if (and, I admit, hope) you still have a beard. I wonder if I will be charmingly awkward around you or smooth as smooth can be. I wonder if I make you feel good or is it just flattery. I wonder if I should have just kept my big mouth shut tonight.

However -

if one day you need room in your head and in your heart for someone new or someone old, I will grow to gracefully accept this request. But rest assured, no matter where we are - back home or afar - you are in my heart and in my head and thoughts will cross daily. Thoughts of love and lust and loneliness and regret and gratefulness and beauty and secrets. You are my fire.

01 July 2009

Another Dream

In my dream, I leaned over the counter towards you.
In a seductive voice, I purred,
"I had a dream that I fucked you
and now I can't stop thinking about you."

I woke up with a smile.
I wish I were that smooth.


If I were given a moment to be near you
and invisible,
I would press my face against your strong chest,
covered by a winter parka,
as you wait to cross the street.

Like the winter wind against bare flesh
and warm sunlight in your eyes,
you would not notice me
secretly hiding against your body
and the down-filled coat you wear so casually.

I would look up to kiss the corner of your mouth,
carefully, when you weren't expecting it
so I could taste your skin,
feel your chapped lips,
hold your body against mine.

And you, bundled up on a cold January morning
would not suspect a thing
but simply feel the warmth of the sun
and the brush of an awkward breeze
against the layers of your winter clothes.