tracks of my tears...

I have this memory where I'm young and I'm in the bathtub and my mother is washing my hair. My sister is there and we're all singing "Tracks of My Tears" by Smokey Robinson. It almost feels like it can't be real. It has that magical quality of dreams. But maybe that's what becomes of memories. With time we add beauty and make them like dreams. But I know this happened. I know we had these moments. I know there's a reason I long for the past. I was in that bathtub. I was singing that song. I thought we'd always be like that forever.

inspire myself.

i found this and realized i wrote this a long time ago and gave up on it. it was a time when i was writing a lot because someone inspired me. time to inspire myself..

san francisco
where people like to solve their problems
by jumping off of red bridges.
and people just make movies out of it.
turning tragedy into romance
because this city is just known for it.
and i knew a guy who tried this once
but he missed the bus
but that hasnt stopped him from trying, in other ways.

and i realize the pressure is starting to crush my chest
and my minor fears are starting to take over.
freaking out over bodies of water
so surrounded that to my left is the pacific
and to my right is the bay
and if you travel north, they just connect together
in the scariest kind of way.
and whats to say they won't overtake
the reservoir across the street
and pull me under.
and suck me in till i can't breathe. i can't breathe.
and i don't have to imagine the way it feels
because i feel it every day.

and love just isn't enough
to keep my heart beating
so i'm fighting for my life
in a city that doesn't push me towards productivity
and i'm scared to die in such a crowded place
because they'll just trample over me
and that dust that fills your lungs
thats really just all my great ideas falling away from me.
hitting the ground and turning into nothing.
and i'm trying to carve a space
but this world continues to not want me.

she tells me that they do it because they love me
but love just isn't enough to keep my heart beating
and i'll die in a crowded place
where people will just trample over me
and that dust that fills your lungs
thats really just every great idea that i ever had
falling away from me.
they hit the ground.
they turn into nothing.
and i'm trying to carve a space
in a world that doesnt want me.
so i dream of red bridges
and way to spin romance out of tragedy
because thats all i've ever been good at,
falling.

man, she's in love.

i want to paint my nails blue
but my boss won't let me.
it's unprofessional.
so i'll paint them red instead
like i'm in love
even though i'm not
even though i'm so far from it
so i'll just fake it
draw hearts everywhere
so they'll stare at my hands when i'm typing
with a smile on my face
thinking, "man she's in love"
even though i'm not
i'm so far from it.

i didn't fall down the stairs
you didn't find me and pick me up.
you're not sitting on my bed staring at my fingers as i type this.
i won't hide you under blankets so they'll never find you
we'll never be in love and then later say it never could have worked anyways
you didn't kiss me on the side of my face
the place when my neck and head meet
despite the fact that i was sweaty
and had been dancing for two hours straight
you didn't slip your arm around my waist
and tell me i still smell delicious
i didn't walk away from you and head outside into the cold night
smiling as i walked down folsom street
trying to keep my friend steady
as she did her best impression of a snake
curling back and forth down the sidewalk
i wasn't so full of everything
that i had to run back down the street
to give a homeless man a dollar he didn't even ask for.
i didn't sing you adam ant songs
goody goody goody two shoes
as people danced around with stripes on their faces
doing their best pirate impressions
i'll remember to take pictures next time
something to stand as a witness
of the night that my heart opened up again.

jealousy.

jealousy. when you lose control and you can't go on. it's jealousy.
and i'm so full. i filled up before the party. but i'm making room for seconds.
and i can't stand it. its like the wrong color lipstick.
my face is so pale. this color is too bright. it's making me ugly.
i can feel the ugly without a reflection in sight.

work in progress...

I've decided this is the position. Curled up on the top portion of my bed with a pillow under my back. My right hand pressed into my chest right under my left shoulder. It's almost like i'm giving myself a hug. You would never know that I've formed an intricate system to mind over matter my pain. Because I won't go. They can't force me to go if they don't know anything is wrong. I twist my neck to stare at the tv. There is nothing good on so I will force myself to watch this terrible movie. A cop stuck in a house full of ridiculous cheerleaders. But the focus is helping me keep my breathing steady. Every four breaths then I feel it. We can do this, we could spend our life doing this. I think I've spent my life doing this. One two three four,there it goes, sharp pain. I don't want to do this anymore.

hemingway.

you said the sun also rises
but never from behind the trees
only in the pages of this book
but i told you that you were so much better
than all of those bullfighters
and those paris streets you would love to get lost in.