[ sometimes I can hold my tongue
sometimes not ]
twisted insights 5.0
Break the terror break the terror break the terror of the urban spell
x
x
x
x
|
[ sometimes I can hold my tongue sometimes not ]
I read: |
college student. (english literature, dance, education)
quite fond of: friends and family (and where the lines blur) poetry the bay area dance (for life and always) eating constantly party time (excellent!) retail therapy olympic level procrastination wandering in libraries sleeping at odd hours emotional masochism Youtube Last.fm 
Poetry Excerpts from "Sound Off" chapbook. Poetry Workshop I, Mills College, August-November 2009. Copyright 2009, all rights reserved. "Progression"
As a
repeated chest pelting
supposition
early onset dementia
bewildered iris
mission statement
as
Horizon line
Testament not old not new
Ampersand
Technology etching That’s enough for today.
"unscheduled" tight
"strangers"
this glass was blown and cut and formed
"Chicken Chow Mein" Nothing is delivered without cost.
[ cohesion and concreteness
Ideals are minimal. Intangible. Disintegrating.
Your fortune: Only you can change your life. No one can do it for you.
It is quite the reasonable goal,
Archives
Text credits: Tori Amos Recent posts:
Monthly 411:
Monday, July 20, 2009
Nobody sees when you are lyin' in your bedAnd I wanna crawl in with you but I cry instead I want your warm but it will only make me colder when it's over So I can't tonight, baby No, not baby anymore If I need you, I'll just use your simple name Only kisses on the cheek from now on And in a little while we'll only have to wave I haven’t been able to process in this way or form for fear of becoming nothing more than an adolescent diary entry, trite and predictable, but I feel like some sort of physical manifestation of the unanswered questions is better than the freeway pileup within my mind right now. I really would like to step outside of my body, of this flesh and skin, and sit it aside while I embody some sort of being that makes sense. I can’t quite make sense of what’s happening right now. What keeps throwing me is the way that I can actually function with a large amount of normalcy until suddenly I’m bombarded with a memory or a feeling that attacks me, swift and sharp, and I’m left reeling for the better part of that hour. If I was in a constant state of quasi-mourning, at least I’d be committed to it and could don my shroud. With this, it’s a text message or a commercial for the TBS premiere of a movie we laughed at together or (more often than not), a song lyric that’s it’s taken me until now to understand firsthand. (Thank you, Tegan and Sara, Alanis Morissette, Fiona Apple, and embarrassingly enough, Maroon 5, for bringing me to tears.) I know I’ve been strong. I know I’m withholding (mostly because I’m pretty sure certain people don’t feel like what I’m going through is comparable with their pain because the circumstances are different, when really, they’re more similar than they’d like to believe), but I’ve never wanted to show weakness. I’ve never enjoyed reaching out for help if it leaves me vulnerable. I don’t know quite when vulnerability became this mortal enemy of mine; I feel like it’s an emotion often embraced by women. (Well, there it is. I know that I hate falling into any form of “typical” behavior when it’s associated with inferiority.) Oh joy, the pages have helped reveal another truth! Shall we crack open a bottle and begin the festivities? Everyday With every word whispered we get more far away The distance between us makes it so hard to stay But nothing last forever, but be honest babe It hurts but it may be the only way I know I’m too strong to beg; I haven’t yet and refuse to. However, if things could have remained the way they were, I wouldn’t change that. I know its better this way, but logic isn’t anything like an embrace. I’m in the limbo of moving on and emotional unavailability, which opens possibilities for a rebound, but that’s still pushing it. I’ve been stretched so far as is, I’m not quite ready to spring in any direction. Day one, day one, Start over again... Step one, step one, I'm barely making sense For now I'm faking it... 'Til I'm psuedo-making it. From scratch begin again, But this time I as "I", And not as "we".. I know I need to feel this. Writers crave experience, and what’s the point of life if you don’t sense every emotion, no mater which end of the spectrum it falls on? I haven’t been broken, and I haven’t even been close to shattered. I know that the road only gets rougher, but there are so many opportunities that will change my character, rather than providing a steady source of comfort. Maybe I would have been something you'd be good at Maybe you would have been something I'd be good at But now we'll never know I won't be sad But in case I go there Everyday, to make myself feel bad There's a chance that I'll start to wonder if this was the thing to do Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit. I tend to; I’m rather conceited. I feel like there are still answers that I’ll never hear, but they wouldn’t do much good at this point anyway. I’ve felt more sadness and betrayal this year than I think I ever have, but I have to remember that I’m young. This story is not even close to over. I may have completed a chapter, which is more productive than some of the periods of my life have been. Perhaps it’s an accomplishment? It’s probably more of a transition. Albeit uncomfortable, I’ve got to remain in this body and in this moment, and prepare for the uncertainty ahead. |
