{ f--- it, among other things }

yeah. yeah. it is what it is.


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if i saw you on the street, i'd look the other way. not for any other reason than there's altogether too much to say to ever begin, and i see no point in denying what we both know will always be true.


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the door is open; my hands

fly over the keys like birds.

my mind goes higher still,

above the clouds, across the moon,

clear, pure, unstoppably alone.

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i've decided to stop giving so much weight to the phrase "best friend." the way we tend to use it often seems overly powerful and exclusive or somewhat universal and meaningless. in addition, i find that as i age and get to know more people from different places in various locations and contexts, it gets harder to truly distinguish which person or couple of people are truly my "best" friends. honestly, it feels exclusive to assign select people that title, and i find myself feeling excluded when i come across it.

even more honestly, the way i think about all of this is directly influenced by circumstances in my past which shaped me into a sensitive person prone to feeling undervalued and forgotten.

there are people in my life that mean more to me than i could easily express. they've come in and out of my life at different times, sometimes for awhile, sometimes permanently. thank you. you know who you are.


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the weird thing about me is

i hate being left behind but

i need a lot of space

i want to be let in but 

i don't want to let you in

i feel your arms around me but

i relish sleeping alone

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i bought flowers for you today. none of the arrangements were good enough, so i bought three of them and made my own. i am good at making things. i am good at making things beautiful. i have the ability to see what something could be and bring it to pass. now if only i could turn this sight and these gifts on myself.

but i am tired and my eyes are blurry. i don't always know how to inspire myself. i have piercing insight and constructive questions for others, but i think my fear obscures me from myself sometimes. either that, or i see myself all too clearly and my flaws paralyze me.


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the rising steam of laundry in the twilight

the clink of wine being drunk at these tables

low voices beneath my window

the hoarse smell of cigarettes, oddly soothing

the slow and steady ripening of the world

rubato of blossoms above and below

the moon ascends and fattens,

feeding on the marrow of my dreams

photo:

from here

pennant:

born here