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#31 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 14 September 2007 - 07:09 PM

Here are a few more replies...I'm going to comment all your poems eventually, Jess...

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Apr 7 2007, 03:39 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
mámä?
4/7/07


the floor is wet
and too clean... my hair
matches
the texture
of the tiles / that allow
the doctors to glide away from
umbilical cords
that chokes them in their sleep.
<<(love the way you built up to this sentence)
(they line all the walls, with posters
labeled "i don't remember why they let him,
but daddy cut my own. now he lives
in my stomach.")
there are so many windows in my skin.
i manipulate phone cords
until they snake across the floor and say
"hello, did you order
a good morning?" in a pleasant chime
to the mannequins
i made
with gauze.
"they're all pregnant with
my
heart," i inform them like a [machine], pulling
their mother -- a phone -- into my / lap...
one... t..wo... th...ree... four...
it bites it's numbers so slowly... waves -->
form
and my
fingers
pinch
the numbered
faces.
i type / my abcs...
123s...
t-h-e... g-r-a-s-s-w-i..l-l-e..n-v-y-u-s...
a-n-d-f-l-o-w-e-r-s-w-i-l-l-w-i-s...h-t-o-b-e..m-e.
my teeth converse
with shaking. the phone cords
detach; birth from their sockets
and drink the floor / like doctors.
their mother screams.


I loved this poem, it was all very surreal...it reminded me of automatic writing. It seems you just let all the words and images come without questioning them. If that makes sense. Good job.

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ May 1 2007, 11:37 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
I've had horrible writer's block... this is a thought poem which took a while to complete...


5/1/07


Water / shimmers,
nibbling
at the hair on my arms.

I keep your picture
glowing; music
beating; lift
my legs to examine
the silhouettes...
I bear a womb, but this
room / reminds me
of one I don't remember.
My hair drifts;
I stick to the walls, pricking
the lining moss
with sucked-on fingers
to baby-dream. (The phone \ receiver
is flat. I watch
the cold / hyperventilate
abreast the waking birds. Pink, blue,
dark. blue; glare \ of the
sun's neck...)
You tell me good morning
every day. I ponder \ just you
every minute, even in / my sleep:

does the cold / wing
against you \ in the mornings?
Will our skin be the
twiggy/beautiful nests
in winter, our souls
the lovesick birds
pruning in the center?

(Yellow. The daffodils in our yard
went from \ yellow --> to white
within weeks.
I smashed in the shed's window
when I couldn't stand the silence of my throat
one dawn, the depressed lavender sheets
of my bed
/ begging to come down
from the shed's rafters. Why did I
put them up there?
My feet
were numbed by the chattering grass
and turned \ completely
to stone.) I baby-dream
in my safe womb, the recollection of your
words --> rising
like baking soda from my [lungs]

to my [heart], to my [lips], / that nobody'd ever say, "stop
connecting-your-goddamn-freckles with
those-goddamn-fuzzy-pens".
(The other line sobs. I watch / the phone lines,
wondering / if they'll
explode from the lies on repeat
and wire mother's throat to sleep.)

Good morning, Tory. Christopher.
Smith.


...

This poem has a very interesting rhythm...all the lines melt together. I could see everything so well. This part meant the most to me:

"I smashed in the shed's window
when I couldn't stand the silence of my throat
one dawn, the depressed lavender sheets
of my bed
"

I wish I could say more, as usual.

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ May 17 2007, 04:13 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
5/3/07

Screen doors alit:
in and out flap / their skinny silhouettes
at happy kitchen's windows.
(I can't see
the goddamn road. There's too many / glowing screens
with keypads
you could sleep in
glaring through the car's face.
) The / air
bites --> at the fillings in white walls' smile:
polka-dotted pictures, vertical stripes, and puffy hats
peel / with a hiss
from drywall's tongue. (Staring at your picture
makes me want to
break all of my bones / and reconstruct
myself
into a pretty box
so I can hold you
for the first time.
)
I grin,
watching the world pivot on its edge
and listening to it laugh. I laugh with it
as the television sprouts wings \ to buzz
past my head.
(An alien bed. A house colored perfect.
Hummingbirds. The perfect neighborhood. Lilacs. WHY.
IS THIS. LITERALLY. TERRIFYING. ME?
)

I really enjoyed reading this...it's like you described perfection, in a creepy way. I love it...

-unfinished-

See-through paper
blank; empty
bruises on head / included.
Writer's! block!

Maybe there are bruises on your head from banging it against something? haha I say that because when I have writer's block, I feel like doing that.

thought poem...


Kissing Phones
5/17/07

She's been breathing down my throat
for six months now.

"Where's the mold?"

I can dial your number
in the dark; with my fingers in knots;
with my tongue if need be.

The keys smell of padded fingertips
and metal.
With concaving mouths,
they chew \ my breath
and spit.




Pleasant noise
chimes
at my heart.

in the morning,
in the morning,
in the morning.


I want to go home.
Could you direct me to
the nearest home, sir?


12:47
1:14
1:15
1:17
1:18
2:24

Where does love come from?

There's an emaciated woman
in my ceiling fan.
She throws off the spin
when kneeling at the lips of her alter.
What is her sin?


(There are birds in my head.
They've crawled to my throat
to sleep in saliva.
Sometimes I hear them sing.)


"..That's because when
he runs for his life in his dreams, I run too.
"
[my heart lives
somewhere in your sheets.
It's happy there.]


These days, I wake up
to yelling
and a map
taped at the perfect angle
to my carpet bed.
It was me \ who furiously strung
those circles
as my radar.

Home. I know / where
that is. Give me a few years
to follow the phone lines.
I don't care what anyone says.
You're my home.


I absolutely loved the ending to this. I want to say I knew just what you meant. Great work, Jess...

#32 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 14 September 2007 - 07:30 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ May 27 2007, 11:51 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Please Note:
5/21/07

Confucius may not have been
the author.

Your bone marrow
just produced about / 3.6 million
red blood cells.

I'm not good enough.

The right lung is bigger.
The left ventricle is 30% larger
than the right.

I'm not good enough.

Dogs can be sweet.

"E" is the most
commonly
used
letter / of the
alphabet.

Sometimes I daydream about just
your jaw. It flutters
when you yawn. I want to see your
lips.


I'm. not. good. enough.

Let's just paint ourselves / and get over it.
The room's black. I pray
that no one is perfect. Please.


These pictures look sad
with all their vibrant colors.
They try to make apples
look artistic.

history,
laboratory,
manditory: the suffixes / are all
underlined in my books..

Sound cheery, Jess.
Smile.
You'll be okay.

"I will count
the seconds.
"

...s.m.e.a.r...

dReAmCaTcHeR

(feathers)

ALL OVER

...t.h.e.m.i.r.r.o.r...

I don't know how to end this.


This was beautiful. All your poems are, but I feel the need to say it for this one. I could feel the sadness all through this poem. The repition of "I'm not good enough" really touched me the most. I think everyone can relate to feeling inadequate at some point in their lives.

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ May 28 2007, 12:19 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
5/26/07


Tonight, I am going to pretend
that I leave my soul in poetry.
I don't need any of these things
in this room. I can't say that this
map
stares back
at me, because \ I
only stare
at it. This / clock
beside me
could be
poetic
if I wanted it to be, but tonight
everything
is poetic. I compose / words
wherever I go, and at anything
I observe. Everything is meaningful to me,
and I therefore
cannot write
anything.


...

I never thought I'd buy
a heart-shaped cardboard box.

..I really never thought I would.
You know what flattering words to say
to someone who knots your heart
in your hair

because you're just trying
to be old enough; trying to feel
what you know
is missing, no matter how much
the comb / will bite
the air. Some truly believe they're in love,
for then inner change occurs.
We only
get angry
at the relationships we lose
because we were lying to ourselves
; to the
spiders
in our heads.

...

My heart
fell
back into my chest
when you sat on my tongue
and I
swallowed.


...

I've erased this about
five times now. I really can't
tell you about this silence...
I can't let you experience this with me...
But I wish I could explain
how much
I miss you.


...

...

...

I don't know if I can write anymore.


I really felt like I was inside your head while I was reading this. It makes so much sense to me. Beautiful.

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jul 21 2007, 12:58 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
All that I've been writing lately hasn't been inspired; instead, it's more of venting frustration that I'm not feeling creative... as sad as that is, no, I have not forgotten grammar... all of the mistakes in this are intentional... thanks a lot for reading.


7/20/07; 4:07am


buzz
buzz
buzz
buzz

amazing stereo system

hmm hmmm
hmmm hmm

smoke everywhere, but yet
the same thickness
nowhere


fiddle, clank
clanky kinky clank
deep purrrr

i wanna write you some song
inspired just now
that'll work with something

doe
ray
me
fah
so
lah

wood-paneled walls
they feel more like metal
something something
something something something


tee
doe
come 'round here
let's twist
and smoke something,
baby doll

too much dye and cake in his eyelashes
this guy thinks he's a butterfly.
grandfather clock is a volunteer employee;
he collects the dust of our youth in his hands

but just as well
today's our birthday

hey! hey! hey! hey!
rush! rush! rush!
scuh-REAMing along

the ceiling is a constellation of streamers:
everyone feels them in their nerves.
oh, secretly, we want someone to open
the ceiling! to open
the walls!


we breathe
dust necking on the wood's trim
plaid couches
shag carpet
underterminable color scheme
oh, these people's faces...
to much cake and too much dye


mm, aah
mm, aahh.. de dou dah daaaa
shock treatment
the sound of shedding
MA-uze-IC!

scissor steps about the room
bottlecaps for eyes
smell of bug spray and pajamas;
extraordinary how my lover looks at me
..ticktick..ticktick.. either grandpa or my adolescent heart

i'll write you a song and i hope
that you won't mind, because all the names and places
i have taken from your life. please don't be
upset at the portrait that i paint;


(toenails graced with bright colors
inform the carpet how much
i allow myself to dream)

it maybe a little biased, but at least
i spelt your name
right...


turquoise door
i feel so sick and dirty.
upon entering the bathroom, i understand
why he smells like bug spray

bang bang bang bang bang bang
small layer over the music as i shut the door
accidental encounter with the mirror (well, !@#$ you, too)
you haunt me like dirty pajamas and
the only hamper in the world gone missing

small, blue body.
delicate clover-shaped rocks on its feet
one fetal pig in the tub.
i get mad at god right about now: she should've been
some angel's coloring page


next song
slows down
slows down a bit
slows down
chordstrum... chordstrum...
yeah, you bleed
just to know you're alive


what does porcelain sound like?
i climb into the white tub, next to
dissected cheeks.

brooding bass line
pluck pluck pluck pluck
i imagine the former womb
for this dead fetus. it was made for life.
why didn't it get that?


blahblahblahblah angry next song
guitars discover teeth
"i should just suck out your mother!@#$ing
brains!
" (humhmmhumhmmm)

my lover's hands
smell like
my heart; strangest sensation.
"your name? your name? your name?"
as he climbs against my back
to play
records in my spine


click.. click.. click
percussion
("life is a waterfall")

his corneas magnify deep, dark mud.
we breathe the same air and conspire about
street signs. country life.
darlin', you say.

the vocalists still lisp
behind the door's skin.
("WHERE
THE !@#$
ARE YOU?
")

your pupils are a strange set of wombs.
dark quicksand. you hate them, and only i
see them as safe.
donning veils, we observe life
behind tinted contact lenses.

deep purr
buzzzz
hummmm
("STILL, YOU FEED US LIES FROM THE TABLECLOTH")
and yet..
silence

thump.thump.thump. grandfather must be mumbling
ticktick..ticktick.. my heart beats
i'll write you a song and i hope
that you won't mind...
porcelain becomes
personification of silence. won't even ask if music
was a rabbit in a hat
the whole time.


croon croon croon
bang bang bang
zzzzzzzt; zzzzz

the walls around us age
like skin. one octave at a time
until it dies

"humhummhumhmmmh--
click
" outside. why did the music stop?

there's a tornado on the wallpaper
in this indecipherable room.
i don't know how and
i don't know why, but the fetal pig
sits betwen us now. my sutures leak cumulonimbus clouds
as i feel the hail drop
inside my skull. mnb.mnb.mnb. how i itch
to pluck the small-scale fense from the nearest wall
in inspired country scene; breathe deeply the snowglobe air
and let the taste of old paint
awake my sleepy tongue.


please don't be upset at the portrait
that i paint; it may be a little biased, but...


the record player
hidden within my spine: i mutilate the needle
and thread it with your hair


at least i spelt
your name
right...


ticktick..ticktick..ticktick

"what color will i be?"


I like the bits of repition in this poem. I'm pleased you added so many sounds. It was something new. The poem felt even more alive with all the different sounds and noises. I hope you don't mind I've been putting my favorite bits in red...

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Aug 16 2007, 08:32 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
summer harvest
8/15/07


we crawl on the floor,
scampering through carpet
gray weeds
our garden
maybe colors at the roots
acres at a time,
we pinch at the fibers
half the width of our spirelous hands.
I don't know about you, but my bouquets
are colorful:
round little pinpricks of hair.
humidity chirps at my bone
and moistens my brain --
I move to the kitchen; pause at the tiles,
inhaling mould.
masculine hands, i conjure,
blinking my throat back
as I watch your harvest
watch the mould con walls.
the pigment in your eyes, zipped to the collar
with liquidous cornea -- well..
your hands are repeating cerebellum's task
but i've never seen such green thumbs in eyes.

behind your lashes, it looks like soil and mud
their follicle-sized dashes are secretive and sad,
but you care about the colors that I hold.

the carpet is itchy
and the tiles are cold
i lie on my side, disturbed by both,

planting moths in my throat.
when you look at me through your garden,
your eyes chew the silence.


Sorry for all the redness, haha. I just really loved this last poem. I think it'll be my favorite for now. I wish I could describe how I feel when I read your work. It just grabs my attention and I can't stop reading.

Well, I think I finally commented every poem. I know I did it in a crazy, sloppy fashion, but I hope that's ok with you. Beautiful work, Jess...

#33 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 19 September 2007 - 08:53 AM

Thank you so much, Katie...

#34 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 19 September 2007 - 09:13 AM

I randomly typed up two pages from my notepad, just to show how crazy my "writing" can be, and how rough it originally goes down on paper... this is grotesquely unedited, and part of this was just me writing to myself...


8/15/07


weather
eyebrows
plucking
humidity
birthday poem - finish
listen to music
you
volcanoes on my face
how | frustrating it must be
this city
wanna throw it all up
blood vessels in my face
turning brown
logos
they breathe through their feet
numb feeling
!@#$ you, Jessica!
!@#$you!@#$you!@#$you
you're absolutely done this time!
!@#$ you
!@#$ YOU
you refuse to believe
what you are
!@#$you,Jess...
but hang in there
hang in there
youneedthis
youneedpain
but !@#$ you all together
STOP IT
it's time to stop feeling sad

--

may
little lavender forests
what color was the bed
i was conceived in?

whirl pools of DNA
less than one second, i became me.
maybe
i'll wish for little may showers
maybe
may
will be another world
last may was...
well, maybe
but i doubt it
will make everything better

(1)

blood vessels in my face erect
around my eyes -- sleep lines;
squarekeypadsminuszero nurse
stillborn numbers in my head --
phone lines; Pretty Heat gets cozy
with Handsome Asphalt on Sunny Day --
yellow lines; the way your eyes chew
when i'd really like to understand
when i want to listen --
side lines.

--

maybe
may
will be
maybe
may
will be
perhaps
february
will be ...
(or may-
be
june)


--

(maybe
may
will be)
oh, have another coke
stay for a while
did i ever tell you...?
(maybe
may
will be)
the phone didn't cut off
that was the worst part

(maybe
may
will be)
sometimes the dog snores
i don't mind
i don't mind
i don't mind


(same page -- right side)


violent what?

(who invented solitaire?)

(would that really electrocute me?)


what if you jumped?

what if you died?
what if you died
before you were bad?

what if i hit you back?

what if i never lived?




sing sing sing
"always with your heart in your throat, babe"
she left bruises
and went high into bed
"I've got herpes"
Cydney, her babbling croaks
Penny, her wings
goddamn cold windows
"i am metal
icebreaker
pour it all on me"
Swaye, his black hair
my brother never came home
but i was always there
wanting to die in the grass
what a beautiful night sky
the warm pulsing between my legs
how horribly silent the streets were
like glass constantly falling
you were always in my room
you secretly camped out in my eyes,
(right?)
you were always with me
what a burden
if i believed in anything
if i believed in anything
it would be the universe
it would be nothing


(just wanted to say
that i miss you so much
it's unbelieveable)


maybe
may
will be
all better...


(next page)


morse code beeps:
we, the parasites, click.
rasp, rasp, rasp
the railings don't seem to be enough.
yellow.
black.
the road embraces our wheels;
it reads the contents of our seats.
sidelines squeak
and centerlines wince.
your insanity manifests itself
in the sounds you make --
baaaah, like this is fun.
i'd beg less in my silence
if you just purred
at the wheel.

(I)

large white blob boards the bus.
Kelly. i undress her face with my eyes,
dangling her teeth in my lashes.
I remember her build
and how simple jokes hit her like bricks:
her cellulite shell bounces to her pouty lips.
my hair is black. i remember so
when the driver, hunched over the wheel
like it's a package of grainy cocaine,
coughs
and yaps
and diolates something at my head.
i find it difficult to sit: there's
a long, white tail around my feet
and i need to wiggle
to move. Morse code clicks
are horribly distracting / and mix
with the thwarping beat in the walls.
everything here is the same. everyone, too:
tubes and tubes of nothing; no
curves, no circles, just clicks, just white --
everyone / except
for
Kelly. Kelly drifted to the plush seats in front
and began to chew when i said 'diolates'.
wiggle, wiggle goes my cerebellum.
the motor in the back slurps like a vacuum.
it's mad at the world. i'd be, too, if i were a motor.
i think so, anyway. maybe. "whhhiiirrrr..."
This place looks like plumbing: the end
is a drain, whirling, whirling: reminds me / of
your sinkingsand eyes
spinning counter-clockwise.
i should buy snowshoes for your silences:
i could stay on your cornea as an eskimo.

#35 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 16 October 2007 - 09:51 AM

Over Easy Eggs
10/16/07; 3:50am


the castles in my femora
they have declared war on my circulation
red and blue flags
i have turned purple

my jaw
is falling off my head
and crushing the nerves in my neck
like a mother bird cooing to her chicklets' bones

my blood
is turning to tea
a few of its leaves like driftwood in my heart
beating with me
as tumors
my liver won't filter

my ears
must smell like the ocean
for my hair has turned to seaweed
humid, the brain

my nose
is in my neck, too
but it's an infectious swamp
i want to pluck out all its black trees
and feel the satisfaction of stinging
let the mucus ski

the lines in my palms
are melting
on the carpet
and across the room

my stomach
is growing cacti
and i can feel the tumbleweeds rolling
rolling rolling
across the prairie
that is my membrane

my pelvis
has swallowed ice
it is sore from impact
from my lust for you
i lie down and feel only whale harpoons

my eyes
have forgotten my face
they feel like snorkeling goggles
they won't be blue tomorrow
when i look at the sun

i feel small enough
to the point where i could rent the 28" TV
and feel the leather in those cars
fall asleep to their trademark hip-hop
and drink tea with Geiko the Gecko

my wrists
are so cliché
and i'm so afraid
that if i bend them back at all, they'll tear
slowly
violently
ember the bus girl
still has scars "where they all intertwine"

my latissimi dorsi
have forgotten their jobs as a tuxedo
for my
back
like an outlet, i am exposed
grotesque and naked
with plaque on my bones

my arms
are tired branches from my spine
i rip them open
to find a little oozing green

my calves
are fiercely running
no no no no please please please please
but they only run in their sleep
it tingles like fireworks

my knees
fell off with seasickness
in my chair
USS kneecaps
like Dixie's paper plates

"I love you, but this is it.
This is what I think is best now.
This time I thought.
So, I think you should give it a try.
This time, I'm going to be here."

god
gave me
these shoulders
but they were frisbees all along
now they're trying to fly away from me
but they were never really mine

#36 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 31 October 2007 - 10:57 AM

Wild Blue Yonder
10/31/07; 3:43am EST

xox
let's play
i'll be the xs
today i feel dotted
maybe like mist or the faces of trees.
like a cup of crayons, i feel only the space
between my brilliant wrappers: brink pink, Caribbean green,
mango tango, fuzzy wuzzy brown, inch worm, outer space

#
let's play
today i'm striped like your precious love affair; but i'll still be the os
damn my dreams
nightmares all day long
blowing bubbles of glue
and laughing with you
hehe, yep, shut up, i'm fine

Charlie, Renny, Casey, Kevin
ready! set! fu<i>c</i>k!
i'll make it a race
kiss me, i'm irish--or something
i want this over with

[instrumental pause]

isn't it funny how umbrellas love my backyard trees?
let's keep talking about obscure, pointless things
how you recite tongue twisters when you're nervous?
why all the fish you own are named Isabell?
kiss me, i love the glamorous indie rock 'n roll!

xoxxoooox
we play in the sand
with the giant pound sign
hehe, yes, shut up, i'm fine
i pause to look at our swollen hands

#37 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 31 October 2007 - 11:04 AM

Older poem, either early October or late September..?


Robin

i am ready to change the curtains to heaters
swollen-tonsiled
and gas-filled,
looking like cancerous cells hiding behind sheets.
i am ready for winter:
the gray greenhouse that covers the sun
for weeks at a time; and the
quiet, dispassionate
flakes of snow
that phone my windowsills
as they fall, making me
jump to the kettle as it wails...
i'll freeze to the bottles outside
and watch the brave delivery man,
his suit polished cardboard brown --
UPS --
play the only harbinger alive.
you're
a deep green
in the fingers of cedars everywhere i go.
you prick me
and my seashell beak
as i breathe normally, begging the earth
for an interview with worms

#38 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 31 October 2007 - 12:23 PM

I feel like typing random some stuff up... the following you'd find on or in whatever notebooks are around me... It'd be neater if I could scan them because of all the diagrams I draw...

[English class "notes"; 9/12/07]

Missing

I become an Indian
at the bottom of my shower.
I preach to the drain
In gibberish, I preach to the drain
twirl my and sometimes I sing
and twirl knot my hair around the faucets.
Sometimes I sing.

I've got a lot to do when I get home...

My bed a lavender forest


[back page; hand traced in pencil behind]

But being alive wasn't / half as bad
as
being [obsessed] with a...
smile-faker, a breath-taker...

Jessica Williams

screw up the signature

I'm so tired
he always wears
Hawaiian shirts

Blue ink
Match the day in tiles
wrap around the [illegible]'s legs
wait on the alter
blue blue blue blue
blue today

Paintme -- blue

AB = BC
AB = BC !

cross your
damn t's

can't even draw leaves

"we're running out of air"

sleep sleep pillow
fluffy fluffy pillow
vicodin in soft case
sometimes I push
you off the bed


[10/7/07; photography class]

How does de Broglie's wave-particle assumption for the movement of electrons make them even more difficult to detect? Wouldn't that make it more obvious?


[10/14/07; home]

I drew a serpent on my skin, his head a bruise on my knee. His eyes are slits. He's observing the word "{Wonderwall}" that looks like it is raining down my bone. Under his tummy are lyrics.

I am a visitor here.
I am not permanent.
Vinyl sticker with big block letters
adherent to my chest.
The only thing keeping me dry is...
You seem so out of context
in this gaudy apartment complex.
I miss someone.


On my ankle is a plaid cube with ribbony bow. I don't know what's in it. The ink on the bottom of my feet is nearly gone. I took a shower today. Lambda naturally curved into the ball if my left foot.

12 22 2 2 2
λ
v

c
h

E
TCS
2



[10/12/07]

English class. He frays his extra-curricular book in the air so we know he's reading. Snob. My esophagus is eating itself.

"Are you afraid you may dissolve?" Enzima. Ofelia. Morgan. Urie. Emya. Smith.

Mental note: If you've read Peace Child by Don Richardson, then you've read Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Holy crap, they're almost the same...

{Bathroom Stalls.}

"Only losers vandalize
school property!
get a grip!!"

"I ♥ David"

"Fuck Rim"

"If your looking right here
u must be bored."

"FTS"

"Juniors Class of 2009!!"

"Potheads united"

"I want your tits in my mouth!"

"My name is !@#$ u!"

"Alfredo is
!@#$in
sexy as
!@#$!"

"My Stall..."

"...and mine..."

"Amber is a ugly a** bitch"

"18thSt WS 18ST 13 Los Angeles 13 | SOUTHSIDEMUENCA"

"school sucks"

"Hi
Story"



[Math "notes"; 10/18/07]

His handwriting is perfect on everything but Ss and the '&' symbol. SSS, postulate 12. "If three sides of one triangle are congruent to three sides of another triangle, then the triangles are congruent." My teacher stutters on purpose like it's funny. This is my least favorite room because of the fluorescent lights and sinless white boards. I break out in rashes on my hands when I'm stressed. It would be interesting if the scratches from the dog scarred. My fingers may be coming infected... it hurts to pick up anything. I nearly uprooted my thumbnail from picking my cuticles so deep. I can smell the grease on my nose. "Simerlerlerlerly... let me guide you through number nine..."

Given: HT = LY; WH || LF
Prove: ΔWHY = ΔFLY

Is my geometry book trying to tell me something?



[10/19/07; English]

My dog plundered sleepily into our sleeping bag and pressed against me this morning, cheek against mine with his breath warming my nose. He wiggled until my arms were around him like a potato sack. When I picked him up at the pound, he melted into a relieved puddle, head around my neck. His yawns sound like his midbrain made him regurgitate a hammer, it's funny. Sometimes he snores into my ear, but I don't mind. I smell him during the day, just walking or sitting somewhere. His scent is all over my clothes.

One word is for so many feelings and events. Inside my science notebook, only the top two are in pen:

SUGAR
BEES
MOTH
FLAME
MY FLAME
OH, KNEECAPS
WHAT?!
CASEY


#39 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

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Posted 02 November 2007 - 02:53 PM

Random splotch of whatever.


Silver Bromide
11/2/07; 8:48am EST

it's time for me to breathe.
holding the basket, i inhale deeply.
stale yellow, dry brown and blotches of blue
is what the sauces aisle smells like.
straight grocery store lines have
those brown bags no other smell can create.
the elevator music in the air lulls the veggies quiet
and keeps the tiles beneath me asleep.
i watch a cold bouquet of flowers
cling to its lipstick petals behind glass;
the ice cream nearest to me is silent--it catches
my comic monologues to gum.
oh, juicy fruit, is it lovely
to be wrapped in foil?

the dropdropdrop of nickels
and the hissing of automatic doors
makes me cold. the black eye of a security camera
sympathizes with me, following my tiptoes out with
absence of perfume.
step step, motor's rev, people's late-night faces.
the sound of carts rolling over potholes
seep into me when loading the car with wines,
painting my hands ominous
and sparkling my eyes guilty. nothing
significant, nothing significant, nothing significant
moves within me as i skid across the parking lot, limp
as dry ice. the rear-view mirror
counts the stars with me as i melt into the car, dissolving
with the drone of numbers
until my arteries are wires, my blood electricity, my eyes
omnivorous black holes.

#40 BreakTheReflection

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Posted 06 November 2007 - 03:12 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Nov 2 2007, 07:53 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Random splotch of whatever.
Silver Bromide
11/2/07; 8:48am EST

it's time for me to breathe.
holding the basket, i inhale deeply.
stale yellow, dry brown and blotches of blue
is what the sauces aisle smells like.
straight grocery store lines have
those brown bags no other smell can create.
the elevator music in the air lulls the veggies quiet
and keeps the tiles beneath me asleep.
i watch a cold bouquet of flowers
cling to its lipstick petals behind glass;
the ice cream nearest to me is silent--it catches
my comic monologues to gum.
oh, juicy fruit, is it lovely
to be wrapped in foil?

the dropdropdrop of nickels
and the hissing of automatic doors
makes me cold. the black eye of a security camera
sympathizes with me, following my tiptoes out with
absence of perfume.
step step, motor's rev, people's late-night faces.
the sound of carts rolling over potholes
seep into me when loading the car with wines,
painting my hands ominous
and sparkling my eyes guilty. nothing
significant, nothing significant, nothing significant
moves within me as i skid across the parking lot, limp
as dry ice. the rear-view mirror
counts the stars with me as i melt into the car, dissolving
with the drone of numbers
until my arteries are wires, my blood electricity, my eyes
omnivorous black holes.


I work in a grocery store and the one in this poem sounds much more interesting...haha great work, Jess...I loved all of it.

#41 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 20 December 2007 - 03:38 PM

The Story of a Tick, v.1
12/20/07; 5:38am PST


i used to see through your fur
through the tiny holes where your bad habits lived
water to me was like a bubbling, neon red:
you used to count down before your dives
by tapping your claws against the rocks
but the ticking would not register, my brain perturbed by clocks,
ignorant to the bombs in my own ears
the swelling of my lungs --
water painting me cloudy --
would leave me reflexive as glass
and ballooning in mass, mulling over mornings
when you would dive into red, dive into stream,
you became sleek like a naked submarine
your vulnerability fled like a thought; you became flawless
while i stood there exposed
the water would dye our skin
redder and redder
until i envied the pale sky, the whites of your eyes
i have this secret that no one knows
but at night in your cave, i would collect
the skin you shed, smelling of misplaced moss
and i would pile it in my closet, where i kept this garden
flowers would poke through mountains of your flakey cells
and i envied their petals, their beautiful roots
for they were closer to you than i ever could be
my jagged limbs
my grotesque face and beady eyes you blinked at
though i am a pest -- a tick -- i would have glued myself to you
i could see through your fur
through your ribs, through your skull;
but when you surfaced from your dives, i knew everything
about the meaning of "small"
it's autumn now, and the leaves are worse than ever
they just die
like it's nothing, making these laconic rainbows
i have locked up my closet, naming the most promising flower
"Leanna", and oh how i have put the idea of you
to rest
you are like a jewelry box
a latch at the front, a ballerina inside
spinning with memories and humming with chimes
i have put you to rest in the leaves
my groundhog with no shadow
please stay in the leaves
sink to the earth
and let me be

#42 ghettokingz

ghettokingz

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Posted 24 December 2007 - 12:15 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Dec 20 2007, 03:38 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
The Story of a Tick
12/20/07; 5:38am PST
i used to see through your fur
through the tiny holes where your bad habits lived
water to me was like a bubbling, neon red:
you used to count down before your dives
by tapping your claws against the rocks
but the ticking would not register, my brain perturbed by clocks,
ignorant to the bombs in my own ears
the swelling of my lungs --
water painting me cloudy --
would leave me reflexive as glass
and ballooning in mass, mulling over mornings
when you would dive into red, dive into stream,
you became sleek like a naked submarine
your vulnerability fled like a thought; you became flawless
while i stood there exposed
the water would dye our skin
redder and redder
until i envied the pale sky, the whites of your eyes
i have this secret that no one knows
but at night in your cave, i would collect
the skin you shed, smelling of misplaced moss
and i would pile it in my closet, where i kept this garden
flowers would poke through mountains of your flakey cells
and i envied their petals, their beautiful roots
for they were closer to you than i ever could be
my jagged limbs
my grotesque face and beady eyes you blinked at
though i am a pest -- a tick -- i would have glued myself to you
i could see through your fur
through your ribs, through your skull;
but when you surfaced from your dives, i knew everything
about the meaning of "small"
it's autumn now, and the leaves are worse than ever
they just die
like it's nothing, making these laconic rainbows
i have locked up my closet, naming the most promising flower
"Leanna", and oh how i have put the idea of you
to rest
you are like a jewelry box
a latch at the front, a ballerina inside
spinning with memories and humming with chimes
i have put you to rest in the leaves
my groundhog with no shadow
please stay in the leaves
and sink to the earth
let me be

Man like it so-so rocks! Its like really like totally deep, I love deep stuff.
like my music, it has to be deep and funny too! happy.gif
kudos for the cool a** work sis, Peace!

Mr. Klub



#43 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 29 December 2007 - 08:48 AM

I am going to keep reposting this until I get it right. There has got to be a way of expressing exactly what you're feeling with words, and that's what I'm aiming to do in my case... please note this is not the finished version.

The Story of a Tick, v.2
12/28/07; 10:47pm PST


i used to see through your fur
through the tiny holes where your bad habits lived.
water to me was like a bubbling, neon red:
you used to count down before your dives
by tapping your claws against the rocks
but the ticking would not register, my brain perturbed by clocks.
the swelling of my lungs --
the steady, deep inhales --
would leave me reflexive as glass
and ballooning in mass, ignorant
to the bombs in my own ears.
when you would dive into red, dive into stream,
you became sleek like a naked submarine.
your vulnerability fled like a thought; you became flawless
as i hummed myself to sleep, vulnerable as porn.
the water would dye our skin
redder and redder
like inhaling blood
until i envied the pale sky, the whites of your eyes.
i have this secret that no one knows
but at night in your cave, i would collect
the skin you shed, smelling of misplaced moss
and i would pile it in my closet, where i kept this garden.
flowers would poke through mountains of your flaky cells
and i envied their petals, their beautiful roots --
for they were closer to you than i ever could be.
my jagged limbs!
my grotesque face and beady eyes you blinked at
though i am a pest -- a tick -- i would have torn off my quills
and sawed down my teeth, gluing my gauzy veins to you.
i used to see through your fur
through your ribs, through your skull;
but when you surfaced from your dives, i knew everything
about the meaning of "small".
it's autumn now, and the leaves are worse than ever
they just die
like it's nothing, making dogwood rainbows
that remind me of change.
my closet is now shackled; i locked it up with everything i own
but if the sun were behind those doors, it would sparkle
through the cracks
and never let me sleep in.
oh, how i wish the idea of you was put
to rest.
you are like a jewelry box:
a latch at the front, a ballerina inside,
spinning with memories and humming with chimes.
you are still turning in the leaves when i look there;
still rolling over in the sun when i expect to see the moon.
i feel ice cold like a comet's tail.
i taste its metal, its loneliness.
the groundhog with no shadow: my addiction, my dependency:
you need to swallow your head and turn to stone;
i'll bury you and bury you until your initials spoon feed grass.
but please, let me be,
let me be,
let me be.
it was better being red than green.

#44 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 07 January 2008 - 04:04 PM

Older poem.

Quiero
11/7/07; 3:37am PST


there's this box in my room
with a time machine inside, a magic wand
and three wishes. i never touch
that box, but sometimes
i put on
this wizard's pointed hat i own
with glitter shooting stars
and think about what i could do with them.
the box's edges sag
from my childhood 'what ifs'
and the wide series of my dreams.
i have the opportunity to long
for this box i have, but
i never open and breathe its contents
to brood over the smell of temptation.
i don't want a time machine, a magic wand
or my three wishes. i want
time to keep going forward, but not
to crawl like it does.
--
because
every
moment, even
in my dreams,
i ache
beyond what i ever felt
i could ache before.
--
with many matches, i light
candles
and watch my hat sparkle
from across the room.

#45 evanfan1117

evanfan1117

    <3

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Posted 08 January 2008 - 02:24 AM

I really like it..

Buuuuuut..

QUOTE
♪ You're livin' on my heart's soft tissue. // When you breathe, life demands your lovelines due ♪
♪ Polka, Polka: don't worry, just moo ♪
♪ I'll always be here for you ♪
♪ moo moo moo moo ♪
♪ You're livin' on my heart's soft tissue ♪
♪ When you breathe, life demands lovelines due ♪
♪ But just moo, moo, moo ♪
♪ Pookie loves you ♪
♪ 'Cause Pookie loves you ♪
♪ Just moo, moo, moo ♪
Moe
Said Joe


Will forever be my favorite..




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