In Focus

I like to walk to and from work. I like looking at the old buildings the old moldings and the bright neon signs. It is the most relaxing time of the day. On the way there I will sip at a Chai latte and hurry my feet trying to beat tardiness. On the way home I will walk with the phone pressed to my ear, catching up with a friend or two. The feeling of being connected to someone is what makes it possible to wonder through down town in the night.

I stare at the blank computer screen and will myself to become sucked into my homework and instead turn to Facebook. Having caught up with my friends I try again to study but am distracted by a text message, a growling stomach, the ticking of the clock.


I like that absence makes the heart fonder.
Wish you were here instead!

This post is brought to you by me before I've had my morning coffee.

Sometimes I think you have to make a bad decision to have a good life. Or maybe just choose the road that you would be less likely to travel because you know that your decision making skills sometimes suck. Or maybe just let the alcohol make the decision for you. It's probably right. Or maybe wrong. But really, how bad can you fuck it up anyways? Not too too bad right? Well, we'll see. So far so good.


in the Dark

The edges of the night are fuzzy.
I don't look at them to hard though. Who know's what I'd find.
It's just smart. Like not walking down that alley. From it's edge the homeless are audible. Having a quarrel. Maybe drunk? Maybe high on cough syrup.

The click of my heels keep me company. The way my scarf floats into the black make me feel light and worry free. Like I don't have a million things tugging at the daylight hours.

In the pitch of the night all the needy people fade away.

The click of my heels keep me safe. That and Orion in the sky, keeping guard.
I'm tired.

Probably I spend to much time running from my thoughts.
I know I don't sleep well.
I'm up a million times a night.

But it's when I start thinking,
when I get back to self.
I want to run.

I'm not sure if there's a candle left to burn.

Last Draft of ART

Sorry, probably you are bored of this poem but I thought it would be sweet to include you in it's evolution.

So for the last time here is:


It’s that

dirty little secret.

"Don't laugh-

my dream is to write a book.

I want to write."

It’s the tooth that you put under your pillow and hope for money to appear in return.
It is uncomfortable.
It’s growth.
It’s what’s crafted between thoughts

and shared with the world, or

kept to yourself.
It is ever-changing, malleable

It’s purity,
it's burlesque.

It’s the line that runs from the height of a woman’s cheek bone to the curve

of her breast, the slim of her waist, and ends with that poor baby toe.