Thursday, December 30, 2010

"Here's to not getting caught, here's to writing like you're possessed, here's to you being nuts"-Derrick Brown

It's more like a one-leaf

I have this undeserved sense of accomplishment
For the fact that I can
Whistle at a really high pitch
And fold my tongue into a shape that
Doesn't look like a three-leaf clover,
but is called that

Monday, December 27, 2010

Late night poetry attempting

Your Bones, My Bones

They say nothing in this life will ever hurt as much as this:

But, I keep telling you things I've said to nobody else

And I sometimes wonder what kind of pet we'll have when we're grown and alive and progressive

And I think about you all the time,

What your bones must feel like on mine,

And wanting the whole mass of your body so ridiculously close, your insides must be deafening

We’d fit together,

Like lego pieces in the construction of an awesome robot

If only you would just pick up on these subtle hints,

I wonder if there's anything I don’t do for show

When you're concerned,

I like to imagine the pace of your breathing exceeds expectations

When you hold me,

I like to imagine that some of these cliches feel original to you too

I want to be waiting in your heart with the comic books and booze,

The corny jokes and sports flicks,

That new sheet music,

That new bicycle

I am searching for a sign of reciprocated agony,

At least a little bit of appetite

But I can't own this:

Your bones

No, These bones are not mine

Handsome designs of some life I don’t know,

I haven't seen the final product,

It hasn’t been revealed

I cannot construct,

When I don’t have a blue print,

Or some booklet,

Telling me which bone fits where,

And how to build,

A robot,

Or something equally as awesome

Even Then

If I could lift up my soul,

Expose my heart, my nudity, a few choice secrets

If I could dance on air mattresses suspended high by tiny paperclips and rubber bands

With no fear

If I could marry this feeling,

Fill up your charities,

Write an autobiography that describes all I think about you, today

Give it to you with a flirt and a smile

I wouldn’t

I like the idea of it, anyway

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Christmas is Tomorrow

We're Jewish.

For some reason, we celebrate Christmas.

Not only this, but we also have the right to postpone Christmas until the 26th, when my sister comes home from grad school in London.

Not only this, but for the second year in a row, my mother has essentially stolen a tree on Christmas Eve (well, for us the eve before Christmas Eve), only due to the fact that no one wants to be out in the cold, selling trees on Christmas Eve.

So they leave them. Up for grabs, my mom says.

Christmas is tomorrow.

For all who were wondering.

Over the last couple of weeks...

The Burial

Upon looking at that photo of you:
You're taller,
perhaps wiser?

I remember how I felt then,
a flicker of something a bit stronger than longing,
a little less than fury,
creeps from some vague place in my gut

I miss you,

I don't like it either

Now I look at a photo of you and wonder if you've done,
Are doing,
Thinking, "She's the same. Perhaps fatter?"
And I wonder,
Or hope,
Some vague place within you is a little less than furious too


I am rereading my favorite book,
I have some sweaters that I used to wear,
I'm remembering how I learned to masturbate,
In Florida,
And you were in Ohio,
I missed you

and I don't know if any of it makes me as sad as it's supposed to,
if I am convincing myself I'm not sad when I clearly am,
if I'm just sad 'cuz I'm not really sad the way I'm supposed to be

We talked last night for the first time after

You said a lot of the right things, like:
I miss you
I'm sorry
You deserve better

I was simultaneously delighted and underwhelmed

I know you will never want to listen to me read poetry,
You will never enjoy my stupid, silly jokes,
You will never look good in a beard or hats

I can't understand how you can want me so much,
All I want is different

My favorite book is all about this sort of thing,
It doesn't really make me think of you at all


I daydream about many things

I daydream about how often you daydream about me naked

I don't think about you naked,
Not really,
Not nearly as much

Mostly I like to imagine your lustful eyes,
Picture your hungry groin,
(Or rather,
Think about you thinking about me picturing your hungry groin)

In my mind, your mind is driven mad with desire,
These fantastical ideas of my bare tits and

I'll ask a simple question:
Are you thinking about me thinking about you nearly as much as I think about you thinking about objectifying my body in all the ways I'm not supposed to want my body to be objectified in?

I picture myself straddling you in that chair,
Pulling you to the floor
Committing mortal sin in front of all these people


I'm more picturing you,
Picturing me
Straddling you in that chair (I'm naked, of course, in your imagined scenerio)
Pulling you to the ground
You want me to commit mortal sin to you in front of all these people

I suppose if one were to ask me,
What my wildest fantasies were,
I suppose I would have to say that I would like for you to want me as much as I want you to want me wanting you.

Not so much wild as,

Thursday, December 16, 2010

The Letter

I have been writing this letter that I will never give you. It's now several pages long, and still doesn't say everything I've been desperate to tell you for about a year now. The first line is, "There are too many reasons why I shouldn't write this letter."

And it's true.

And so I will never send it.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

"Today I'm not gonna worry about when I will get married, or when the money will run out, or when I will be honest enough to make myself whole."

That's Derrick Brown.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

our late night conversation

Nov 26, 1:54am. A text message.

You: Sleepin?

Me: Who is this?

You: dara drunk?

Me: i dunno man. better go check on her.

You: How can I....I'm in ohio...ur closer

Me: dude, I'm in ohio too.

You: Ant this sally?

Me: this ant.

You: Sally?

Me: nope. sorry chipmunk.

You: Who's dis?

Me: Otter.

You: Oh mah bad...I guess my gurl gave me the wrong number.

Me: that's okay. we all make mistakes.

I think I've found my soulmate.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


Sometimes I think too much about

What it must look like for


To see

My teeth when I eat

Sunday, November 14, 2010

My Children

My children will fall into the category of happy, I hope



And I don't really give a shit if they believe in God or gods, if they marry, if they are feminists or Jews, vegetarians or republicans, acne ridden, curly headed, tall, thin, simple, shy, college educated, talented, if they're a little ostentatious, a little silly...

I wish them sweetness,

I wish them courage,

I wish that one day they will think back to their earliest memories and feel the same warmth they felt then, a little nostalgic pain in their chests for something that maybe one day they would like to repeat for their kids, if they choose to have any. I wish that one day they will consider doing something amazing with their lives, feel like it's possible, feel like their mother will always be there for them even if they don't succeed. I wish that one day they will ask me what I used to want to be when I grew up, and then discover that one can still find satisfaction even when all of one's dreams don't come true. I wish that they will search for God, not find an answer, and be okay with it. I wish that they will search for love, maybe find an answer, and be okay with it either way. I wish that they will have fat days and sad days, bad hair days and lonely days, and that all of these days will be outnumbered by the good ones. I wish that sometimes they will want things so loudly that they will swear the whole world can hear it.

In any case, I wish that they will fall into the category of happy,



and that's really all I can ever ask for.


I found this in the back of my journal. I don't remember writing it, I don't remember what prompted me to write it.

I won't write a poem about love.

But, if I were to write a poem about love I would mention that it does not matter who you are, what you are, where you are, how you are...

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is better than the discovery of another human being who can stand the the smell of your farts.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

A Letter

Dear Self,

I love you. You happy? This constant need to hear those words is absurd, you know. Why does anyone else have to say it? You know you are factory producing a million fabulous things a day, incredible words and breaths, thoughts and smiles. Joy. You are joyous. You were created to do joyous things on this world, and never forget it.

You sure are something, Sunshine.



Sunday, November 7, 2010

Everyone you ever thought was cool

is actually not.

The Bathroom

Yesterday, as I was finishing up in the bathroom, a girl, who I knew once but sort of fell out of touch with after the beginning of freshman year, was facing the full length mirror. I was about to wash my hands when she turned to me and said:

"Question. Am I ugly?"

Well fuck, I thought. Of all the questions in existence, this is the one I least wanted to be asked by an almost stranger in the bathroom. Asked before I had even washed my hands. Asked while trying to get back to a talk with my good friend who had had a shitty day. Asked while also thinking about a conversation I had just had with my parents for an hour, about the ex-boyfriend who is now dating a girl who can only be described as a horrible representation of all women everywhere. I had just been trying to figure out whether I am insulted or relieved, angry or thrilled, lonely or not.

"Um...what? No! Of course not!"

"That's what you have to say. You're my friend...or well, you used to be anyway. We don't really talk anymore. Anyway, sometimes I think I'm ugly."

"But you're not!" I yelped. I felt guilty and sick and angry at all people everywhere who had ever said anything terrible to this young woman, or any woman for that matter, and I felt guilt and sickness and anger at myself for falling out of touch, for not trying harder to be a real friend . "People always think they're ugly, but they never are. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Yeah, well...I'm kind of drunk and I wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't. I just sometimes look at myself and think..."

"But you're beautiful!"

"What's beautiful about me?"

I almost admired her bravery, the ability she had to ask the question that everyone has at some point wanted an answer to.

"Your body is beautiful."

"Yeah, my body...but what about my...?"

"And your face! Your bone structure...your hair...your smile...I'm sorry, you caught me off guard here, I don't really know what to say, but trust me. Please. You are not ugly. I really really do think you're beautiful."

She smiled at me. She hugged me and thanked me. She said, "You are so sweet. You've made me feel so much better." She left.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment, and then remembered that I still hadn't washed my hands. I did and then I left.

Monday, November 1, 2010

No Explanation

Today my hand said the following things:



No Voice!

Sunday, October 31, 2010

This weekend, I have...

severed all ties with one of the most defining parts of my life so far

accosted several poor young people

stood up to authority, sort of

seen myself in a student film, as a deranged person

been Indiana Jones

watched an episode of Hey Arnold

written a play (partially)

read some Freud

eaten dinner with a professor who has seen me pee and maybe was once engaged to Mulder from the X-Files

Monday, October 18, 2010

A Love Poem


Have no idea,

How much,

I think about,

Your dick

Sunday, October 17, 2010


I don’t want to write anything but these words that mean a fuckton

I don’t know how else to measure up to this

This, this kaleidoscope universe,

This rainbow life,

These everlasting brightyears,

I mean it

All of it

An exact metric shitload

Please, feel the weight of it on your graceless neck and back

I know the burden of meaning is not an easy one to bear,

Be a bear with me (rawr),

I’m trying my best to bridge the gaps of your teeth,

Walk the bridge of your nose,

Seep into your nostrils and your mind like some strange jelly,

Leaking out of a peanut butter sandwich a bitchmile long

You may find this ridiculous concept a little hard to grasp,

Wait until I really pop off those footies, Sir.

I guess I’m talking about love a little bit,

The beyond,

Bodies and distances,


I guess I don’t really know what I’m trying to say,

But please, Lord,

Let it mean a fuckton to you

Monday, October 11, 2010

Sad Indie Bitches

Tonight is sad indie bitches night,
So play me some of that,
Regina, Ingrid,
Some of that Imogen,
I wanna feel like the only reason I don't have a boyfriend is cuz:
"I'm just so passionate about SO MUCH, you know?"
"I just don't think there are any guys who can understand that my soul is first, and foremost,
on my list of things to love."
" I'm waiting for a boy who will spoon and sing with me before he messes with my ladybits."

So, my sisters,
My poor sad indie bitches,
Sing to me of your woes,
Tell me what love should be,
With your ukulele solos and some pretty impressive three part harmonies,
I'm expecting a revelation, somewhere, about womanhood and evidently,
the glockenspiel
I'm expecting some honesty, girls
And I know
that you know
how to dish it out

I think, tonight, we could all use some sad indie bitchin'.

Sunday, October 3, 2010


We spend so much time doubting ourselves. You're not allowed to be sad, you're not allowed to freak out, you're not allowed to wear that outfit, you're not allowed to read into things, you're not allowed to be cocky, you're not allowed to judge, you're not allowed to be too excited, too nervous, too forward, too upset...

And maybe it's not everyone, but I think that the majority of people wonder if they're even allowed to be human sometimes.

So I wonder. If everyone just, for one day, allowed themselves to indulge in these "not allowed" feelings, maybe we would all be a lot more satisfied with life for a little bit.

I think self-indulgence is necessary, sometimes. That's just my personal opinion.

So cry if you want to, okay?

Friday, September 24, 2010

A Finger, Two Dots, Then Me-Derrick Brown

This poem breaks me up all the time.

A Finger, Two Dots, Then Me

Derrick Brown
Lying together in the park on Seventh,
our backs smoosh grass and I say
I will love you till I become a child again,
when feeding me and bathing me is no longer romantic,
but rather necessary.

I will love you till there is no till.
Till I die.
And when that electroencephalogram shuts down, darlin'
that's when the real lovin' kicks in.

Forgive me for sounding selfish
but I won't be able to wait under the earth for you
(albeit a romantic thought for groundhogs,
gophers and the gooey worms).
I will not be able to wait for you...

but I will meet up with you
and here's where you will find me:
get a pen--

Hold your finger up
(two fingers if your hands are frail by now)
and count two stars directly to the left
of the North American moon.
You will find me there.
You will find me darting behind amazing quasars
Behind flirtatious winks
of bright and blasting boom stars!

Sometimes charging so far into space
the darkness goes blue.
I will be there chasing sound waves
riding them like two-dollar pony ride horses
that have finally broken free and wild.
I will be facing backwards, lying sideways,
no hands, sidesaddle, sometimes standing
sometimes screaming zip zang zowie!
My God, it's good to be back in space... Where is everybody?

You will recognize my voice.
You will see the flash of a fire trail
burning off the back of me
burning like a gasoline comet kerosene sapphire.
This is my voice.
Don't look for my body or a ghost.
I'll resemble more a pilot light than a man now.

I'm sure some will see
this cobalt star white light from earth
and cast me a wish like a wonder bomb.
And I'll think "Hmmph. people still do that?"

I'm sure I'll take the light wonder bombs
to the point in the universe
where sound does end.
The back porch of God's summer home.

It's so quiet here, you float.
It feels the way cotton candy tastes.

I say to him... why do I call you God?
He says 'Because Grand Poobah sounds ridiculous.'
(Who knew he was so witty?)
I ask him 'Lord, so many poets have tried to nail it and missed, what is holy?'

At that moment,
the planets begin to spin and awaken
and large movie screens appear on Mars, Saturn and Venus
each bearing images I have witnessed
and over each and every clip flashes the word holy.

magic tricks--holy
cows' tongues--holy
snowballs upside the head--holy
clumsy first kisses--holy
sneaking into movies--holy
your mother teaching you to slow dance
the fear returning
the fear overcome--holy
eating top ramen on upside-down frisbees
cause it was either plates or more beer--holy
drunk beach cruiser nights--holy
the $5.00 you made in vegas
and the $450.00 you lost--holy
the last time you were nervous holding hands--holy
feeling God at a pool hall but not church--holy
sleeping during your uncle's memorized dinner prayer--holy
losing your watch in the waves and all that signifies--holy
the day you got to really speak to your father cause the television broke--holy
the day your grandmother told you something meaningful
cause she was dying--holy
the medicine
the hope
the blood
the fear
the trust
the crush
the work
the loss
the love
the test
the birth
the end
the finale
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
in the rebuilt machinery of our hearts

So love, you should know what to look for
and exactly where to go...

Take your time and don't worry about getting lost.
You'll find me.
Up there, a finger and two dots away.
If you're wondering if I'll still be able to hold you
...I honestly don't know

But I do know that I could still fall for
a swish of light that comes barreling
and cascading towards me.

It will resemble your sweet definite hands.
The universe will bend.
The planets will bow.
And I will say "Oh, there you are. I been waitin' for ya. Now we can go."

And the two pilot lights go zoooooooom
into the black construction paper night

as somewhere else
two other lovers lie down on their backs and say
"What the hell was that?"

Monday, September 20, 2010

Ode to Curly Hair

I don't think you understood the psychological torment one went through,
In middle school,
With nicknames such as:
Lenny Kravitz Wannabe
That Girl With Frizzy Hair
And yes, I would like you to know, Miss Brittney Gugaliami
Or whatever the fucking hell your name was,
That I once thought that you should die a very slow and painful death,
With meat cleavers and such,
Because your hair was straight and mine,

These days I look to my sisters,
Of frizzy descent,
Who once brushed through it all, hoping to God to look like all those bitches in the 7th grade,
Small tits, flat irons, mothers who taught them to use tampons and eyeliner,
And I wonder where Brittney G is now,
Still showing off her new thong to the football team?
Still straightening her bangs?
Still bragging that she knows what a blow job is?
While I,
Frizzy hair and all,
Tried to look it up in the dictionary

My curls are a part of me,
I like to say
A vital section of my soul
Everything I'm made up of,
and more

What is your hair, Brittney G?
AKA everything I hated about my childhood.
Dead cells growing from your skull?
Oh, okay.

15 Things That Are Good

Here are some really good things in my life right now:

1. I go to one of the most beautiful colleges on the planet.
2. The weather is lovely.
3. I am listening to Bob Dylan.
4. I am healthy and young and basically happy.
5. My hair is really really curly.
6. My dog is safe and sound. I got to see her this weekend. She's a senior citizen, but she's had a lovely long life so that's okay.
7. I am friends with a lot of really excellent people. Here and there.
8. I am essentially single and loving it.
9. My good days outnumber my bad days.
10. I have a wonderful, supportive family that doesn't hate me for deciding to be a drama major.
11. I love to sing and today my voice teacher told me that I'm actually pretty damn good at it.
12. My sister lives in London now. How cool is that?
13. My cat's name is Sherman.
14. I'm learning a lot of really neat things.
15. I like my name a lot.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Sometimes, I just very politely want to ask, "Will you fall in love with me?"

I wonder what the reaction would be.

I wonder if anyone would take that question seriously.

And what would I do? You know, if someone asked me that very same thing?

"Sure thing, sweet thang," probably. Or maybe, "I dunno, will I?" depending on how much I actually want to.

The thing is, if someone were to come up to me and very politely ask this question, I'm pretty sure I would just say yes no matter what, because I would be so impressed with the effort.

So there's a life lesson in there, somewhere, I think

Thursday, September 2, 2010


I'm afraid I'm too repetitive
Too selfish
Too silly
Too confused
Too clumsy
Too flirty
Too much of a bitch
Too needy
Too insecure
Too cocky
Too boring
Too afraid

Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Truth

I really really sincerely, desperately hope you're thinking as hard about talking (fucking) to me as I am thinking about talking (fucking) to you.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

A Poem About You

This is a really corny, corny poem I wrote about a friend, or anyone who wants it to be for them.

The way I see you,

That's the beautiful way you're supposed to be

No more, no less,

No second guess,

The way I see you, it's perfect to me

Don't be skinnier,

Don't be prettier,

You can't wish it all away

Don't wish for the past, I didn't see you in the past,

The way I see you is the way you are today

The way I see you, you're you the way you was meant to be

If God is alive, and maybe he is, he'll see what I see

And if you can't believe it,

If you don't see it,

You are missing out.


Monday, June 7, 2010

3rd Post Today, Most Important

I was browsing blogs. Well, that's not even very true. I planned to browse blogs and instead stopped at the very first one I saw. I think you can see why.

"My name is Kathy. My husband, John and I have a 'fem/dom' marriage. The blog tells the story about how it all started, the problems, the stress, and issues of living a lifestyle that is slightly deviant from the norm."

I am trying to think of a way to not read this woman's entire life story and write her biography. I really am.

Here Are Some Songs, Some Poems

Do you know how much I like music and poetry?

Well, probably just as much as any other 19 year old, liberal arts student.

New Goals

Imagine that this list is being read to you in an angry British accent. That is the voice of my thoughts.

1. Start listening to music legitimately. Like, don't just play the same old songs over and over again and claim that you like a wide range of music. Just saying that you're into hip hop these days doesn't actually mean that you know a damn thing about hip hip.

2. Get rid of those ridiculous clothes you never wear. Is there a reason that you have a Spiderman costume? No? Of course there isn't, you bloody fool.

3. Read books. You've been telling yourself that you need to read more books. You know that you're nowhere near as well read as anyone you know. You've had that Michael Chabon book and that Edward Albee collection of plays for over a year. Have you read these things? No. Are you freaking illiterate? Probably.

4. Maybe you could actually acquire some semblance of shape this summer. I mean, really. It's like sleeping in a pool of jello. Get off your squishy bum and go for a run for once in your life.

5. Do something worthwhile that may actually affect what you will become in the future. I am sick of hearing you complain that you don't know what you want to be, you don't know what major you'll choose, you don't know what you'll have for lunch. Here's a thought: Study a bit, learn a bit, apply for some internships and study abroad programs, and maybe you'll turn into a real human being. Maybe.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Silly PEOMS I found in my journal/facebook just now


Sometimes I fear that I am becoming a monster. No, literally.
My skin turns green, my snout grows at a stupendous rate,
My eyes bug out and my toes transform to talons,
My tummy bulges, the fire in my breath becomes so unbearable that I just have to
Seriously. Sometimes I think I ought to see the doctor.

Silly Poem

I had an idea for a silly poem today.

And then I thought,
global warming

So many serious things!

And with all due respect America, I would rather discuss puppies.

The Truth

My dog does not judge me for my faults.
No, she knows nothing of my past present or future.
My dog does not hate me for my foolish mistakes
My dog will always offer a comforting lick on the nose and nip at the fingers
My dog merely accepts the inevitable...

We're only here for a little while, so we might as well eat the cat's food.

A Secret Desire

I hope that one day I wake up to be an elephant
Peaceful, powerful, and honest
I'll gather around my ancestor's bones
(elephants do that you know)
and I will think about all the good times we had at our favorite watering hole

I want to be able to eat as much as I want
The fatter I am, the happier
I hope that one day I wake up to find that size doesn't matter on any account
My trunk is a trunk and as long as it's long enough to scratch my own back
I'm satisfied

One day, I hope I wake to the sound of giraffes making whatever noise they make
Because as an elephant, I imagine I'll be in on this secret
I suppose I wouldn't care
Elephants are pretty easy going when it comes to solving mysteries
God or whatever doesn't really matter
I'll have lovely African trees to eat from
And nice mud to roll around in when I need to cool off

Of Feet and Friends

Every person in the world came to my rescue today when I fell down, stupidly, and twisted my ankle.

Seriously, I was doing nothing, I rolled my ankle while doing nothing.

And I realize, the best people are the people who will bring you ice cream and chocolate and sandwiches and love, even when you are at your dumbest.

That's me: The Dumbest Klutz Ever

And I have great friends.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

I gotta posta bloga

It's been a long time, friends. This is always my cycle. I hope you don't expect much more from me because I am probably never going to change. I say probably because I actually don't know. I have no plan for my life. I am just bouncing off walls, spiraling out of control, speaking before thinking, acting like a doofus etc. It's how I do.

I suppose I have been keeping a journal as long as I can remember, but this journal has been kept in about eighty different notebooks. Do not let this fool you. There are about 100 pages total of actually good writing because I used to get embarrassed about what I was writing and start over in a new book. You see, 12 year old Madeline wouldn't dream of sharing the same notebook as 8 year old Madeline because some certain person might find the book and see the childish ramblings of a CHILD because 12 year old Madeline was SO MATURE. She starts a new journal, decides not to date any of the entries because she doesn't want to admit to her inconsistency in journal writing, and saves the old notebooks in hopes of perhaps combining them all one day. Over this past month I have discovered that I have about 20 half done, wasted books. Most of what I've written is about boys and my vagina and how I hate my hair and I'd like to pretend that all this has changed, but I kind of know better. You should too. I still have basically the same mindset.

Anyway, the deal is that I am trying to focus on ONE notebook and ONE blog and my focus on each of these things has dwindled because I have THE REST OF THE INTERNET TO DISTRACT ME. I really respect those of you who manage to write every day. I would like everyone to think that I write every day and read every day and exercise every day, but I just don't and it would be foolish of me to try to pretend. New Years Resolutions? Of course, but these are my resolutions every year and you and I know both know that it's never going to happen.

I will continue to have random, sparse urges to write heartfelt essays or passive aggressive poems or political commentary or at least hilarious commentary on a cat video. I'll post videos as well, because that's always really easy and enjoyable. You will see. I'll be there for you occasionally.

Friday, January 15, 2010


I have found my major.

Boogieology, with a concentration in Getting Jiggy with It and a minor in Letting the Dogs Out.

You know, just so I can have something to fall back on if need be.