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!