take your time melissa. Go slowly. try to understand each of these moments. Stop dreaming of what comes next, of what you want to be, of where you want to go. breathe, gyspy girl. and be brave, for there is much desert to walk. take of your shoes, walk, now is the time to simply walk. travese such elements which hold you, keep you, stand you, try to stick stuck here
oh be content wandering mind. Be patient hurried heart. Less heart. more open eyed gazes. more sitting under these simple heroic train bridges, growing more and more powerful at the sound of the rushing river below.

dont faint. Stay awake. stop falling asleep with good books on your chest when you must follow along, with each and every life altering world.

the hoops, fire lit cirus, jump youngin jump through, come on little girl. Think not, alter not, subdue not, challenge not. Accept it all, everything this world preaches in and out of church walls. You are just a girl. Do your job as such. You are an ornament. A precious, silence. There is a perfectly shaped place for your womanhood in this world. Join our ranks, shhhhh, stop talking so damn much. How are you expected to look pretty bitching like you do. If i have to hear you rant one more time on the trival discourse of foucault i will put you in your place...

being a woman, being a woman, but always up the mountain side your clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything....

little sister, i believe he will be back again....

i am looking for you sir. i dont want to need you, but i would like some company as i work all of this out. If you will let me rage, scream, kick, spaz out about the constant knocking, the phone keeps ringing, the dollars keep being made, the bikini clad girls keep jumping like lemmings on beaches, while all the drooling young boys stare... they want nothing else. The essays written. they want nothing else. the corporations growing. they want nothing else. The unchallengable truth of blessing and grace and hell. they want nothing else.

It isnt sitting right. i am restless. squirming. hold me still. hold her still. quiet her down. make her stop screaming for God's sakes. shhhh sleep now. just sleep this day away dear. i cant keep fighting for you to notice. to love. to appreciate. so i lie down under the flaming fall leaves, sun piercing through the foliage. i am still waiting under those trees. still sneaking onto the farmer's field to see the view from the rock seated hill top. its soo damn cold this winter. my hands hurt around this flaming red embered cigarette. joanna newsome rings in my ears, her poetic perceptions calming the deepest rutterings of my heart and mind. I clammber akwardly into my bed, holding your spot, whoever you are, for whenever you get here. I cant decide whether to try to talk to you Lord before i sleep. I cant decide if you care.

Its soo selfish to want all of someone's attention. They never lead me on. I just fall in love with everything they are, everything they say, how incredibly impressed i am...and i wait, for someone to be so perplexed with me. To grab my arm as i run past, brush back my flakly flat ironed fashionistic hair and kiss these lips in a way that assures me we are going places where both of our dreams will be seen as an untouchable reality.

when will these feet touch the cobble stones of cubian streets, when will these eyes draw in the african sunset, hear the french intonation in paris, this tongue taste the sweet teas of japenese shops. will i be too overcome with my mind to go to each of these places.

I fear that i am not inadequate, but that i am powerful beyond measure.

i just dont want to have to work so hard. i want one thing to come easy, for once. I have been strong all of my life, and i want someone to let me rest. let me just sleep here, folded defeated, exhausted, let me share the extra smidget of strength you have left.

applied gently, to the love you've lent me.

back to the hoops. am i too idealist love? or will you really come bodly, and take me from this medicore day to the silver lining i have pictured for so long. Does your perfection really exisit. can you make it so that i am to overwhelmed to sneak out the backway, when you are sleep, the second you turn your instatiable head...

some women live with a gray love in their life. its always a fight to keep the backdoor locked. to make sure there are no secret exits behind the study shelves. To keep him occupied, impressed, turned on, excited. There are so many more acceptable young female forms out there.



oh, tired silent 10:30 monday.


the fool, on pilgrimage....









rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes....i heard your song...before my heart, had time to hush it...