| I needed |
[May. 27th, 2009|02:32 am] |
I needed something to throw myself into,
diploma in one hand, useless poetry in the other
I found her in my bed, eyes falling closed,
body around mine like a vine or a leech or maybe giftwrap
her steady breath became my structure
the rise and fall of her tattoo, equador, the equator
The center of the world laying next to me
It was easy to stay focused, stay all day in the futon
that came with our pre-furnished room
To have nothing of your own is either young naivete or zen
I cannot decide if we are wise or poor or both
I write all my poems in whispers and scratches
She makes movies of us behind her eyelids
we are making love we are making art we are making nothing
I have nothing to show for what is everything to me
That's the worst of it
the 5AM snores and me
tapping at the too-bright computer screen
trying desperately to turn a movies and cookies night into a masterpiece
to have one tangible thing beyond my popcorn belly and damp underwear |
|
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| (no subject) |
[May. 10th, 2009|04:21 am] |
i have been drunk for days, he said. I just want it to stop.
he stumbled over a bottle dropped by the homeless man nearby
"it's not empty"
I watch him walk beside me,
struggling with his bicycle spraypainted orange
struggling with his legs, trying to hold up his swiftly tilting self
to think about: his toes inside his high top sneakers
and feet and ankles and all the way up.
poor body.
I imagine his liver like a cleaning lady on overtime, sweaty wisps of hair falling into her face muttering in spanish as she runs out of cleaning detergents and looks at the clock waiting to get paid.
who pays your liver?
who pays your legs?
what is the money they use?
I give him vitamins and coconut water to hold over the body till a breakfast paycheck.
He has been drunk for days,
eyelids drooping and mouth slack.
I rub my fingers along his stubble, a timeline of sloth.
the street is empty. the breeze is cold.
my mind is working, wondering about his mind.
I wonder if this is what it means to be in love. |
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| nothing. |
[May. 8th, 2009|03:43 am] |
I consider split pea soup without ham a miracle.
I wish chickens didn't die for chicken noodle soup and cows didn't die for leather and burgers.
I want my cake and to eat it too.
There is a truth in food. Something you give away in the habit of pieces of the world that you consume.
What is is this sweetness you crave? How many spoonfulls for your coffee? Do you drink it now or wait for it to cool?
If you new nothing of me but a diary of what I ate, you might know my story.
Try this:
3 emergen-c's
2 cups of soup
one bowl of pasta and spinach
Yes, darling, I'm sniffles and coughs. I'm fever and blush. I'm headache and nausea.
i've been listless for days and now my body matches my mood.
Time keeps passing but I don't feel a thing. I fill my days with actions of no lasting consequence:
art shows, music, dancing, museums, dinners, coffee, bike rides.
without creation, I feel that very little has a point. I am jobless, and creatively blocked.
The other day I felt proud to take a few photos, change a tire, and sew a patch.
I feel like there are no words inside me to write exactly what needs to be written. But I also can't draw it.
I need to find a medium to express.
If I could I would sculpt for you a woman of stunning strength and sadness with a tender wrist.
or I'd cook a meal so light and spiced you would tear.
or make a collage that would capture the chaos of love.
but instead I dream, nose runs, and my fingers keep clattering on these silly keys- doing nothing and telling about it. |
|
|
| Moment. |
[Apr. 27th, 2009|08:46 pm] |
When I think about creating characters I get exhausted by their history. All the childhood traumas, the heartbreaking lovers, the silent stolen moments where the world stands still, the daydreams at jobs, the coffee too sweet.
all the fine details of a life.
instead I eat hummus with cherry tomatoes with my feet on the table and hope nobody comes in to interrupt my thoughts |
|
|
| you |
[Apr. 8th, 2009|08:57 pm] |
You have all these holes all over your body, these echoes of what was once upon a time.
Your skin is a scrapbook. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 8th, 2009|06:46 pm] |
cliff hang her
cliff hanger
third grade reading lesson
not everything ends
sometimes we just don't see
what happens next
I was so angry
young soft fingers curled
in balls
and now you curled
young soft ball
from my nipple
to knee
our story is mid-sentence
I am writing it
every day
another sequel
What if one day
I wake up and |
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| call and response |
[Aug. 13th, 2008|05:50 pm] |
EX BOYFRIEND OF 9 MONTHS AGO [wrote]
do me a favor.
stop sending me texts.
stop commenting on pictures i'm in.
stop tagging pictures of "me".
because i do "still hate you". the thought of you makes me nauseous. =)
oh, and is one of my best friends not enough? gotta go after both of em, huh?
i wanna make things very clear, because you don't seem to get it.
i dont wanna be your friend. i dont wanna get coffee. i dont wanna hear your name. hear about you hanging out with my friends. hear about you making plans to FUCK my friends.
i want nothing to do with you, yet you seem to follow me, and persist on somehow leeching on to the people around me.
najva,
STAY. THE FUCK. OUT OF MY LIFE.
Thanks!
---------------------------
I RESPONDED
I sent one text, and when you didn't respond I didn't try again.
I commented on the picture because of joannas clothes.
and I tagged pictures of you because you have a doppleganger. I think that's cool.
I have no idea why you hate me, or the thought of me makes you nauseous... I think it's sad actually.
My offer for friendship remains on the table, but it perfectly clear that you aren't up for it.
And one best friend- you must remember I slept with her (knew her) before you. what happens between us has nothing to do with you.
And i'm not after your other friend, though I always thought he was cute. Although, it's not like you're that respectful to never sleep with other people's exes, hm?
The reason it seems like I'm following you around is because we SHARE friends. It's inevitable after you share a LIFE and a NEIGHBORHOOD with someone. I pass by your house all the time, jeezus.
And honestly alex, I really wish for the best for you. I hope you let go of all this anger towards me, or work it out. It's not healthy.
Good luck, darling.
And cute mohwak.
--------------------------
When will this be over? |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 6th, 2008|01:04 am] |
Here is the place we have reached.
the place where I type out with my voice
everything I want you to hear.
Where I overbook myself through casual
commentary and make visible promises on pages
like some modern bastard of a contract.
I have signed in.
I have signed up.
I have re-signed.
Is his is to be our forum?
our messageboard?
But hey, at least we don't have a blog
made up of a kitschy mix of our two names
where we eventually post our breakup letters.
I miss things
I have never owned.
Quill pens. typewriters. wax seals. you.
This whole mess
this web net tangle of me sitting
staring at your name knowing you
are sitting staring at mine
it has gone too far.
it travels the world in seconds now.
faster than an eraser,
any delete button.
And it's too personal.
I want things to be out of hand and in mouth.
never again a dear john letter
never again a dear najva
your grandfather died and I
couldn't bring myself to call
that gets routed to my SPAM folder. |
|
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| Today is the day. |
[May. 13th, 2008|08:15 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Computer Lab | ] |
| [ | In my heart |
| |  busy | ] |
| [ | In my ears |
| | Fugazi | ] |
I finish.
Essay almost done. Last essay.
Decided to check my old e-mail address. This breaks my heart.
 |
|
|
| New. |
[Apr. 12th, 2008|03:25 pm] |
You are open to me.
It is not your pale skin glowing
nor your breasts exposed
that makes me think
that I can walk through you
like a doorway.
We are the same kind.
There are not many of us.
You will kiss me.
In my mouth there will be
what you put in every mouth.
A thinly sliced sliver of your heart.
You will remember
my rose musk.
my purple room.
The birthmark on my left inner-thigh.
You will hold on
to me. Take my arms
and place them like compliments
on the places you feel flawed.
You will use
my touch to replace
whatever it was you gave me
when you allowed me to enter you.
We both have our quilted hearts.
We tear and sew and patch.
We give our favorite pieces.
We give our warmth.
For one night,
let us lay down the needles.
We will sleep
and share two blankets.
I will go into you
and come out empty-handed.
 |
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| I'm going to make it through this year if it kills me. |
[Mar. 26th, 2008|05:21 pm] |
| [ | In my ears |
| | The Mountain Goats | ] |
I'm finally getting it together. I have a few goals again (need those to stay on track)...
-Final thesis/chapbook By May10th
-Fulbright Scholarship Application Due in october
-Submission to queer women's art show By April 15th
I'm dancing at trash this Friday.
And again this sunday at girls,girls,girls at sugarland.
It's my first queer girls party. I made a goal a few months ago to dance a lesbian party. here we go.
Emailed my ex for the first contact in months. nothing serious, just a desire to be friendly and sending good wishes.
I don't expect a reply.
And I'm 99% sure I'm going to europe. not for an epic 2 months. but at least two weeks. probably more like a month.
Definite: London, Prague, Berlin, Munich, Amsterdam....
I am trying to write poems.
I am trying to be healthy.
here's something I leave you with...
What I imagine people who don't understand me must think
Her nose-ring is too big.
Her teeth are yellow.
She's not that pretty.
Look at her love handles, cellulite, and frizzy hair.
What are those three scars on her arms?
Are they burns? They look sickly.
God won't she ever stop talking?
She's an attention whore.
She's not that intelligent.
She doesn't even know who the mayor is.
That's so rude.
I can't believe she just made fun of the holocaust.
She's not a real person.
She's a trite hipster cliche.
What does she mean go-go dancing?
Does she mean stripping?
That's scary.
I hope she's tested.
She will make out with anyone.
She's kind of a slut.
She's only sleeping with girls
because she just broke up with her boyfriend.
She's been drinking margaritas all night.
Is she an alcoholic?
Why does she want to show me her writing?
It has nothing to do with me, or the rest of the world.
She is not a good poet. |
|
|
| A new poem. |
[Feb. 26th, 2008|07:12 pm] |
Amidst an epic few nights (which I will post about later)
here is something I wrote.
No Stephanie,
I won't lie to Amy about the Blow Job you gave her boyfriend.
Humanity,
I've caught you with your pants off.
I saw you walk out the bathroom
without washing your hands.
Humanity,
I know you.
Know you threw your clothes on the closet floor.
had a crush on my boyfriend.
hid your hickey with stage makeup.
Humanity,
Fuck your privacy.
While you were cooking the chicken
and spreading salmonella with your lazy ways-
I was reading your diary.
I know you weren't as drunk as you acted.
faked your last three orgasms.
bought your term paper online.
Humanity,
get off your moral high-ground.
Don't you dare judge me.
Humanity,
I know you visit foot fetish parties.
get lap dances.
mix your trash and your recycling.
Humanity!
I know you broke vegan last week.
broke bank last week.
broke hearts last week.
You are so terrified
of the little truths inside you
that you knit your lies
tighter than your skinny jeans.
the real you
is rotting
for lack of fresh air.
only maggots fly at me from your mouth. |
|
|
| there are so many people |
[Feb. 20th, 2008|05:33 pm] |
| [ | In my heart |
| | busy | ] |
I want to meet. Who I wonder about in passing time.
Who I could call, or e-mail, I suppose. How does life get to make the final cut on who you spend your time with?
I made this list of things I enjoy doing most:
1. connecting with people
2. dancing
3. writing
and it becomes slightly difficult to do the last when I'm always busy with the first two.
The past few nights have been pure insanity.
Last night was blurry attempts at sewing skirts in bushwick. I ended up in a huge cuddle puddle and loved each moment.
Two nights ago was persepolis and australian food. The movie made my eyes a tid bit soggy.
Three nights ago- the L word and a long walk under the J train. Stella's and vegan pizza.
Four nights ago- rubulad, which is always insanity. walking home in the sunrise. kissing and sweating and upupup.
five nights ago- peeing on the brooklyn bridge, dancing with ourselves on subway poles, sparks, and bad 80's music at the annex.
This morning I had chocolate chip pancakes. Yesterday I had ribs for the first time.
I am currently defining my life by the nighttime and my consumption, apperantly. |
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| Living. Fully. |
[Feb. 16th, 2008|12:28 pm] |
This is what I live for.
(from an e-mail my friend sent me.)
"That's why I'm drawn to you. There's this spirit and energy in you that reminds me about all the elements of life that just float around for us to grab at will. And its steadfast and unflinching. So many people's eyes sparkle or die or have flashes of excitement, brilliance, intensity. Yours are the most consistent eyes I've seen. They're always full...so full that you can't necessarily decifer a single emotion from them. They're full like a tear while you're laughing and crying at the same time. Heavy, warm, deeply satisfying, but with meaning of its own that goes beyond what you can understand. You try to put meaning on it. Call it 'happy' call it 'sad' but you know, when you felt it on your cheek, it held more knowledge than you. Your eyes are so full that you have to look to the rest of you for more information. Your cheeks and lips... are they puckered or smiling, relaxed or posed. Your earlobes sticking out from the purple and black.
All the elements/energy/spirit I'm talking about bounce from the spirals of your hair, off your hips. Some land in that small bit of crack coming up from the back of your pants. Some land under your boots. Some just float into the atmosphere around you drawing more and more people your way.
If I could describe it better I would. But the thought warranted elaboration. There's a timelessness there. 'Hot' is not timeless. The word seemed so wrong...
Obviously I'm not one of the people that would think you're "the hottest person I've ever banged." But I did want to tell you what your physical beauty is to me. What meaning it has. (and I've obviously left out all the internal qualities that I adore...because we're only talking about exteriors)" |
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| I don't usually do this. But. |
[Feb. 13th, 2008|02:41 pm] |
♥30 unknown facts/secrets about yourself♥
1. When was the last time you shaved your legs?
♥ last night.
2. What were you doing this morning at 10am?
♥ sleeping on my jersey sheets and memory foam. You're jealous.
3. What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
♥ Eating a homemade oreo truffle chocolate.
4. What are you wearing?
♥ Dollar store wifebeater. Shorts.
5. Are you mad at anyone right now?
♥ Nothing new. My life is brilliant.
6.Last person to say they loved you?
♥ Ruby
7. Last person you kissed?
♥ This girl I like.
8. What's your middle name?
♥ I am lacking.
9. Do you have a crush on anyone?
♥ Sure thing.
10. Have you been naked today?
♥ yes, duh. I sleep naked.
11. Are you a virgin?
♥ seriously? No.
12. Have you ever had sex in a public place?
♥ yes. a few.
13. Have you ever drank alcohol?
♥ since my spiked shirly temples at 13.
14. How many different drinks have you had today?
♥ jasmine green tea
15. Have you ever told someone you love them and they never said it back?
♥ nope. me? be vulnerable? Hah.
16. What have you eaten today-
♥ Truffle. Will eat yogurt and cheerios as soon as I finish this silly thing.
17. Are you good at math?
♥ Hi. I go to Lang. I study poetry.
18. Do you have plans on Saturday night?
♥ Rubulad. Dancing. Pregaming. Loving everyone.
19. Do you draw your name is the sand while at the beach?
♥ Absolutely. And curse words. And hearts.
20. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
♥ Uppers, uppers, and more uppers. Yes. Usually for academic reasons.
21. Do you like the ocean?
♥ love
22. Would you stay friends with your exes?
♥ My exes cease to exist. Kidding. We lose touch/ I move on/ they refuse to speak to me.
23. What are you excited about?
♥ Hula-hooping at skillshare. Planning out my senior work. Having a valentine.
24.What did you do yesterday?
♥ Baked. Went to class. Kissed. Bit and scratched. Danced at snapshot. Drank lots of water.
25. Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?
♥ I saw the last one's last few days when I was a kid in Iran. None left.
26. Where do you keep your change?
♥ in various pockets, the bottom of my purse, and bowls in my room.
27. Who is the best person in your life?
♥ That's a ridiculous question. Each person has a purpose, and they are best at that. My favorite person, HOWEVER, is my grandmother.
28. Would you rather sleep with someone or alone?
♥ Someone. But they had better give me my space when I'm actually asleep. Leeches need not apply.
29. What was the weather like on your birthday?
♥ Warm rain. The kind to revel in.
30. Would you kiss anyone on your top friends list?
♥ All of them. |
|
|
| an ode to the few snowflakes I saw today |
[Feb. 11th, 2008|02:21 am] |
Winter
Take me to a fireplace.
Take me to stone and brick. To ivy and evergreen.
Take me to beaches and lazy chairs and watery sunsets.
Anywhere. To snow and plastic saucers. To a frozen park with slippery shoes.
To somewhere I can scream loudly until I lose my voice and nobody but us will hear.
To the warmth we carry inside our hearts.
Take me in a time-machine to days of brighter living, when my imagination could've won competitions and my favorite color was neon orange.
Take me to your childhood. I've never been.
Take me in from the blue-lipped cold.
To the middle of someone's tongue. A foreign tongue.
Lets drown in the back
of someone's tear ducts
as they overflow.
I can swim, can you?
The tide sends us into the sea. |
|
|
| I saw you were gone and that made me very sad |
[Feb. 9th, 2008|12:49 pm] |
Spider
It's the kiss of the spider makes
me do this. His briefs say Tommy
but his lips say Yes. After, we stroll
to the river to throw the moon in
and perhaps a song. "I came to this
tinsel of a city seeking fame and fortune."
ah wilderness, ah tell me your dreams.
In one, I'm falling. "Going down!" I
keep shouting, far down. When I get to
the bottom, I find God. "Have you
been a good boy?" God asks. "Yes,
God," I says, lying through my teeth.
"Ah, don't worry, kiddo," He smiles.
"Something tells me you worry way too
much. Why not let a smile be your
umbrella, especially on a rainy day?"
"But why," I ask, "why rain, God, why?"
"Why, so the nice people who sell
umbrella's can make a nice living. It's
called Making A Living, Billy. Let's
get real." When I woke up, first thing
I thought was, "Gee, God's a nice guy."
Then, when I looked around, I saw you
were gone, and that made me very sad.
Then, when I looked out the window, and
I saw it was raining, why I had to smile.
Bill Kushner
------------------
THIS IS THE NONSENSE OF LOVE
I.
our kiss is a secret handshake, a password
.
we love like spies, like bruised prize fighters,
like children building tree houses.
our love is serious business.
one look from you and my spine reincarnates as a kite string.
when i hesitate to hold your hand,
it is because our touch unlocks secrets
i'm not sure i want to know yet—
because to know is to be responsible for knowing.
II.
there is no clean way to enter
the heavy machinery of the heart.
just jagged cutthroat questions.
just the glitter and blood production.
III.
the truth is this:
my love for you is the only empire
i will ever build.
when it falls,
as all empires do,
my career in empire-building will be over.
i will retreat to an island.
i will dabble in the vacation-hut industry.
i will skulk about the private libraries and public parks.
i will fold the clean clothes.
i will wash the dishes.
i will never again dream of having the whole world.
Mindy Nettifee |
|
|
| You can write. But you can't edit. |
[Feb. 8th, 2008|10:41 pm] |
I find it odd that I haven't cried in over a month.
I can feel the tears, like the inverse pictures of bright lights, behind my eyeballs.
My emotions are so drained, I'm detached from everything. I'm home alone. On a friday night.
And I want to read a book. But I might go out, just so I don't feel lame.
Why am I so afraid of being home alone?
What is it about myself I don't want to face?
I miss being in love.
And yet, I think I'm on the way with someone else. And it's terrifying.
I was going to sleep with someone else, and all I could think of was her. So I didn't.
Which scares the fuck out of me.
Regina is playing.
I might just start crying.
If I start, will I stop?
I miss my friends. It's as simple as calling to find someone. But it's not.
no.
it's not.
ok.
so now I'm crying. is this too immediate an entry?
You have tamed me.
now you must take me.
Lady sings the blues so well. As if she means it.
I want to write a poem.
I want to sing a song so blue that you will cry in spite of you. Little wet tears. On your baby's shoulder.
I'm sick of it.
Days running and blending into other days. Relying on exhausion and coffee to sleep and wake.
Always keeping my bed full. my life full.
every day is scheduled so as not to feel anything missing.
I don't want to get back with him,
but there's something about lying with him that hasn't been replaced yet.
there is an itch inside me.
to listen to bright eyes. that kind of itch.
I should do things. Instead I obsess over text messages unreplied to and miss people who have just left my house.
If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?
will you feel anything at all?
I don't know. |
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artistic