Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Day 2 of Training

Today was my second day of training and I am exhausted. My feet are swollen and aching. I made $5. I need to memorize shorthand for all the menu items, and all the prices, for everything.... I have tomorrow off. I'll be spending it getting my car fixed.

My car needs a lot of work done. It needs a new headlight bulb, and alignment, and new tires, and the cruise control needs to be fixed, and the driver's side window is squeaking again, so it needs to be looked at. And a light on my dashboard came on yesterday that says SRS in big red letters. Not sure what that means, but it needs to be addressed, as well tomorrow. Gah. Oh, and the driver's side washer fluid squirty thing doesn't work and needs to be fixed.

I have one more day of training, on Friday. Then on Saturday, I have to do Expo. Expo is what they call the person who gets the food out of the window after the cooks set it there when they've finished cooking it, and puts it on a tray and aligns all the plates for a table so the ticket is complete and ready to be carried out by that table's server - or whoever is handy. I'm so dreading it. Wish me luck. I'll need it.

I need to study the menus tomorrow. And practice my shorthand. But for now, I'm going to pig out on fruit and watch Miyazaki films with Poncho. I miss him so much when I'm gone all day. I hate being in such a bad mood when I come home from work. I'm just so tired. And customers are so mean sometimes. I feel so much better when I've taken a shower and changed into my PJs, but still - I'm just so drained. It's hard to not just fall into bed and pass out. But if I did that, I'd mess up my sleep schedule and I really can't afford to do that.

And now, movies.


Sunday, March 28, 2010

Hot Hot Hot!!!

"Hot Hot Hot!!!" by The Cure

The first time I saw lightening strike
I saw it underground
Six deep feet below the street
The sky came crashing down
For a second that place was lost in space
Then everything went black
I left that basement burning
And I never went back

The second time I saw it strike
I saw it at sea
It lit up the fish like rain
And rained them down on me
For a second that boat was still afloat
Then everything went black
I left it underwater
And I never went back

Hey hey hey!!!
But I like it when that lightening comes
Hey hey hey!!!
Yes, I like it a lot
Hey hey hey!!!
Yes, I'm jumping like a jumping jack
Dancing screaming itching squealing fevered
Feeling hot hot hot!!!

The third time I saw lightening strike
It hit me in bed
It threw me around
And left me for dead
For a second that room was on the moon
Then everything went black
I left that house on fire
And I never went back

Hey hey hey!!!
But I like it when that lightening comes
Hey hey hey!!!
Yes, I like it a lot
Hey hey hey!!!
Yes, I'm jumping like a jumping jack
Dancing screaming itching squealing fevered
Feeling hot hot hot!!!
Russell told me that this song is about drug-use but it's difficult for me to see Robert Smith taking drugs. He's so innocent, in so many ways. Adorable little guy...

Hello dearest, darling readers. We got our heat back today. (Finally.) The landladies filled up our oil tank again, so we should be good for the remainder of the cold season. YAY.

I think we're going to renew our lease in July. Stay here for another year. Figure out some sort of laundry agreement with our neighbor Mel, so we don't have to drive out to Madison County for clean clothes. Not that I mind spending time with Kathey and the gang, but it is an awful drain on resources at such a time as this, when we have so very little to begin with.

We're going to tack on some provisos for the renewal, however. Stuff that would make us more willing to stay here another year. And from what I gather, the land-owners need renters in this place. This property sat for years without occupants and it's unhealthy for a property to do that. Things fall into disrepair without proper use or maintenance. The apartment across from ours still hasn't been rented out. Unbelievable. It's comparable to ours, and costs the same to rent each month. $500 deposit, $500 per month. All utilities included. No washer/dryer hook-ups. No pets. No smoking inside. But the place is adorable, apart from one room that was inexplicably painted blue at some point. Who knows? We, in fact, were more interested in that one than the one we currently reside in - but Katie told us someone else wanted that one so we settled for this one instead. Complacent old us. Don't know any better. Silly.


Our list of desirables so far, as we have until May to add onto it as we see fit. This is what we were able to come up with last night in a fit of brain-storming:

That a pet house rabbit be allowed to reside within the apartment, with a minimum monthly pet deposit - refundable, of course - if necessary.
That a disposal be installed in the kitchen sink.
That the $15 paid each month to Katie & Laura for use of their wireless internet be included in the $500 renter's fee.
That a cable package of some sort be included in the $500 renter's fee.
That the windows be repaired or replaced, as agreed upon our arrival here in July 2009.
That the heating vents be cleaned professionally.
That some sort of air filter be affixed to the heating vents to prevent allergens from contaminating the air within the apartment.

That is all. So far.

I think we can get all of it no sweat, except maybe the internet and cable. But that's understandable, I guess.

I really want a bunny. I miss Cookie. So much.

Wasting Strawberry Fields

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Poncho Gets His License

Driver's license, here we come!

Kathey has signed Poncho up for a driver's ed course, which starts on Monday. She's footing the bill, and he will inherit Grandma Guthrie's car when he graduates. She's also throwing in a gas card. Yay!

This will help so much with jobs and errands and, well - everything. It'll be so nice to be able to truly split up the responsibilities, the way we've always wanted to. And this is one of the only things my dad has been able to focus on about Poncho, so it'll be so nice to get that out of the way. Maybe Dad will be able to start seeing Poncho for who he is, instead of what he can and can't do at the moment. Maybe.

That'd be nice.

New Job

I'm going to be a server at Cornerstone Restaurant. I'm very excited. I start training on Tuesday. Wish me luck.

Plum(b) Happy

Herman, how we adore you. Thank you, O ye godsent plumber from the boondocks. Praise be, praise be.

Herman is the name of the marvelous man that came today to fix our plumbing. He was wonderful. This experienced, well-behaved, easy-going yet hard-working guy with a delightful southern accent is my hero. Praise be to Herman! Patron Saint of Plumbing!

So. You all remember the other day, when I was bitching and moaning about how everything in this apartment is broken and yada yada, and on like that for hours? Well, the next day, I was nursing my emotional hangover and Poncho was doing PR with Katie & Laura. (Random Fun Fact: They call me "Lefty" after the song.) And they said they were going to get Herman over here to look at the problem with the clog - or whatever it was - that was backing up our bathroom sink. And we're like, "we don't have money for that" and they're like, "well, tough - it has to be fixed" and I was like, "!@#$%" and dove promptly into the bottom of a cup of chamomile tea where I stayed for the remainder of the day, occasionally poking my head out for a glimpse of whatever movie we happened to be watching at the moment. (We watched a lot of movies yesterday.) And the landladies responded to this unspoken sentiment (well, unspoken to them - I let Poncho know just what I thought of their position on plumbing) with a lovely compromise: "If the clog is the renters' fault, you guys can pay us back monthly in small, $5 increments; and if it's the fault of the house being old or whatever, it's on us."

As I was quite certain it was not the fault of Poncho or myself, I was appeased.

So along comes Herman today, and it's all I can do to keep myself from constantly defending our way of life in the means of pipes and water use. "We don't dump grease down the sink, what a terrible thing to do! No, we have a grease catcher for that. Nice, durable glass mason jar full of lard to prove it." Or, "Just look at the hair-catcher we employ with great care in the tub! We don't let any hair or grit get down that drain. Just you look!" On and on like that.

So, in order to occupy myself and not get in the way, I played the Sims all day. I made a new character that I'm quite proud of. H.P. Lovecraft, of the knowledge aspiration. He wants to be a Criminal Mastermind. He has 3 cats. Cthulhu, Nyarlet Hotep, and Shubnugoreth. I'm sure I spelled all of those names wrong, but what the hell - it's for a game, for fun. That's my excuse, because the real one is far too nerdy - I didn't want to downsize my game window to go online and wiki the name spellings because it takes forever to load the window again in order to open the game after being downsized and I didn't want to wait that long to play my shiny new characters. Cthulhu is green. I'm quite proud of him, especially.


So, Poncho dealt with Herman all day and they actually bonded a bit - which was cute to hear. Poncho's accent changed after a while, because he does this thing where he mimics people's accents without realizing it. He used to do it at the factory, and at Carlyle and it always made me giggle to overhear him like that with customers. So the day started off with "boy-ling" water and ended with "boh-lin" water. Made me giggle.

Well, after cutting holes in the wall to expose the problem pipes, and dumping tons of "boh-lin" water down on top of what turned out to be grease clogs buried way deep down in the pipes - Herman decided it wasn't our fault and we didn't have to pay for the dumb old clog anyway. He also fixed the water pressure in the kitchen sink - turned out the faucet had all kinds of gunk clogging it up. Gross.

Poncho and I celebrated our new healthy plumbing with some lovely spaghetti - yellow bell peppers, sweet onions, shitake mushrooms, and tomato in a parmigiana/oregano red sauce, with seasoned ground beef crumbles. Garlic toast on the side. Yum.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

No One (A Poem)

Who knew?
A girl like me.
Someone like you.

And who'd've thought?
With eyes that sparkle
And dimples like mine
With earth-shattering laughter
And nothing to hide

You never knew
How could you?

Even now
No one
Even now

Open books
Open eyes
Open lies
Open like a 7-11 at midnight

Open means "Come on in"
It's an invitation
An open invitation

Me, I'm like a walk-in closet
Telling everyone I meet,
Begging, really:

"Come on in
Hang up your coat
Kick off your shoes
the selection
And stay awhile"

Know me

Legitimize me
Solidify me
Stabalize and emmulsify
Submerge me in the depths of your understanding
Wrap me in the folds of the fabric of your affection
Spoon feed me the morsels of your limitless compassion

Know me
Love me

You never knew
How could you?

Even now
No one knows

Even now
No one loves

Even with eyes that sparkle and shine
And dimples like mine
Even with laughter,
Or self-deprecation

Even with

To hide

You don't know me
You think you do
But you don't

Why would you hate me?
If you knew?

If you knew the salt of my tears?
Or the pain in my wrist
This carpal tunnel poetry binge
This dire need for self-expression

If you knew,
Why would you laugh at me?

If you knew how long
It takes to put on the make-up
And feel proud of this face

Why would you slander
That small ounce of pride?


But you never knew
How could you?

Even now
No one
Even now

No one


Why are people so shitty?

I really want a cigarette.

I'm in such a bad mood. But hey! that's what journals are for. Right? Right. So let's see, why I am in a bad mood? Why do I want to kick and punch and bite and yell and scratch out your eyes and... be generally very violent, today? Allow me to make a list for you, my most apathetic readers. No one comments on this damn thing. No feedback. Bunch of voyeuristic apathetic empty-headed morons! But why am I yelling at you? I have no beef with you. I really don't. I'm just generally pissed off. And here's why:

Poncho was let go from the god-sent Census Bureau job, as of 10am this morning.

Fuck. I mean, seriously. FUCK. FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!

I'm cold. We don't have any heat. We ran out of oil and the landladies haven't done anything about it yet. Okay, I rescind that statement - they brought us up a little electric space heater. But the water still goes cold halfway through a shower. The drain in the bathroom is all clogged up with who knows how much ancient shite we can't dig out, or afford to pay someone else to dig out. The kitchen sink has no fucking water pressure. Dog piss, Poncho calls it. And man, let me tell you - it's really fantastic to try and use dog piss to wash your dishes. We don't have a dishwasher, but we never did. Or a garbage disposal. Or washer/dryer hook-ups. FUCK THIS PLACE.

I finally watched the Guild. Fuck that shit. I feel even shittier now. I mean, for one thing - it just made me miss playing WoW. And then for another thing - I felt like such a complete loser. LOSER. Like I needed help with that. Ha. But yes. It made me feel even more loser-ly. I mean, these people were able to live like that. I couldn't even successfully escape into video games, to avoid real life. I couldn't even level up past lvl30, which is pathetic. Ask any gamer. I was too shy to even try Ventrilo. I was too shy for dungeon runs. I was too shy for guilds. TOO SHY. For the INTERNET. That is PATHETIC.

Who's even going to read this? Why do I type this shit? For my own benefit? I suppose so. I guess I do get something out of it. I feel self-important. I feel legitimized. I feel like maybe, this shit I go through means something. Selfish, petty, self-absorbed, self-obsessed, vapid, pedantic, tyrannical, stupid bitch that I am.

I don't know.

I'm so angry.

I am so fucking miserable.

What are we going to do? I have a loan payment on the 31st that I can't afford. We are so broke. I am so in debt. It feels so hopeless. And on top of all of that - I'm a bitch. An entitled, privileged, white bread, cocky cunt. Ha. Cocky cunt. Wow. That was intelligent.

Whatever. I'm going to go sleep or something. Fuck this noise. Fuck this scene. Fuck Facebook. Fuck Twilight. Fuck people. Fuck you. Fuck me. I am so... tired. And pathetic.

I'm sorry.

If you got through all that - I'm sorry. I'm just... so miserable.

Anti Twi-Bashing Rantisms

My friend Nome put up a picture aimed at poking fun (albeit, innocently) at Twilight, via a rather ingenious juxtapositioning of Anne Rice's vamps reading Twilight and speaking their minds, true to character, about the book.

And not to pick on you, Nomester, since I do love this cartoon of your's and all. Really, I do. But this just reminds me of the whole Twilight-bashing thing going on, and that pisses me off. The Twi-bashing, not your artwork. (I just want to make that clear before proceeding with my little rant.)

First off, weren't Rice's vamp novels written for a more, um, mature, adult, of-age audience? Meyers was writing for tweens. Of course Lestat's book was "better". Better written, more critical acclaim. Rice wasn't a stay-at-home mom freshly graduated from some second-rate literature program at a podunk university somewhere in Arizona.

As a Twilight fan (the books, at least - the movies aren't doing it for me yet), I just want to say that I'm kind of tired of the whole "let's make fun of Twilight" thing. It's "in" to tear it down, and that's just sad. I can't imagine it would have been well-received to tear down Harry Potter, or Redwall. Or Animorphs, for crying out loud. And we all know, looking back on those books, that Applegate was a shite writer. Every book was exactly the same. And there was, what - 32 of them? Gah. But no, we never said a word. But then this series comes out, and every one feels this bizarre need to bash it.

It's just irritating.

Straw man arguments, most of the time. Like, "it's written poorly" or "Edward's a bad example of a boyfriend icon to impressionable girls" or whatever. It's all bullshit though. If you don't like it, why not just ignore it? Instead of attacking everyone who does happen to like it, or find it meaningful, or inspiring, or whatever. The Bible is full of crap and poorly written and is probably setting a bad example to impressionable dopes everywhere, but it's mean-spirited to make fun of it. So just turn the other cheek and let us Twi-fans have a good time being happy about sparkles and true love and whatever else gets on everyone's nerves so damn much.


Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Maturation of my Affections up to 8th Grade

Adam looked Egyptian. Like his cat-eyes were lined with kohl. He had golden skin and silky black hair. He fainted once because of the way I looked. At my birthday party. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. I said to my mother, delighted, that he must have been twitterpated. Bambi was, of course, one of my favorite movies.

Saular was exotic as well. I don't remember his face. I remember running and playing in a dusty front yard. Chasing his father's chickens while our mothers sat in the house and talked about their abusive husbands and of imminent divorce. He was my friend. I loved him.

Casey was bright-eyed, out-going and ecstatically understanding. She was all snaggle-toothed grins and cuddles at nap-time. She was the best play-ground partner I'd ever had. She was my very best friend in Kindergarten. My only friend. We played with our hands, our slender fingers - making animals with stalk necks that walked around on all fours. Something like a dinosaur. We were pen-pals for the longest time after I moved away. I missed her so much. She never thought I was crazy. Because she was always just as crazy, and it's not insanity if it's legitimized by the appropriate social context. We were on the same page. I loved her like I loved Saular.

I met Seth in 1st grade. He was a year older than me, in 2nd grade. We went to the same elementary school. Everyone made fun of me because I thought I was a cat. I crawled around on all fours during recess and meowed and pretended to wash behind my ears with cupped paw-hands. I wore through the knees of several pairs of leggings with the crawling habit. They called me Catwoman and hissed at me and pulled my long, waist-length hair on the bus to after-school daycare. It was bizarre, I guess, but Seth defended me. The other kids didn't listen to him, and I was till made fun of, but it made me feel better - to have someone on my side. He pushed me on the tree-swing outside of the daycare. We played house. We ate snacks together and played in the sandbox together. He would kiss me on the cheek as he caught the swing, and then push me out again as I giggled. We would climb trees and get covered in pine sap. He told me he loved me. We were best friends. I would stand up for him when the kids at school made fun of him. I daydreamed about what he would look like naked. I wondered if we would grow up and become sweethearts. I wrote about him in my first journal. He moved away without warning. I cried and missed him so much. Daycare was empty. Lonely. I found him on Facebook recently. He's a male model. I wrote him a letter, gushing out my love for him from so long ago. Then I saw his relationship status, and understood his orientation as a denial of my silly crush. He wasn't the last boy interested in boys to be interested in me.

Lauren was my best friend in Roanoke, Virginia. Through 1st, 2nd and half of 3rd grade. I moved away to Florida for the other half of 3rd grade, and we were pen-pals for a while. Before the depression hit, and I lost interest in 5th grade. She didn't like Seth. She made fun of him. Everyone made fun of him. Except me. But Lauren was beautiful, regardless of her hatred of my Seth. I loved her long blond hair and blue eyes. I was jealous of her looks. I wanted to look like that. She had rosy, shiny lips. I didn't realize until later in my life that the fascination that I held alluded to my wanting to kiss them. To kiss her.

Jeffrey was in my 6th grade English class. I sat behind him. I thought he was dreamy. I was shy and reserved around most people, but I would flirt with him when he talked to me, in my own nerdy, non-sexual way.

I was going to a magnet school for the arts in 6th grade. The bus-ride was ridiculously long. I sat with a friend from my neighborhood, named Heather. She had fiery red-orange hair and a bizarre nature. At times violent, at times perverted, with a dirty mouth and an even dirtier mind. I think she grew up to a life of juvenile crime and a record of repeated delinquency. On the bus with us were John, Michael, and Robby. We all flirted, constantly. Back and forth. It was strange dynamic. It's fuzzy now. I'll write more as I remember it.

I met Kerry in Florida, at the Unitarian Universalist church called Spirit of Life. He was a year older than me and had the most alluring pull I'd ever encountered in a human being. I admired him and respected him. The adults listened when he talked, in his quiet, bold voice - about politics, about funding, about the budget, about spirituality. He fascinated me. His eyes were deep, like molten dark chocolate. Edible. Like you could drink in the essence of his soul. He was amazing to me. We dated, briefly, after I moved away. It was long-distance, we were young. He was always so much older than me, mentally, physically, emotionally, and sexually. I wasn't ready for anything he threw my way. He was my first boyfriend, my first love, my first close-mouthed kiss, my first french-kiss. He was all over me when we were alone. Online, in person, anywhere we went. I never knew why he was so attracted to me. It scared me, but there was more to it than that. He made me hot. My loins would catch fire when he was around. I was young, and I had just discovered myself, physically speaking. I would think about him, at night, in the shower. I still have random dreams about him, even now. They happen approximately once a year. But it was never intercourse, in my fantasies. It was always kissing, soft, and sedate. Warm, enticing, and electric. We would be fully clothed, and I couldn't - and still can't - imagine him naked. We would be close, and intimacy would light the match between my legs. It wasn't sloppy, in my head. There was no tongue, no saliva, no secretions, no ejaculations, nothing that I would later come to fantasize about - in my late high school and early college years. And it was different for him. He wanted sex. He wanted sloppy. And I didn't. Couldn't want it. I wanted him, but not the mess that came with having him. It scared me. Put me off. I broke it off and dealt with heartache over him until 2 years ago. I confessed my undying love for him at SUUSI, after carrying it around in my stubborn chest cavity for 8 years. He had a girlfriend. He'd forgotten all about me. No love for me remained. It broke me. Again. But I was eventually able to let it go. It took a few months, but then it was gone. I think it was like a bone that had broken and healed improperly. I needed to break it again to re-set it, so that it would heal the right way.

I thought for a long time that everyone wanted to cuddle their friends. I didn't know it was a crush. It was so non-sexual. It wasn't lust, just simple, child's love. Boy, girl, it didn't matter. It was all the same to me. I knew anatomy. I knew there were differences. I knew boys married girls. But I thought that was just officiality. I thought everyone loved each other, regardless of gender. I didn't understand until middle school, 8th grade, really. Listening to Eminem. Faggot, homo. It was wrong, in their eyes, to love the same sex. To marry the same sex. Which still doesn't make sense to me. Love is love. People are people. Marriage and union and commitment are the same, across the board, regardless of anatomy. Regardless of gender. I started to focus on boys more than girls, in 8th grade. I thought that the girls I'd been close to were just blips in my past. Nothing to pay attention to now, going into my adolescence.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Pedestal (A Poem)

And I still have bruises
From falling
For you

I still have scrapes on my hands
And cuts on my knees
From falling

That pedestal you put me on
Was too damned high
But I took that leap of faith
Jumped when you told me to

You placed me
Positioned me

Oohing and ahhing
Over the way that I looked
As I teetered
And tottered
And you loved it
As I windmilled my arms
And you complimented me
My skin was
Under the bare lightbulb
You placed me
The shadows danced along my jawbone
And you closed the closet door
Such sick joy
In my possession

I was
Gasping for breath
Your pedestal was alarmingly
The noose around my swan's neck
Was tight
Tight like I used to be
Before you used me
You used me

And I snapped
The rope burn like a necklace
"A choker,"
I laugh to myself as I stumble
Into the rain-choked gutter
Outside your warehouse

The rope snapped
And I stagger away
The scar around my neck
Proof of the impact of your affection

Your love was deadly

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Marry Me With a Vengeance (A Poem) - Warning: Graphic/Violent

Meet me at the altar
I'll wear the skin you know so well
I'll bare my arms and legs and show
The places I have marred for love

Forget the silk hewn dress
I'll wear tattoos
Of all my memories
I'll walk the aisle
With a train of fresh sewn scars
My virgin flesh has no carnal knowledge
Only painful lessons learned in breaking
Clenched knuckles on hands turned
Like the lace upon my headdress

And it hurt to hold you there
The way you did inside of me
Because I didn't like it
And you hurt me when I clung, afraid
Because you didn't like it
Being tied to me
You didn't like it

Being held so close
So close, our breath mingled
Our hearts and minds were the same

So I dig in my fingernailed hands
Clawed manicured tendrils down your backstabbing spine
To keep you here with me
Pulling at you with a vengeance
And you came--
--closer with each blood-filled blister
And reaching down through cracking ribs
I feel it throbbing
Our heart is still beating
With the pain it took to keep you
Pulsating wickedly
Inside of me
While I
I'm inside of you
This rhythmic dissection
Of female penetration
And crying out in ecstasy,
I hold aloft the bloody heart I stole

Feeling sated
I nuzzle once
Against your hollow chest
Your heart to mine
To replace the one you broke
I hold it like a talisman
To cure my curses
And change my name

I do it for you
I do it for
I do it
I do

Marry me
For what you did to me

I'll be the one in white

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Monday, March 22, 2010

Girlfriend Magazine (A Poem)

I watch you
You read other books
And I hate them all

The new one
With her glossy pages
Or that old familiar rag
The one you curl up with
In bed
At night
She's your favorite
And I spit the word


It used to belong to me
But not anymore
I was
But now she's

Read me again
I'm begging you

I am so easy to read

Just LOOK!
At the words falling
Out of my mouth
All over the pages
My tear-streaked make-up
Ruining the advertisements
For bottles of Beauty

I am
So easy to read
Just take a second
And see

My open soul
Is your open book
Flip my pages
Bend my spine
I'll relish it
And relive it
Over and over
In my one-track mind


When you used to…
Read me? Watch me? See me? Need me?

What happened?

Why don't you?
Just LOOK! at those headlines
And at that pretty face
Just LOOK! at all the beautiful people
Flocking to my space

Doesn't my popularity
Entertain you? Entice you? Delight you?

Read me, please
I'm begging, please

I know I have issues
But you bought the subscription
You're mine
And I'm your's
You promised,
A year

Read me again
I'm begging you

I am
So easy

To read

Your March 2009 copy of Girlfriend Magazine

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Spit (A Poem)

I spit the words
It feels venomous
Missing pieces
Like stolen chunks
The burning holes

I spit the words
To avoid the bitter backwash
Of your citrus aftertaste
It gives me heartburn

I spit the words
Onto sidewalks
Street corners
Where I would be, too
But for the grace of god

I spit the words
I am
By the way they taste
The way they sound
When I swallow them
That sickening noise
When they hit my empty stomach
Makes me

Spit the words
To keep them
Down low
On that filthy ground
Where they came from

I spit the words
To keep them
From coming back up
It didn't taste so good
The first time

I spit the words
Into metaphors
Into microphones
Into poetry

Like building people
Out of clay
My salivation
Is my salvation
Because I build
My poetry
From spit

Regardless of
How venomous
My raw material may be
I must first taste it
Before I can reject it

Before I can spit it
But I do




Because I would never swallow that shit
You don't know where it's been

Rinse and repeat
Rinse and repeat
Get the taste out

Rinse and replace
The acid citrus
With sweet wintergreen

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Friday, March 19, 2010

At a loss for words (A Poem)

I'm at a loss
For words

Feeling pressure
Bubbling up
Boiling over
Acidic memories
Like heartburn
Tearing up my chest

I'm at a loss

Choking up the context
Gnawing on the tough gristle
Chewing out my insides
Just trying to describe
The way it was
And how it felt

I'm at a loss

Driven by this burning need
To express

But I don't have words
They crumble into apathetic dust
At my eager fingertips
Blown away by my sighs
Into swirling patterns of remorse
Guilt-ridden and destroyed
By my bitter tears
Drowned out by the deafening silence
Of a noiseless scream

Mouthing one word


I was at a loss
When it happened
I couldn't find my breath
I couldn't find the words
They slipped
Around the corners of my tongue
Like a liquid
Burning the cracks
In my chapped lips

Now, I find the word
That eluded me
I speak it through tears
Choked sobs
In the night
With my arms out




Even now
When there are no
Bumps in the night
No drunken slobs
To fear

Even now
When I am safe
I still cry out
I still feel the pain
Of that silent space
Between my lips

I was at a loss
For words

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Dissociative Memory Heal (A Poem)

But not empty
Stomach feelings
Suppressed anguish
Barely breathing
While your hands caress me
Of painful daydreams
Listless nightmare
Hold me
While I...

But not empty
Shaking shivers while I'm talking
Repeating stories
I've long since forgotten
Your eyes on me feel shameful
But I can't hide

Kiss me
I want to
Believe me
I want to

Hold me
Trace butterflies along my ribcage
With your fingertips and sympathy
While I stare


But not empty
Angry, hot and bothered
Be my morphine
And please hold me
While I...


©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Always (A Poem)

I've always loved you

You can see it in old pictures
And the way we used to laugh
So nervous
So tense
The electricity was in the air
Always has been

You can see it in old pictures
And the way you always held me
Strictly friends
Strictly comfortable
You never forced your hand
You never did

I've always loved you

Even before I knew I did
When I was a child
Watching Disney movies
Lusting after Aladdin
Because he was funny
And Wishing
That I could find someone as sweet
As all those princesses

I've always loved you

Even as a teenager
When I fell for only friends
And only jokesters
Only consolers
Only the comfortable
Never the practical
Never the typical

I loved them for the pieces
The tiny pieces that reminded me
Of you

Because I've always known you

Even before we met that day
When you were waiting for me
Like a knight come to rescue
The maiden from her room mates
(Because they were worse than any dragon)

I've always known you

That's why we always loved

That's why
I've always loved you

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Used To (A Poem)

I used to cry

And pray

To whatever is
Up there
Out there
If there
Even is

I used to cry
because it hurt so much

Hurt so much

And I would pray
The only atheist's prayer
The only way I could pray
as desperate
as hopeless
as helpless
wallowing in last chances
drowning in broken promises



To be anything

So I could be
Just be
Just me

Because it hurt
(so bad)
To be your's
To be his
To be their's
Or not be(long)
To anyone
Crying so hard
Hurting so much
I have not forgotten
Even as I have recovered
Even though I have moved on

I will never forget
I will never forgive

Even now

With pure love
Safe sex
Desired kisses
and Cuddles
Even as I am sated
I will never forgive you
Any of you

Because I cried
And I prayed

I do not like "praying"

I like wishing

And I do not forgive
Who make me do
I do not




To do

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

I Wish (A Poem)

I wish
Writing a list
Of things tangible and serene

But I include the abstract

Because when I wish
I wish for happiness

Or hope
Or love
Or money

But isn't it all the same thing

I wish alot
And often
For fame
Or inspiration
For a spark of creativity
A break in the insanity

A hug
A friend

An alibi

A voice
So that I may be heard
My issues may be heard
That people need more
And I have my fingers on the pulse
Of all that jazz
Because I know what matters
And I know
How to make love stay

You simply tell it to


I wish
For safety and forgiveness
Good food
Good dreams
Good times

I wish
Because I don't like praying
It's not the action
It's the word
I don't like

I like wishing
I like the action
I like the word even more
Like a fairy-tale
Like Disney World
Like stars that twinkle and shine
And a childhood gone right
Like lots of fancy, expensive presents
When you wake up on Christmas

I love wishing
It's the pretense
The fiction
The hope
However fake
However false
That somehow, it'll happen

You'll make it
You'll get it
They'll love you

That you will be

I wish

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Green Tank Top (A Poem)

Today, I read poetry I can't afford
To own
In big glossy hardcovers
Written by people
With letters attached to their last names

Today, I sat in an overstuffed armchair
And tried to breathe through my mouth
To drown out the smells of capitalism:

Burnt coffee
And caramel cookies

I felt the stares
Of the book snobs
As they sneered at my selection
My junk-food literature

I saw her as a blur in my peripheral
The corner of my right eye
I caught a glimpse of green
And as I spun
I saw the silhouette of leg
Clad in faded denim
Torn around the edges
Uneven and neglected
But it looked so good on her

Black bra, worn loose
The straps falling so suggestively

Green tank-top
Bad skin
Sweating beneath too much make-up
While I wear none at all

I lick my lips
And bite down
Chewing through
The rough dry skin my tongue finds there
Too eager to distract my mind
While my eyes dance
And feed upon her flesh

I want a cigarette

I want to write it down
I'm so inspired
By the way she turns her face in profile
As she walks away

I wonder what she's reading

Green tank-top
An inspiration in this stifling uniformity
This arena for pornographic poetry and prose
The smell of burning coffee
And fifteen minutes left to go

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness

Steal Another Glance (A Poem)

I crack the eggs
Spill the milk
Whisked into a frenzy
Hint of lime
Dash of salt
And I steal a glance at the egg timer

Cooking up a storm
Without rain
As snow falls and wind howls

I whisper to myself
That it tastes great
As I lick another spoon dry
And steal a glance at the egg timer

Whirling 'round the kitchen
Tiny yellow and round table
Set the napkins and place-holders
For this smallish sort of fare

I sing to myself
Quietly, quietly
As I beat the eggs with mercy
Flicking delicate, my lady's wrist
That holds the fork like a fairy's wand

Vanilla and olive oil drip
Brown and green, like my eyes
And I can't help but cry
As the onions wreak havoc

And I steal another glance at the egg timer

©2010 ~strawberry-goodness