In That Which My Life Closely Resembles An Oreo (Without Being Half So Delicious)

The tense voices of my mother and sister drift up to me from down the stairs, rising in a hushed crescendo as they have so many times over the course of our living here.

Here being our (technically unofficial/semi-illegal) state-wide move. Here being a 2 bedroom house-y thing with three whole bathrooms. Yeah, I still can't get over having 3 accesible toilets.

Scars

i've been picking at my scabs, lately
because i love the scars they leave behind

i want to point at my knee one day
and say
"that blotch? right there?"
"that's from flying away."

i want to keep a record of my life
in a patchwork of skin
etched like tattoos
so i don't forget who i've been
or the places i've seen
or the people and words and things
that've hurt me


it's been going on for a while, now
my arms are mottled with uneven circles
odd little welts
nicks and burns and bites and bruises

i still have an ugly circle on my right arm
(where a big mole used to be)
they thought it might be something bad
so they nicked it away
and afterwards
i picked it away

"to remember" i told them

(they didn't understand)

Leave My Door Open, Just a Crack (Please Take Me Away from Here)

It's 48 minutes to midnight on December 16th (contrary to the inevitable mis-date of this blog entry) and there's a basset hound on my bed and no less than four containers holding various knit-stuff surrounding me.

Which means, of course, that I'm moving within 48 hours. 

There's a Receipt on My Wall ("This is Just Ridiculous" is Scrawled Across the Back)

My life has always been categorized by destruction.

Er, well- not really. More like by disintegration.

Oh hell, maybe both.

the pavement was thick
and my boots made
the most satisfying scuffing noises
when I walked up

the brass gleamed
like the lights strewn
throughout the fronds
and the house smelled of pine

Choke Me with These Threads of Life

I've had a headache for the past 2 weeks, and it doesn't seem to be go away anytime soon.

One of the biggest contributing factors to this all-encompassing migraine is A, my father's ever asshole-ish tendencies, B, the remnants of my apathetic funk that I still haven't entirely escaped, and C, my mother and sister. 

I just- ugh. Just ugh. I am going to be a shitty teenaged stereotype and just summarize all this with "ugh". Sue me.