Wednesday, June 17, 2009

out of high school, still learning.

we're two teenaged deer.
we look back to our deer city, shrug our shoulders and say, “fuck that."
you nod your had in the direction of a forest, indicating, “let’s go there."
yeah okay.
half way into the forest we encounter a bear with a psychological disorder.
in a flash he attacks us.
we remain there, stunned, alternately watching him tear our own homemade flesh from our surprisingly white bones, and nursing each others’ gaping wounds.
after the bear has satisfied himself on the fresh meat, he comes around to reality and sheds a couple of tears in our direction.
he walks over, paws outstretched, he means no more harm.
he hoists us both onto his back and walks us to the edge of the forest.
he cannot leave the forest, so he sets us down gently and retreats.
hey! would you look at that! we’re on a hill. there’s a grassy slope and at the bottom is some beach and then water as far as the eye can see.
we are eagar to get to the lake, but a bit timid by nature.
we both lean too far forward and lose balance and go toppling down the hill.
we run into each other.
we try to slow ourselves.
we try to stop.
we try to at least make the falling not so awful; try not to smack one another in the head with our remaining limbs.
finally sand.
in our eyes and mouths and under our feet.
we’re just two teenage deer adjusting to having a missing limb and resting our baffled bodies on the shore of an accidental adventure lake.

we’re just two teenagers adjusting to each other on the shore of lake michigan.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

alien SHE.

it's happening again.
i don't recognize the girl in the mirror.
she looks so strange.
who would keep their hair cut like that?
and her eyes.
sometimes too big, sometimes too small
with an odd coloring around them that make it look like
she's recovering from bruising and
slept in her mascara.
and her mouth is large and soft looking,
smeared on thick with a spatula below her nose
and molded like play-doh.
the nose is fine, a little big,
but i prefer to count that as character.
the red break out dots are not character, though.
they are just annoying on such pale skin.

my when my little brother asked if i was going to go to parties in college, i said "i don't know." and then my father said he's happy i have a "baby face", meaning i'd get carded if i tried to buy alcohol. but "baby face" surprised me. threw me off. i always thought i looked my age if not a bit older. so now when i look in the mirror i see a girl years younger, fourteen or fifteen.
she isn't me. i don't look like that. i couldn't. i don't want to.

i don't obsess over how i look.
can't help thinking about the college thing.
what will people see when the see me in two and a half months?
a girl they want to know?
or one who despite what's inside of her, looks too sweet and pure and conventional?
i know it's more than cliche to say i don't know who i am,
but i don't.
and that feels great.
and scary.
i just keep fighting and second-guessing all sorts of decisions so that maybe i can get to a point where there isn't all this dissonance.
but then again, if there was no dissonance, then there would be silence and that's boring.
or, would it be harmony, which is beautiful? i'll never know.

when i was getting ready for prom i was listening to bikini kill. to the song "alien she." and i stood there in my poofy dress, in front of my mirror (the mirror that i think stretches her out a little and doesn't give me an accurate picture) smearing red lipstick on my mouth just as kathleen sang "she wants me to put the pretty, pretty lipstick on."
and i laughed and got worried.
you are just like everyone else.
no no.
you are indulging your "alien"-girl part.
i've always loved that song because it totally captures the conflict i and other girls probably feel between the pull of convention and wanting to spit at the world and reject the shit it throws at its women to help them meet its standards.
o hell, did this turn preachy?
i'm done with this.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

love you more.

want the world.
all the people in the world.

ride the train.
want to curl into the soft arms
and shoulder of the person beside.
feel the fabric of their jacket
pressing quilting or tweed or knit texture
in to face skin all too gladly.
wrap around the knees
of the person standing straight ahead.
nose folded into worn denim.

press bicycle pedals
past parked cars and city buses.
want to lean too far over,
crash red and tingling
into the black street.
get peeled off
by some beautiful passerby
who takes me to a nearby park
and combs my short hair
with gently calloused fingers.

just want touch.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

that was me. i mean, that was may.

i heard about this BEDA blogging thing after april ended. i wouldn't have done it anyway, i wouldn't want to blog everyday. but in the same sort of spirit i challenged myself to blog at least three time a week, each week in may. just to better dip my feet into this blogging thing. so if i fulfilled my self-issued challenge, that would have been twelve posts (maybe thirteen, if you count a post for the three days that didn't fit into neat, seven-day calendar weeks). well i wrote fifteen. and i'm not proud of this or anything in particular. and i didn't feel pressured. i don't know. i found myself thinking blog about this a lot. blog became one of the words i thought the most everyday. and this isn't a good-bye (to no one), i'll keep posting on here for some length of time. it was just interesting to think of myself as a blogger for a month. now i know.