Archive for the ‘Prosetry’ Category

Top 10 Reasons to Love Clare

Thursday, October 16th, 2008

1. She has a sense of humor and sometimes you’ll even get it
2. Her IBS makes you stronger (but only because it doesn’t kill you)
3. Point C
4. Her strength and sensitivity strike a balance
5. She is wicked smart and insightful (but you wouldn’t know that talking to her because…)
6. She is charmingly incoherent
7. She is fiercely loyal and dedicated
8. She knows how to enjoy life and encourages others to join her
9. She is caring, supportive and kind
10. She is willing to make this list when it hurts the most

Lyric 4

Thursday, November 9th, 2006

You say that you’re so bad for me,
But you’re no worse for me than me.
All the self-defeat, the poor self-image-
It’s my previous life that did the damage.

You didn’t tell me when I wasn’t getting better.
I didn’t tell you when you were getting worse.
We cared too much to hurt each other,
and it’s pulling us apart.
Where do we start?
How about here.
When did we fall in love?
How about now.

Lyric 3

Wednesday, November 8th, 2006

You suck, but I totally rock.
I’m a fucking genius, but you think with your cock.
Girls like assholes, and I want you.
I’m a girl. It’s a simple syllo-JISM.

Lyric 2

Tuesday, November 7th, 2006


I can’t even look at you.
When I do I love you and I don’t want to.
You tell me you cheated, that you don’t feel guilty.
You tell me if you left right now you wouldn’t miss me.
But you insist that I’m special, that you really do love.
How does this logic work?

You work at being right.
You love your logic and you insist upon it.
You love to debate and flex your reason.
Take the fun out of magic, the mystery out of faith.
Where’s the logic in affairs of the heart?
How does this logic work?

You say I deserve to know it all.
You know it hurts. You want me, you want more.
You rationalize your leaving, you reason your staying.
You quantify me in your head.
Where’s the logic in affairs of the heart?
How does this logic work?

I am not a commodity.
I am not an asset or a liability.
I am not a plus or minus in the list of your life.
I am so much more, but you don’t want to think that.
It’s make it harder, harder to reason.
Where’s the logic in affairs of the heart?
How does this logic work?


Lyric 1

Monday, November 6th, 2006


It’s not my job to make it easy on you, but I do.
Because I love you.
You say you love me, you quote a song, you say you need me.
But you don’t say that you’re wrong.
I can write a song- quote this.
And while you’re at it, open your eyes to your selfishness.
You close your eyes and fantasize.

I don’t need your plea for forgiveness.
It’s not about you anymore. You don’t get that much.
And yet your betrayal is even half-ass.
At the start and at the end, you can’t commit to be cruel.
Your discontent is not unique; you just took it out on me.
I’m not perfect; I’m not some adolescent dream; I’m me.
You close your eyes and fantasize.

You tell me everything because it’s hard on you to hold it.
You disrupt my life for a little relief.
Have a happy birthday and we should get together sometime.
Not now. Not then. Whenever you’re ready, I guess.
It’s not about you anymore. You don’t get that much. You cheated.
You lose. If you want to play again, you need to learn the rules.
You close your eyes and fantasize.

Imagine a world with me not in it.
Dating and drama and casual sex.
Options, so many options, except one.
What’s one less person in your fantasy?
Erase it from your memory; you don’t get to keep me there.
Everything I gave you I take back.
I don’t need your hand; I have my own.
And songs that rhyme are overrated…

Breaking up is hard to do, especially when you don’t do it.


I found a napkin with writing on it

Monday, October 31st, 2005

I wanted to share this bit with the world. I went to the mall a couple years back to fill out job applications at Hot Topic & Torrid. (Don’t laugh; it makes me cry on the inside.) The last bit of the application had several blank lines that were indicated as “Any additional information”. So I decided I would write a sonnet, since it qualifies as additional information. I first wrote it on a napkin from the food court before transfering it to the applications:

>> It’s not that it’s bad,
merely unexpected,
not enough to reject it
or even make me mad.

I ordered a medium size.
He grabbed the paper cup
and picked the drippy pitcher up,
a blank look in his eyes.

He poured me some of the orange schlock.
I took a sip, and it would seem
the drink was less orange and more vanilla creme,
a melted dreamsicle in a sweaty sock.

I’m not saying that the place is dubious,
but next time I won’t order the Orange Julius.<< I was never hired. Fin.

The Old New

Friday, October 28th, 2005

I’m old. I go to school and am as much as ten years older than some of my classmates.
I’m new. I go to school and am struggling to keep up.
I’m old. So much time has passed and have nothing to show.
I’m new. So little time has passed and have everything to learn.

The old new is much different than the new new.
I feel as though it should be easy, but it’s not.
I feel as though I should know, but I don’t.
But I am the old new because I chose not the old old.


Sunday, July 18th, 2004

Living one big preemptive pause
Never allowing the extra step
No confidence, constant state of fear

The water’s too deep
The walk is too steep
The ground is so hard and I’m frightened

I want what’s over there
I’ve made myself believe I can’t reach it
No self worth, constant state of longing

Know thy limit, yes?
Nothing is limitless
Ridicule’s unbearable and I’m frightened

Going nowhere awfully fast
No progress, no growth, no change
Wait in constant state of hesitate

(a chunk of lyrics off the top of my head)


Saturday, June 1st, 2002

I used to have a voice.
I don’t recall exactly when I put it in storage.
Vacuum-sealed and placed in a cedar chest,
you know, so the moths don’t get it.
I broke the seal the other day.
I’m still not sure why, but I did.
I now remember why I had put it away.
Having a voice awakens the possibilities
that have always been there, only dormant.
It opens the mind and restores the dreams.
But with possibilities come choices.
I loathe choices; they do not come without repercussions.
Everyday life is easier without a voice.
Now everything is so complex in its simplicity.
Having a voice raises questions and opens doors.
But just because a door is open, it does not mean
that the best course of action is to pass through it.
So you find yourself standing in a circular room,
surrounded by open doors,
and all the things that you have right now are nailed to the floor.
I found a voice.
I don’t know what to do with it.

Castles in the Skiy

Monday, April 1st, 2002

(a friend quoted this line from Much Ado in an email and I expounded in my response)
Castles in the sea,
with its festival sounds carried on warm winds,
rolling waves strike the rocky rampart,
palms are damp, and with salted lips
and we dance on water.
i am a queen