what a random moment
to be sitting on the toilet
and have the sudden urge
to open my room mate's drawer
under the sink.
it was jutting out
ever so slightly
and thats how i opened it,
and cast to the back,
the very end
of the drawer's limits
i see the distinctly lovely
just as she was,
the slender and elegant,
just as she was,
watch, that belonged to my grandmother
and now belonged to me
but now belonged to the back of my room mate's drawer
in the bathroom
under the sink
jutting out
in this moment to see the watch winking back there at me
and even though my grandmother would consider this swearing
and wouldn't approve
you bet your ass i took it back

I heard poets are often alcoholics

the hand of my mishaps
has smeared the colors of my memory
into a mix of black
all my happenings
pooled into a dark mess
a puddle of questions
a puddle with no concrete end
i remember certain shades
but i cant sift through the black
retrace what has mixed with what
i cant see how they came to be
and i dont believe in seeing the world
as black and white
but sometimes that's all youve got

text messages

well sometimes theyre just awful and rude
and they have no respect for your movie viewing experience,
class lecture, grandma's birthday dinner,
stop signs, or awkward dates.
they can lie with ease, they can pretend to be somewhere else
with someone else, they could be "lost"
in a clusterfuck of satellite signals
your "lol's" & various abbreviated choppings of the language
could be floating in the stars
never arriving at your screen
or maybe youve lost them
in the constellations of your regrets
because phones are allusive you know
sometimes they fall into toilets
they drop in to where youve blacked out
they get wedged into swallowing seats
they decide to stay long after the party, concert, event with bleachers, and/or
that was fun but there's no fucking way were driving all the way back to get your damn phone trip is over.
during your absence all those words are lost
undelivered packages of what have you missed?
since history evolved from spoken word
into written word
we are taking our words and making them history
we can look through the chronicles of the spring of 2010
through the text window of you and your ex significant other
and perhaps like history, you can analyze the different signs & signals
of the signs & signals you are reading
you could write essays about what your texts mean
you could make yourself seem more important
cuz you have moments polished into fast moving words
that are sent by a mental & physical push of button

i should be so tired....and i am? but my mind is racing, i have too many thoughts. the summer is slipping away. a year ago from today seems so strange now. looking back on myself the way i perceive myself now, looking back at the moments and memories my brain has chosen to save. looking back as a means to see what is now. it's almost like i want to spoil the future, which would really be the present, for my past self. like i wanna wink and give past me a reassuring smile. "It's okay 2010 Laura, youre doing just fine." what am i doing a year ago? where could i have seen foreshadowing definitive moments? all questions i will look back on again in another year. and so on...etc...infinity...until my brain produces no questions or pictures of time

i see too many people
giving their love
to people who give them pain
but if that's all you know
it might be all you look for
but look first toward your own pain
digest its thorns